Dead Silence (33 page)
“Are you kidding me? Jay too?” she asked Chelsea, before turning to the door.
Chelsea made a face as she nodded. “Rafe told him.”
Violet stomped down the front steps that led to her driveway as she glared at the two boys who were waiting for her and Chelsea. “Since when are you two working against me?” She ignored the fact that they were both studying her a little too intently, taking in her tight jeans and even tighter top. She suddenly felt very exposed, ridiculous even. Like she’d dressed up for Halloween when no one else had. “I think I liked it better when you hated each other.”
“We still do,” Rafe quipped, flashing a grin in Jay’s direction. “We’re just trying to keep you from getting yourselves killed. You have no idea if you’ll run into trouble down there.”
“What are you talking about, killed? All we’re doing is going out for a girls’ night!” She draped her arm around Chelsea’s shoulder. “Right, Chels?”
Chelsea ducked out from under Violet’s arm. “Yeah . . . whatever she says.” She wiggled her brows, and her butt, on her way to her car.
“
Right
. . .” Rafe drawled, not bothering to sound convinced. “And you just happen to be going to see the same band we saw the other night.”
“What, and you think we need you two tagging along in case we get into trouble?” She managed to add a fair amount of cynicism to her voice as she glowered at each of them in turn.
“We think,” Jay said, sounding considerably more reasonable, and far less flip than Rafe, “that it couldn’t hurt to stick together. Especially since we have no idea what we could be walking into.”
Violet shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s probably no different than the other club.”
“Oh, and you did great down there,” Rafe interrupted. “You practically made a pass at the bouncer.”
“What?” Violet sputtered, as Jay raised an eyebrow at her, begging for an explanation. “
I did not!
I was just being friendly. Besides, he seemed . . .
nice
.”
Jay just shook his head as Rafe shot back, “Yeah, I’m sure he was thinking the same thing about you.
Such a nice little girl.
”
Violet glared at him as Chelsea shouted from over the top of her car. “All right, ladies, stop your bickering and get in. We don’t have all night. Show starts in t-minus-thirty. Don’t wanna be late, do we?”
It wasn’t as far to Tacoma as it had been to Seattle, and they were there in plenty of time. The area was dirtier than the place in Seattle, though. A little scarier, Violet couldn’t help thinking. The crowd out front didn’t seem to be in a huge hurry to get inside, and there was still a short line, but there were also several people who were just milling around, talking and smoking. More than a few homeless people camped out in nearby doorways.
Suddenly Violet wasn’t so sorry that Rafe and Jay had crashed her plans. Maybe a little backup wasn’t such a bad idea.
After they circled the block several times, Chelsea finally managed to squeeze her car into a space that may or may not have been legal, and they made their way past a row of decayed storefronts . . . businesses like nail salons, a liquor store, a place for check cashing and payday loans, and a smoke shop. It had a seedy feel to it, and Violet grew jumpier and less confident about her decision to be here, with each step she took.
Chelsea, on the other hand, grew bolder and
more
confident, as if the clothing itself had infused her with a new jolt of courage. “What d’ya think we’ll find? You think the killer will be there? You think someone in the band knows something?” Her voice dropped as she hooked her arm through Violet’s. “What do you do when you find them?” And then her eyes widened as a new possibility dawned on her. “You don’t carry a gun, do you? Can you . . .
arrest
someone?”
Violet shoved her, laughing now. “Of course I can’t. I’m not a cop, Chels. I call the police, just like anyone else.”
Jay scoffed. “Yeah, because that’s what you always do, right, Vi? You’d never go after a killer on your own.”
He was right of course. She had been foolish enough to chase echoes—or imprints rather—before. And she probably would be again. No matter how hard Dr. Lee had tried, no matter how many warnings Sara had given her, she just couldn’t seem to stop herself.
“You’ve done that?” Chelsea gasped, but it wasn’t the kind of gasp that said she was shocked and appalled. It was more like she was impressed. Like she had a newfound respect for her friend.
“Not on purpose,” Violet answered, hoping to defuse the situation . . . and the attention.
When they reached the entrance, Violet fished out her ID and her hand was stamped. Since the person at the door had two different kinds of stamps, Violet guessed that hers was the one that marked her as underage, limiting her selections at the bar. Fair enough, she realized. It wasn’t like she’d been planning on drinking anyway.
Before they went in, Jay stopped her, his hand firm and warm as it closed over hers, pulling her back a step. The worry in his face drew her back another.
“What?” she asked.
“Just . . . don’t do anything stupid, ’kay, Vi?”
She looked at him, at his serious expression. At the T-shirt he wore that wasn’t black and the jeans that weren’t ripped or held up at his waist with a spiked belt. He didn’t belong in a place like this or, really, with a girl like her, one who was always dragging him into sticky situations. Yet here he was. And the creases etched across his forehead said it all.
She smiled. “Don’t be an ass-hat.” But her words were quiet and reassuring, and she leaned up to press the lightest kiss against his lips as she stared into his eyes. “That’s why you’re here, right? To keep me out of trouble.”
He shook his head, surrendering to the fact that she wasn’t going to listen to him, no matter how hard he tried. And then he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and dragged her through the door. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”
Inside, the music was already playing, and Violet recognized the song from the other night—the same opening band.
“Not really what I expected,” Chelsea shouted as she surveyed the tall ceilings and the wide-open space that lacked any real sense of décor. It had a cold, industrial feel, with exposed metal heating ducts and concrete walls that were probably some shade of gray or tan or taupe when the lights were on. Right now, however, everything was black, except when the strobe lights flashed.
Violet shrugged. It was exactly what she’d expected, almost the same feel as the place in Seattle she’d been to just days earlier with Sam and Rafe. Even the people were the same, lots of steel spikes and chains, leather, tattoos, and piercings and gauges of all sizes and shapes. It was like a heavy metal rainbow.
“Now what?” Jay asked, staying at Violet’s other arm.
Violet looked around, feeling as helpless as she had the other night. She supposed she’d been hoping for an easy, obvious answer, but there wasn’t one. “Let’s get something to drink.”
They pushed and shoved and elbowed their way to the bar, where they ordered three Cokes and a root beer. Not surprisingly, it was Chelsea who had to be different, and she drew a strange look from the bartender.
“I’m not sure I have that,” he said when she made her request.
Cocking her head, she placed her hands on her hips. “Well, you should probably start looking then, shouldn’t you?” It sounded like a command when she said it.
The man behind the bar had hair that was long and curly and would have been almost like Violet’s if it weren’t so wild and unkempt, and if it wasn’t so bushy and dyed to a deep shade of ebony. But it was his eyebrows that made Violet pause, holding her interest. His actual eyebrows were fine—normal, from what she could see of them—but black ink had been tattooed over them, and they’d been remade so that when the ink reached the center of them it flared upward, giving the man a permanent scowl. Making him look angry, even when he laughed. Which he did, howling at Chelsea’s outrageous statement. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving her a mock salute and turning to go find her some root beer.
“Root beer, huh?” The guy who’d asked Chelsea the question was cute enough. He wore a beanie and nervously used his tongue to toy with the ring in his lip as he leaned against the bar beside her.
Chelsea turned away from the bartender to face the boy, who was probably about their age.
She lifted a shoulder, looking at him, bored. “Mind your own business, will ya? Besides, I’m here with someone.”
The boy shot upright and glanced uncomfortably toward Rafe, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, man. No harm in trying, right?”
Rafe didn’t correct the misunderstanding; he just shrugged and threw a bill down as the bartender set a glass down in front of Chelsea. “That’s three Cokes and
one root beer
.”
“See?” Chelsea grinned back at the bartender, with his perma-scowl. She was no longer demanding, but practically giddy instead. “I knew you had some hiding back there.”
Violet rolled her eyes as she followed Chelsea, who’d taken the lead, through the crowd. Chelsea knew how to use her new look to draw attention, which was exactly the opposite of what you’d want in a sidekick—someone whose job by definition was to help the hero go unnoticed. Already more than a few heads were turning to watch her short skirt as it hiked higher and higher up her thighs.
Perfect.
“Hey, why do you think that guy automatically assumed Chelsea was with Rafe? Why couldn’t she’ve been with me?” Jay asked as they cut a path through the crowd.
Violet glared at him over her shoulder, but then turned ahead again, concentrating on where she was going, trying not to spill her drink as she was pushed from both sides. “Have you seen yourself? You don’t exactly look like her type. At least not tonight,” she teased. And she wasn’t lying. Jay hadn’t dressed for the occasion, not the way she and Chelsea had. Not the way Rafe pretty much always did. Jay was just Jay. If his T-shirt and jeans were good enough for school, they were good enough for this place.
Fine by her. She liked his T-shirt and jeans.
“Besides, are you sayin’ you
want
to be with Chelsea?” she asked slowly, mockingly.
“Are you kidding? Have you looked in a mirror tonight?” He leaned down, his words tickling her ear. “Have I mentioned how hot you look all death-metaled out? I kinda like the new Violet.”
“Yeah, well don’t get too used to this Violet,” she shot back at him. “Because
this
Violet could totally kick your ass.”
Jay’s arm snaked around her waist, drawing her to a stop. “Yeah, well maybe I like it rough.”
Violet giggled as she struggled out of his grasp. “Oh my god, you’re so stupid sometimes.”
They stopped at a long tall table where Chelsea had managed to squeeze in, after shouldering her way through a minuscule opening, giving them just enough space so they could set down their drinks.
Violet glanced around, but it was Jay who asked, “Now what?”
“I don’t know, exactly,” she admitted. “Maybe we should split up and scope things out.” It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the best she could come up with. Besides, the band—Safe Word—was just getting started, and Violet was dying to hear them play. Now that she recognized their music—after listening to it for hours on end—she had a new appreciation for them. She felt a little like a groupie, wanting to get a better look at them, even as she told herself it was only to see if she’d missed something the other night.
“I’ll stay here,” Chelsea announced. “To guard the table.”
Violet followed Chelsea’s gaze, which had landed on a guy standing near the other end of the lengthy table, and Violet knew
exactly
what Chelsea planned to “guard.”
“Awesome plan, Chels.” Violet set her glass down and left the rest of them there to decide where they would go, as she beelined toward the stage.
HE STEPPED INTO THE CLUB AND FELT THE MUSIC even before he heard it, the way he always did. The way any good musician would.
Kisha was at his side, calmer now that he’d managed to scrape a little extra cash together for her . . . to medicate her for the night. She hadn’t yet noticed his guitar was missing.
Didn’t matter, though. That dream was dead. He was making new dreams now, forging a new life for himself. Being a rock star no longer mattered.
He was going to be a legend. A god.
Kisha squeezed his arm, whether from the excitement at being out or from the euphoria of her fix, he wasn’t sure, but he was glad to have her back. “This is great!” she squealed enthusiastically. “I love this band!”
He glared up at the stage, to where they were playing, grating out the metal sounds of a song he used to love too. One he’d played for his new family.
“Look,” Kisha gushed as she dragged him closer to the stage. “He sees you.” She pointed indiscreetly to the lead vocalist, who clutched the microphone to his mouth, his eyes falling on Evan in the crowd below. His expression never changed, but Evan could feel the subtle shift in his eyes as he glanced . . . what? Nervously? Uneasily? Toward the guitar player beside him.
