The Griffin's Secret

by Cate Masters

  A ripple of dread froze her. “Nothing.”

  “Now, now. Something is. You can tell me.”

  “Tonight’s show exhausted me.” Not a lie. They always had, until Jackson gave her the silver bracelet. “I’d like to go rest.” Definitely a lie. Unless she rested in Jackson’s arms.

  “Sit.”

  At his harsh tone, her hands became fists. She lowered slowly to the edge of the nearest chair.

  He aimed a sickly sweet grin at the guitar. “There’s a good girl.”

  Was he speaking to the guitar or her? Or couldn’t he tell the difference anymore?

  He propped the instrument against the sofa and leaned forward. “You’ve grown distant. Why?”

  When had they been close? “I told you, I’m tired.”

  “I don’t mean tonight. No, the problem began long ago when we started this tour.”

  He must know about Jackson and blamed him. She had to convince him otherwise. “Long before this tour, Mal. You didn’t pay attention.”

  “Not so, love. I notice everything.” He rose and paced slowly in front of her. “I’ve decided the time has come for our relationship to move to the next level.”

  She kept her gaze on Mal, but her focus remained on the guitar. The instrument sat less than a foot away from him. If she lunged for it, would she have time to smash it before he could stop her? “Other than business, we have no relationship.”

  “We will.” His victorious grin returned. “Once we’re married.”

  A chill enveloped her head to toe as if she’d fallen into a deep grave. “No. Marriage isn’t part of the deal.” She had to find Mama. Someone must know where she was. There had to be some mistake.

  “It’s in the small print, love. Our performances have slipped lately. Below satisfactory, and fans aren’t happy. When fans aren’t happy, sales plummet. So I’m invoking my right to do whatever’s necessary to maintain my stellar status.”

  She steeled herself so she wouldn’t melt into a helpless puddle. “I won’t.”

  “You will, and without argument. You are still unsullied, aren’t you?”

  A virgin? She hated to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but didn’t want him to grow any more suspicious than he already was. “Of course.”

  “Good. And don’t make me tell you again to get rid of this piece of junk.” He lifted her shirt to reveal the bracelet strapped to her belt loop.

  She yanked the fabric from his grasp. “I told you I love it.”

  “I’ll buy you a gold one. To go with your wedding band.” The last two words had a harsh ring coming from his mouth.

  Trembling, her knees wobbled. “Mal, please. Don’t make me.”

  He draped himself on the seat, arms spanning the back of it. “I have no need to force you. You’ll say ‘I do’ of your own accord. Or else suffer the consequences. The decision is all yours.”

  Hot tears burned, but she refused to let them fall. “I hate you.”

  He smiled. “A minor unpleasantness.” His false humor vanished. “As soon as Kev finds a minister, we’ll get the ceremony over with.”

  Struggling to come to grips with disbelief, a tear slipped down her cheek. She should have seen this coming. Should have realized she’d never be able to marry anyone else. Not while he kept her under his thumb.

  He gestured vaguely in her direction. “Buy a suitable dress. And, of course, we’ll need rings.” He tilted his head. “I hear that some girls find a man’s wedding ring to be a real turn-on. Do you think that’s true?”

  She couldn’t stop shaking her head. She had to end this hell before he consumed her very soul.

  He rose and crossed the room. “I’ll find out soon enough. We’ll discuss details later. I have other business”—he opened the door to squealing girls—“and it simply cannot wait.”

  The groupies streamed in. Snake charmers, all of them. So they thought, until Mal turned the tables on them. He fit the python role too well, squeezing the life out of everyone and then slithering away for the next kill.

  Not her. She refused to be a victim. Renewed determination pulled her to her feet. Head raised, she strode out, not bothering to close the door.

  Tonight. She had to destroy the guitar. Then what? She had some money, enough for a ticket to…wherever. As far as it would take her. No driver’s license, but in a city, she wouldn’t need one. Only one question remained.

  Jackson.

  She headed for the back entrance. And Jackson. Not caring who saw, she grabbed his hand and pulled him away, doing her best not to break into a run.

