“Just stop,” Kira interrupts me with a glare. “I know you, Dom. I know you. I know why you do what you do. You don’t want to get close to someone again. You don’t want to give them that kind of power over you. But Dom… it’s time. It’s time for you to finally get over her and come back to life.”
“One, don’t talk about her,” I instruct Kira icily, staring at her hard. “You know better than that. And two, are you insinuating that I’m not living?”
Kira sighs as she pulls her shirt on, forgoing her bra. She stuffs it into her purse and glances up at me.
“You know damn well what I’m insinuating. You’ve been a shell for six years, Dom. Six fucking years. That’s a long time. I’ve been patient. I’ve done everything you needed. But there comes a time when a girl needs to be fucked. I’ve got needs, Dominic.”
I have to chuckle now, at the idea that I’m the only one Kira’s depending on for her ‘needs’. “Oh, yeah. Because you don’t have anyone else to fulfill your needs when I’m not here?”
She glares at me. “You’re a dick sometimes. I’ve got to work early in the morning, so I’ve gotta go. Call me tomorrow, ok?”
I nod even though I know I won’t. I bury my face into the couch cushions, realizing I’m suddenly exhausted and just want to sleep. I don’t even hear Kira leave. But I do hear when someone else comes in a few minutes later, right when I’m ready to slip into sleep.
“Dom, what the fuck? You were supposed to pull me out of the game so that I didn’t lose my shirt.”
I reluctantly open one eye to stare at my brother and find that he actually lost his shirt. He’s standing in front of me bare-chested. My eyes dip down and I cringe.
He lost his pants, too.
“What the hell, Sin? Put some fucking clothes on.”
My brother grins, that cocky rakish grin that his fans love so much as he plops himself down onto the sofa next to me, buck-ass naked, crossing his feet at the ankle on the coffee table.
“You wouldn’t have to worry about it if you’d pulled me out of the poker game like I asked you to,” he shrugs, picking up my glass of whiskey and drinking it all. “Those drunk chicks know how to play poker. Or I just wanted to take my clothes off. One or the other.”
I glare at him. “I couldn’t bail you out because I was taking care of a situation for you. Fuck, man. You’ve got to stop having these parties. Someone’s gonna get raped or killed and they’re going to sue the shit out of you.”
Sin only grins, unconcerned. “If they’re dead, they can’t sue me.”
I can’t argue with that logic. Instead, I tell him what he missed, not that it bothers him much. He sees it all the time.
“Thanks for fixing it,” he tells me casually, as though near-rapes are normal. I roll my eyes.
“Anytime. Now can you get some fucking clothes on?”
He waggles his dark eyebrows. “Sure. If it makes you insecure to look at my package. You might be older, but I’m bigger and that’s what counts.”
He’s also ridiculous. He’s not a centimeter bigger than I am, but I don’t waste my breath telling him that.
He yanks one of my shirts out of my suitcase and pulls it over his head. Then a pair of my pants. He forgoes underwear, which means I’ll have to burn those jeans.
“I forgot to ask how long you’re staying,” he asks as he settles back into the seat, unconcerned that he just ruined my favorite jeans. “Long enough to catch a show, I hope. It’s all I’ve heard about for months from Duncan… how you don’t even come watch your poor little brothers play.”
I roll my eyes. “Poor little brothers? I think both of you are doing just fine.”
Sin snorts, “Only as well as you, big bro. But whatever. We have a show coming up in Chicago next month. If you want to fly back in, we’ll get you backstage passes.”
I shake my head. “I’ll try. Filming starts in a couple of weeks. But I’ll see what I can do. I don’t want to upset baby Duncan.”
“What about me?”
My youngest brother saunters into my room, dropping onto the sofa next to Sin. Neither of them have any personal space issues, that’s for sure, because now we’re all three crammed onto the one sofa. And we’re too big for that shit.
“Nothing,” I assure Duncan. “I just said I didn’t want to offend your ovaries by not coming to your next show. I’ll try like hell to be there.”
“That’s the furthest thing from my mind right now,” Duncan announces, cracking open the can of beer in his hand. “You can see me bang on the drums any time. What I’d like to bang tonight are the half-naked women beyond these very doors. I fucking love your house, man,” he tells Sin. “Oh, and there’s a chick asking for you. Said she wants to make sure you know that your brother rescued her. Or some shit.”
Sin rolls his eyes, but I elbow him. “It’s probably the girl from the pool. You’d better talk to her and autograph her tits or something. You need to keep her happy so that she doesn’t think to call the police. You don’t want that kind of press, dude. Not after Amsterdam.”
The mere mention of how the tabloids had ripped Sin’s band up over a wild party in Amsterdam a month ago is enough to sober the two of them up. There had been some underage girls there, groupies who had lied about their age and if it wasn’t for the more lax laws in Europe, my brothers would’ve been screwed.
Sin nods now.
“Fine. Take me to her,” he tells Duncan. To me, he hands the bottle of whiskey and says, “Do you ever get tired of being right? Jesus Christ.”
“Not yet,” I tell him as I gulp down a few swigs, then slide down into the sofa again, closing my eyes. “It’s a burden though.”
My brothers chuckle as they walk out and I relax, enjoying the way the whiskey has relaxed my muscles, the way the warmth has spread to every bit of me. It helps me stay numb… and numbness is a welcome fucking thing.
When I’m numb, I feel safe enough to slip my hand into my pocket. Not for my dick, although that’s normal for me, too. No, I wrap my fingers around the cool stone of the pendant that is always there, encased in a white shell and resting against my leg.
The last thing that fills my mind before I sleep is a color.
Aquamarine.
Until We Burn Page 7
