FascinatingRhythm

by Lynne Connolly

  “That’s okay,” Sabina said.

  “We’re having the press conference here after the concert,” Chick said. “It won’t take too long, I hope.”

  Emmelie signed.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Chick said.

  Sabina slipped into her accustomed role. “She would like to say something at the press conference.” That was all Emmelie told her to say, and she couldn’t go against that wish. Not while she was doing her job. “Some of her people will arrive soon. They have identification.”

  Sabina could do nothing to stop Emmelie making her announcement, other than lock her in a room somewhere, and she was seriously considering doing just that. It would well and truly burn her bridges with Emmelie though, and however Sabina deplored her methods, Emmelie Ostrander did a lot of good for a lot of people. Awareness, charities and support all worked ten times better than they had before she’d made her presence known.

  Sabina accepted a soda and smiled at Chick’s warning not to accept anything that didn’t come out of a bottle she’d opened or seen opened. Chick shook his head at her levity when he told her, “Don’t do it. This place will be heaving with press, staff and hangers-on later. Somebody might think it funny to drop something in the drinks, especially if somebody closely connected to the band gets it.”

  Sabina’s laugh froze in her throat.

  Chick checked his watch. “I’ll show you to your seats, and then I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you to it. After the concert, stay where you are and somebody from security will come get you.” He handed them plastic wristbands, one each. Sabina’s stomach turned when she realized they were the same as the ones put on people in hospital. It turned her mind straight back to her dilemma, one she’d hoped to forget for a few hours.

  So far she’d done a fuck-poor job of that.

  Once they were in their seats at the front on the first tier Sabina enjoyed the building excitement of the crowd. A massive crowd. She’d rarely been in a crowd that large, only at a few sporting events. One of her siblings enjoyed watching big athletics meets, and Sabina took her turn going with her.

  Emmelie spent the time signing to her. “You know my son will leave Sweden without looking back, just as he did before?”

  As if she were some pathetic, get-a-life weakling. “Yes, of course I know.” Only polite to sign in return. “That’s not what this is about.” Should she tell her this wasn’t the first time? Better not. While she wasn’t exactly virgin stock when she’d slept with Hunter before, she’d been under Emmelie’s protection. Besides, it might be good to save that piece of information until she really needed to use it. She decided to behave casually. “He’s a good-looking man, a rock star.” She spread her hands and then signed again. “What other opportunity will I have to meet a man like that?”

  “Why shouldn’t you?” Emmelie slapped her hands together as she signed, fury evident in her flashing eyes and tightened lips. “You’re as good as anybody else.”

  Back to that. “I know.” Sabina broke eye contact to look around, and then returned to Emmelie. “See all these people? They’ve come to see Murder City Ravens. Everyone in the audience wants to spend time with the band. That charisma they all have—you can almost touch it.” She paused. Might as well carry on. “And how many will get the opportunity? It’s nothing to do with me being deaf.”

  Emmelie looked around as if noticing the crowd for the first time. Since people surrounded them on either side and behind, not to mention the heaving mosh pit below them, that was some feat. Oh look, where did all these people come from? her look seemed to say. She glanced back at Sabina, eyes chips of ice. “You had the opportunity, so you took it?”

  Sabina deliberately kept her hands steady and efficient, as Emmelie’s signing became more agitated. “I’m under no illusions, I know he’ll leave.” But this time, he’d promised to keep in touch, although right now she didn’t know if that would help or hinder her. Constant reminders that he was somewhere else in the world might not help. