Syncopation

by Anna Zabo

  Tonight Ray wasn’t there. He’d been moody on the bus, quiet before the concert, astounding on stage, and then snappish after a short conversation with Carl.

  Since they’d all opened up about the manager and what they knew, Ray hadn’t filled anyone in on what the fuck Carl was saying to him. Zavier saw that wear on both Mish and Dom, and gritted his teeth.

  The trip from the outdoor arena to the hotel was uneventful, thank goodness, though Ray fidgeted in the limo, probably still burning off some of the energy that coursed through them all. Tonight’s concert had one-upped all the rest. Each time they played, they outdid themselves. Hell, at this rate they’d be headlining by the time they reached California.

  Zavier knew his playing was part of that. The band could trust that he’d be there and blend, that they could improvise and still stay together—all the musicality that had fallen by the wayside with Kevin. Twisted Wishes flowed and built on the strengths of each musician.

  Wasn’t all Zavier—far from it. Like with the symphony, a band was a team. He’d replaced a member who hadn’t functioned well, and they’d all taken it up a notch in response. Especially Ray. God, over the past few concerts, he’d become a firebrand on stage, his voice clearer and sharper, his interactions with the crowd energetic and stunning. Ray was a beautiful sight to behold, half naked by the end, and covered in sweat.

  They were all coming down from the high now, but when Ray dropped, he hit bottom fast, as if the concerts were the only time he wasn’t full of anxiety and worry.

  What had happened? He still didn’t know why Ray had flipped him off—was it only a few days ago? Didn’t matter. That and Ray’s behavior afterward had been for the best. He’d enjoyed Ray’s company and the tenuous friendship they’d built. He still admired Ray and thought the man beautiful, but he couldn’t become wrapped up in the tumult that was Ray Van Zeller, no matter how temping that thought was.

  He’d dealt with Dimitri’s violent moods. No more.

  When the limo pulled into the hotel, they were each given their own rooms—nice ones, too. An entire floor was dedicated to the band and the crew, though Carl had vanished like he normally did. Zavier didn’t know for sure, but he had a suspicion that managers usually stuck with their band. Carl came and went when it served him. Usually after he’d had a word with Ray and crushed his spirits even more.

  You know he lies, Ray. Why are you listening to him? Why aren’t you talking to us?

  Zavier carded himself into his room and tucked the card into his pocket. There was everything he needed—a big-ass bed, a bunch of bottles of water, and a room-service menu. The only thing it lacked was ice; he liked his water cold, not tepid.

  Well, that was why there were ice machines in hotels, after all. He grabbed the bucket and headed out to find where they’d stuffed the icemaker in this place. It was, of course, as far away from their rooms as humanly possible. A positive, since he wouldn’t hear the contraption dumping ice all night, but he couldn’t help being a bit grumpy about the distance. He wanted to toe off his shoes and lie down on that huge bed.

  On the way to the machine, he walked by a kid in a hoodie and jean jacket slouching past in the way only youth and attitude could manage. The guy gave him a glance, then folded into himself deeper.

  Ah, the righteousness of the young. He’d been there once and had been a complete brat, too.

  It wasn’t until Zavier was holding a bucket full of ice that his brain pondered what a kid like that would be doing on this floor—the one that was entirely occupied by Twisted Wishes’s band and crew.

  “Shit.” Groupie. Or stalker. Looking a little young, too.

  Every muscle tensed. This could be bad—especially if the guy was heading to the obvious place. Mish had her head on straight. Dom was too damn scared of not being Domino. Zavier was too new to the group to have picked up that bold a fan and besides, the kid would have stopped.

  That left only one person.

  Zavier picked up his pace back to his room—he, Mish, Dom, and Ray all had rooms near one another, separate from the crew, who all had rooms on this side of the floor.

  When he turned the corner of the hall, the guy was gone.

  Damn it, Ray. Don’t be doing what I think you’re doing. Stress relief or no, this was not the time to be fucking groupies, especially ones who looked too damn young. Even if the guy was of age, the thought of Ray with anyone twisted Zavier’s insides. Which said something about his own wants. He tried to ignore that.

  Decision time. Zavier knocked on Mish’s door. When she answered she glanced at the ice bucket in his hands and gave him a look. “You lost?”

  “No. I passed a kid in the hall. Groupie-type, but way too young.”

  “Well, he ain’t here, sunshine.”

  “Didn’t think he would be.”

  Mish’s gaze shifted to Ray’s door. “Oh, hell.”

  Okay, yeah, Zavier probably was right. Shit. He shoved the ice bucket into Mish’s hands and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

  “Nine-one-one isn’t going to do anything,” she said.

  “I’m not calling anyone.” Zavier called up the memo app and hit record, then crossed the room and banged on Ray’s door. Better safe than sorry. “Ray.”

  Nothing.

  He pounded on the door again. “I’m not going anywhere, Ray. Open the damn door.”

  A door opened, but not the one he wanted. Dom stuck his head out of his room. No makeup. Honest-to-god old-guy pajamas. “What’s going on?”

  Mish answered, “We think Ray’s got an underaged groupie.”

  “Fuck.” Dom’s eyes widened.

  “He’s not opening this for me.” Zavier thumped the door with his foot.

  “I have a keycard,” Dom said.

  Zavier whipped around. “What?”

  “Sometimes Ray sleeps really heavily and wears earplugs. He’s terrified of dying in a fire. Used to have nightmares as a kid, so...”

  “Dominic,” Zavier ground out, and laid his hand flat.

  He’d never seen that man move quite that fast. A moment later, the card was on his palm. A second after that, he was in Ray’s room. And yup, there was the guy, sans hoodie. Barely any chest hair. At least his pants were on and Ray was fully clothed.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Ray didn’t yell, but there was unmistakable malice in his voice.

  “Likely saving your ass from a felony.” Zavier pointed at the kid. “How old are you?”

  “He’s legal,” Ray said. “I checked his ID.”

  “I’m twenty-one!” the guy growled.

  Part of Zavier understood the appeal. Guy was broody, with dark hair and pale eyes, and had that whole rebel thing going. Might have been a baby-faced twenty-one-year-old, but he looked like he might be younger than that, too.

  Jesus, Ray. What the hell are you doing with this guy? “Let me see this ID.”

  The guy dove for his jacket and handed over the ID with shaking fingers.

  On the surface, it looked legit. And yup, the birthdate placed him a couple months over twenty-one. Zavier stared at it, and the more he looked, the worse he felt. The ID was real. The guy was quite legal, and Zavier’d just blundered into a hookup.

  “This is real,” he murmured.

  “Of course it is.” The guy snatched his ID back. “Asshole.”

  Zavier didn’t focus on him—he looked at Ray.

  Pale. Angry. “Zavier...” A tremble in his voice.

  Fuck. He’d jumped to a conclusion. “He looked young.” Had he? Or had that been a convenient excuse?

  “I look young,” Ray said, his voice cold.

  Not like his guy did, with his baby face and the scowl that looked more teen than twenty. But best to make a hasty retreat, and try not to think about these two fucking. “Fine. I’m sorry for worrying.”
Ray could do so much better.

  “Fucking freak,” the guy muttered. He wrenched his jacket off the bed—and a baggie went flying. It landed not two feet from Zavier.

  Drugs. Pills and stamp bags and smaller bags of powder. A syringe. A spoon.

  “What the fuck?” Ray stared at the bag like it was an alien creature.

  Zavier’s gut lurched. Ray couldn’t possibly be doing drugs. No signs of that at all. Still... “You like to party, Ray?”

  The guy grabbed the baggie. “You better turn your pasty ass around and get the fuck out.”

  Zavier ignored the jerk and stared at Ray. Still pale, still angry, but there was a laser-like clarity when he looked up. “I don’t do drugs. Never have. I’m not the fucker Carl keeps saying I am.”

  Some of the tension in Zavier bled away. “Ray—”

  “Get out.” Ray’s soft voice cut through the room. “Just—get out. Both of you.”

  The man grabbed his shirt, hoodie, and jacket. “Fuck the both of you.”

  “Hey.” Zavier held up his phone so the guy could see the recording icon. “Don’t get any ideas about blabbing to the press.”

  “Recording someone’s illegal.” The guy glowered at him.

  “So’s possession with intent to distribute. You gonna go to the cops?” Guy froze, then shook his head, anger clearly etched into his features. “Neither will I if you get your ass out of here.”

  Guy did, but not before throwing a snarling look at Ray. “Bet you can’t even get it up.”

  Once the door clicked closed, Zavier stopped the recording. By the bed, Ray stood, his back to Zavier, but hunched over, as if he’d been kicked in the gut.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” Zavier ground out the words, anger bubbling up. All those hours and weeks of work, all the years Mish and Dom had put in, the progress they’d made each concert. Ray had nearly blown it all up—most of his own fucking life—for what? A moment of oblivion with some drugged up groupie? Alcohol was one thing, weed might be waved away, but harder stuff? Not in a million years.

  Ray stiffened. “I wasn’t, obviously.” He turned, and Zavier read the shame and dread underneath the hard lines of rage. “Get out of my room.”

  Zavier snorted. “God, is this why Kevin started drinking?” It was cruel thing to say, but Ray was doing everything in his power to be a shitbag. Yes, they were all on edge. Yes, they all needed relief. But with that guy? Without even thinking?

  “You don’t know anything about that!” Wild eyes. Clenched hands. “You never even met Kevin! He was a fucking good drummer!”

  “This isn’t about Kevin. It’s about you. Are you really willing to throw away how many years, for a hole to fuck and something to snort?” And yeah, his voice rose, and he waved his arms in frustration. “Jesus, Ray, I know you’re smarter than that!”

  “Maybe I’m not. I guess I’m the fucking idiot that Carl thinks I am. That you think I am.” He cast a glance all around the room, then slapped his hands on this thighs. “Fucking hell, maybe you all should just replace me!”

  Zavier let silence settle between them. Ray was close to tears of frustration, and not just because of the groupie.

  The concert had gone well. All their concerts had gone well; even if they were being held over a barrel, the label had to like what the band was doing. Yes, Carl was an asshole and a liar, but Ray knew that, didn’t he? They’d talked about it. But here he was, stressed beyond belief, dying to slip into nothingness.

  When the moment stretched out, Ray turned away again. “I didn’t know he had drugs.” Soft words. “Shit.”

  “Weren’t looking for a high?” Zavier sure hoped not.

  “No!” Ray practically shouted the word. “I said I don’t do that shit. I just wanted—” He combed his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, you wouldn’t understand. You can have anyone you want.” He waved at the door. “Dom would do you in a heartbeat.”

  Not exactly what he’d expected to come from Ray’s mouth, especially given their interactions. “This isn’t about Dom or me.” Even if he liked Ray. Maybe too much.

  “Yeah, it’s about me and I’m a fuckup, if you haven’t figured that out yet.” Ray twitched and paced in a small patch of carpet. “Go ask Carl. He’ll tell you all about it.” That came with a snarl.

  Always back to Carl. Zavier had seen him talking with Ray earlier, but Ray hadn’t looked any worse than normal. “You’re not a fuckup. You know you’re not a fuckup.”

  “Oh? Who flipped you off the other day?” Ray’s bark of laughter was bitter as hell and he gestured to the door. “And then that?”

  Yeah, sneaking in a random groupie was the wrong tactic for stress relief, especially given the situation. “Okay, the groupie thing was pretty foolish. The rest of us make do with our hand.” He mimicked jacking off. Crude, but it would get the point across.

  “Not good enough.” That was soft and resigned. Ray stared at the carpet.

  Excuses, excuses. Zavier hadn’t fucked anyone since Dimitri, had to watch Ray every damn night, and yeah, it was hard to jack off on the bus. Anger got the better of Zavier. “Maybe you’re doing it wrong, then.”

  Ray’s head shot up, and he pinned Zavier with a look that had fire in it. “You want to show me how it’s done, pretty boy?”

  Oh, the temptation. The desire to tame Ray’s snappish mouth ripped through Zavier. The need to touch his body, to show him exactly how to come. “You wouldn’t survive.”

  “Really?” Ray stepped closer. Desire and lust peeked through the fissures of his deep anger. “Bet I’d thrive.”

  He should turn away. Leave Ray to his anger and frustration, let him beat one out, but oh, pride was a dangerous thing, and so was Zavier’s own lust and frustration. “Take your clothes off.” The words came out smooth and silky.

  Ray lifted his head. “What?”

  Zavier wanted his desire. His submission. His pleasure. “Let’s find out which of us is correct.”

  Zavier was glad he’d thrown on a button-down after the concert. He unbuttoned a cuff and rolled up the sleeve. Habit, really. Something to do with his hands. It also made him imposing. “Take your clothes off.”

  “You think you’re gonna fuck me?” A hint of incredulity, but also of awe.

  He started on the other sleeve. “No, Ray. I’m going to tell you precisely how to masturbate.”

  Ray stared at Zavier for a long moment, and then pulled his T-shirt off, exposing his delectable and well-inked shoulders and his lean, muscular torso. All that dancing on stage and flinging himself into crowds did wonders for Ray’s body. “This ought to be good.” Mocking smile, and mocking tone. “You teaching me how to jerk off.”

  A dark heat settled into Zavier. Ray had no idea what he was getting himself into, but Zavier did. If there was one thing Nadia had taught him, it was the fine art of playing with your catch.

  Ray shucked his jeans, and shortly after, his briefs, freeing his already hardening cock. He kicked his clothes away.

  Lovely dick. No longer than average, but with good girth. Cut, but so many were here in the States. “Socks, too,” Zavier murmured.

  “Really?” Annoyance in Ray’s voice.

  Zavier lifted his gaze and met Ray’s. “Really.” He wanted Ray entirely naked. Socks were a tiny battle in the grand scheme of things, but he’d win them all tonight.

  A lick of his lips, a grunt, and finally Ray pulled one sock off, and then the other.

  Good balance. Pity this was as far as they would go, because he could have so much fun with that. Predicament bondage at its finest. “Much better.”

  Ray pulled on his cock and smirked. “Like what you see?”

  “No.” From the way Ray started and dropped his dick, that wasn’t the response he expected. “Did I say you could touch yourself?” Zavier’s veins tingled. Control and obedien
ce. He’d see how far Ray would go under his commands.

  Blotches of red marred Ray’s features, and he swallowed.

  Heat zipped straight through Zavier. This was going to be enjoyable. Ray hot, bothered, and his, at least for a moment. “Now, let’s get started, shall we?”

  * * *

  Ray had been furious when Zavier had walked in on him and whatever the guy’s name was. Then he’d been horrified when the drugs had fallen onto the floor. Jesus. Carl would have had a field day with that. What if the guy had slipped him something?

  Now? Now he was cold and embarrassed and too fucking turned on. Let’s get started, shall we?

  Zavier’s dark smirk burned through Ray’s body, as did the tattoos that circled Zavier’s arms from his rolled-up shirtsleeves down to his wrists.

  “You not taking anything off?”

  “No, I’m not.” He inspected Ray, who fought the urge to shiver. “Stay there and don’t move.” Zavier circled to one side. “This is about you.” He laid a hand on Ray’s hip. “Turn this way.”

  Soon Ray stood facing the windows. The shears were drawn, but through them he saw the shimmering lights of Houston. Ray closed his eyes when Zavier’s warm hand claimed his other hip. Each finger felt like a brand against his skin. They’d touched before, but not like this, not with Zavier standing so close behind him.

  Oh, did Ray’s cock like the idea that flashed through his mind—Zavier bending him over and fucking him right there. Or maybe pressing him up against the window. Over a chair. He hadn’t bottomed in so long, because everyone expected him to top.

  “I thought you’d want to watch me jack off.” Zavier was taller, but not by much. Pressing so close to him from behind, he’d not see much at all.

  “I told you—” Zavier’s hot breath skimmed over Ray’s back and shoulders “—this is about you.”

  Ray blinked his eyes back open, mostly because if he didn’t he’d fall over from the dizziness of having Zavier literally a breath away. Bet if he leaned back, he’d meet Zavier’s chest. God, he was so fucking hard.