  A small grunt of surprise, and he fell into step without a word. After clearing the stadium grounds, they kept going, street after street. Not far or fast enough.

  He didn’t hesitate or tell her they couldn’t. He strode beside her, his grip firm. Exhilaration fought with fear inside her, but knowing he believed in her kept her steady and strong.

  “Layla.” He tugged her into a dark alley and pressed her against a wall. His lips found hers.

  She held on, afraid to let go. Not caring who might find out, not wanting to stop. From tonight on, she’d live according to her own rules, no one else’s. Above all, she wanted Jackson to share it all with her.

  * * * *

  Her kiss held Jackson captive. More powerful than any magic, her touch erased his thoughts except for one. Layla. He had to have her. If he didn’t stop now, he might take her right there.

  He eased away, but couldn’t stop tasting her. Planting little kisses on her face. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

  “I have to escape.”

  Relief eased his twisted nerves. “Yes, you do.” From Mal and from himself. She deserved a life of freedom and beauty.

  She clasped his head, searching his eyes. “You have to come with me.”

  And there it was. The dead end he always slammed up against. He’d tried not to face it. All he wanted was her. “You’d be safer on your own.”

  Mouth agape, she dropped her hold, then visibly composed herself. “You’re right. I won’t burden you with my problem.” She sidestepped him and stalked off.

  He caught her arm, but she yanked away with a fierce anger.

  Christ, now he’d hurt her. The last thing he wanted. “Wait, please. I didn’t mean that. I just…can’t.”

  She stepped back. “Sure, I understand. Promise me you’ll leave the band, though.”

  “Soon. I need a job.”

  In a heartbeat, she moved in front of him, stroked his face. “They’ll hurt you. Mal already suspects you, and after tonight, he’ll think you sabotaged the concert. Or claim you did. The roadies will do whatever he asks. You have to go.”

  If only he could express his awe of her. No other woman had looked out for him. Not since… A memory slammed into him, hardened into a cold stone in his gut. “I will. After I figure out where.”

  She nodded and stepped back. “Wait here for a while. Promise you won’t follow.”

  “What are you doing? You can’t go back.”

  “I have to do something first.”

  “No, whatever it is, leave it. Just go.” He dug in his pocket and held out the folded bills. “I don’t have a lot of cash, but here.”

  Her hand closed around his and pushed it away. “I can’t take your earnings. It’s not money I’m going back for. It’s the key to my freedom.”

  “What could you possibly need so badly?”

  She raised her chin. “Mal’s guitar.”

  “But he keeps it with him, doesn’t he?”

  No fear, no uncertainty. “Yes.”

  “You’ll never get it off the bus without someone seeing you. It’s not like you can disguise such a large instrument.”

  “It’s risky, but I have to.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes. Taking the guitar is the only way I can leave.”

  He couldn’t let her take that risk, not alone. “I�
��ll get it for you.”

  Alarm flared in her eyes. “No. If they caught you, Mal would kill you.”

  “And you want to die instead? No way.”

  “He wouldn’t kill me. But he might make me marry him sooner.”

  The word hit him like an anvil. “Marry him?” No. At the thought of Mal touching her, some beast roared inside him, ready to tear Mal apart. The griffin writhed on his back, fighting against the barrier of skin.

  “He told me tonight. He wants insurance against another terrible performance.”

  “You can’t.”

  Her hands fisted. “Exactly why I have to get away. So he can’t make me.” For the first time, her voice shook.

  “God, Layla.” He pulled her into his embrace, closed his eyes. With all his heart, he wanted to tell her. About his past, about how much she meant to him. Not love. He couldn’t use that word. It was a death sentence for her. She deserved the truth. “I need to—”

  “Shh.” She whipped her head toward the street and grabbed his shirt. “We have to go. They’re coming.”

  “Who?”

  “The roadies.” She barely whispered the words.

  How did she know? The fear in her eyes was enough to convince him. He drew her farther into the shadows.

  Too late.

  “Fucking newbie.” Rad stopped at the alley entrance, Stubby and Orville flanking him. “Let’s go, Jack-shit. We need a word with you.”

  He slid Layla behind him. “Maybe later. Kind of busy right now.”

  Rad spat. “Yeah, you’re a regular busy bee. But you were warned. You chose to play, now you gotta pay.”

  Green flashed in their eyes.

  Shit. Layla was right. Mal had cast some spell over them. They wouldn’t do this on their own. He asked over his shoulder, “Can you climb the fire escape? Get away from these goons.”

  “I’m not leaving.” She stepped around him. “Jackson and I are going back to the bus. So make way.”

  “Sorry, Layla.” Rad cracked his knuckles. “We’ll be needing a new roadie after tonight. Forget this one.”

  “I swear, if you don’t—”

  Rad gestured. “Stubby, take her back. We’ll finish up.”

  The short roadie ambled up to them, Rad and Orville advancing more slowly.

  “Come on, Stubby. I like you.” Jackson blocked his path. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  She held his shoulder. “And I’m not leaving, so forget it.”

  Stubby reached around Jackson and jabbed a needle into her thigh.

  “Ow,” she cried, stumbling backward. “What the hell?”

  Jackson brought his knee up, catching Stubby’s rounded belly. He crumpled in half and lay there, possum-like. Jackson didn’t buy it for a second.

  Nor did he have a second to spare. Fists pounded his back, bruising his kidney. He jerked back his head. A moment’s recovery, and he swung at Rad.

  Rad ducked and landed a punch to his jaw. “We like you, too, kid.”

  His head reeled back. Before he could straighten, Orville followed up with another fist to his gut. “Yeah, you’re lucky.”

  “Or we’d have to dispose of you permanently.” Rad socked him on the other side of his jaw.

  “Layla?” Blood sputtered from his mouth. He shook his head to clear his vision.

  The silhouettes of two figures receded from them, one tall and willowy, leaning against the other, short and stocky.

  “No.” He charged toward them.

  Rad caught him off balance and toppled him to the ground. Hard boots jabbed his sides, his back.

  Rad leaned over. “We’re letting you go, but so help me, you’d better stay away from her.”

  He nodded, anything to make them go away.

  “Have a nice life, kid.” Rad led Orville in the same direction as Stubby and Layla.

  “It’ll be longer than yours.” He stayed down until they rounded the block out of sight, then rolled to his hands and knees. His body throbbed with pain. Groaning, he made it to his feet, and listed to the side. Whoa. A sway, and he steadied himself.

  First, he needed to rest, restore his strength. Then he’d follow.

  And get Layla out of there.

  Chapter 9

  Sneaking into the concert proved harder than Jackson guessed. Security guards didn’t recognize him—a good thing because Mal undoubtedly would have ordered him removed. Permanently.

  He plunged his fingers into his jeans pocket. A touch of the warm metal reassured him he had the silver griffin. Now he just had to learn how to use it. He hung around the parking lot until the music drifted from inside the stadium, then approached a ticket scalper. “Got any left?”

  “Only one.”

  “Sold.” He scanned the guy’s baseball cap. Grungy, but an extra-wide brim. “And I’ll take your hat, too.”

  “What?”

  He jerked his head. “I’ll give you an extra twenty for it.”

  “Thirty.” Greed gleamed in the kid’s eyes.

  “Dude. Get real.”

  “Okay, twenty.” The guy slid the hat from his head and tossed the ticket inside. “Enjoy the show.”

  “Not likely.” Jackson tugged the cap low on his forehead and made his way through the gates. The opening band wrapped up a song and announced one more.

  He had to get to Mal’s dressing room fast. Head ducked, he strode through corridors as if he belonged there. Amazingly, no one stopped him. A door held a slide-in plaque labeled Mal Fetterman.

  He paused at the sound of two voices clashing. Layla and Mal, arguing. Their show would start in minutes.

  “I’m done,” she cried. “I want nothing more to do with you.”

  “Sorry, pet. I’m not about to let you go, not when you’re the key to the griffin guitar.”

  “You don’t need me. You already have the key. Let me go.”

  “You know as well as I do,” Mal sneered, “that the guitar is useless without you. This conversation’s ridiculous.”

  Key. Jackson understood, and everything rode on what he did tonight, but he still had no clue what, exactly, he needed to do.

  Layla pleaded, “I freely grant you use of the guitar forever. If you give me my freedom.”

  Mal snickered. “My darling girl. My career would be meaningless without you. Mainly because I’d lose everything the moment you walk away. Do us both a favor and forget these foolish notions. Let’s go.”

  The knob turned, and so did Jackson. He ducked behind a cart carrying a large speaker.

  Her sobs tore at Jackson’s heart as Mal dragged her toward the stage. He fought the urge to rush out there. What good would that do? A temporary reprieve, at best. He had to make sure she got a permanent one.

  He hurried down the hallway. Rounding the corner, he found Grumbles, someone he was pretty sure wouldn’t rat him out. “I need your help. What’s the key?”

  Grumbles gave him the fish eye. “Eh?”

  Playing deaf. Jackson wanted to shake the information out of the older roadie. “What is the key? Tell me. And hurry.”

  “Why?” A desperate question.

  “I have to free her, man. You know this isn’t right.”

  Grumbles shuffled backward. “You’d better go. If Mal catches you here—”

  Jackson grabbed the roadie’s shoulders, held him in place. “I’m not going anywhere—and neither are you—until you tell me.”

  The man’s shoulders slumped in his grasp. “I don’t want your blood on my hands, son.”

  “My blood to spill, my decision. All I want from you is information.” The sooner, the better, so Grumbles would stay safe, too.

  Grumbles sighed. “I knew you were crazy when we hired you. Do you know how many others have tried to get the guitar and failed?”

  By failed, he had to mean were murdered. “It’s the only choice left. If I get the key, she’ll be mine. To free her.” All his dreams of being the best
guitar player alive died away.

  Grumbles muttered something.

  Jackson cocked his ear closer. “What?”

  “I said the key is the scorpion tuner.”

  How had Jackson not figured that out? “So if I take that, she won’t be bound to him anymore?”

  “And he won’t be able to use the guitar. When he plays, its sound will be like the wail of a dying moose. So we’re told.”

  “Perfect.”

  Now it was Grumbles who held him in place. “He’s set traps. Those who try to steal the guitar or any part of it are always caught.”

  Jackson grinned. “They weren’t me. I owe you one.” He tapped the roadie’s arm and then slipped back inside Mal’s dressing room. He’d wait until after the concert when Mal returned with the instrument and then steal it.

  Hours later, Mal made his usual theatrical entrance. Cursing, he slammed the door. He set the white guitar in its stand and went to the restroom.

  At the sound of running water, Jackson rushed to the instrument and grabbed the diamond-sharp tuner. The force of a lightning bolt sent him flying backward. Shaking off the shock, he crawled back to the stand. Bracing himself against the intense sting, he unwound the scorpion. With every twist, the tuner became harder to turn, like fast-drying cement was setting around it. The painful electric bite in his fingers amped higher, pierced deeper. Rattled his bones.

  A few more turns and he’d have it. Gotta. Keep. Going.

  The tuner wobbled on the screw thread.

  At the rattle of the doorknob, Jackson glanced back as Mal strode in.

  “Get away from there.” He jabbed his arm toward Jackson. From his palm, a burst of light bulleted into Jackson’s back.

  The force of it sent Jackson tumbling over. He splayed his legs to stop rolling. He checked his hand. Nothing there. Had he dropped the scorpion? There it was, crooked on the guitar neck, hanging by the last thread of the screw. Barely.

  “I knew you’d return for her,” Mal sneered. “I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come for the guitar.”

  Jackson had to get to it, but first he had to get past Mal. “If you’d let Layla go, I wouldn’t have had to.”

  The door burst open. Rad and Kev hauled Jackson to his feet.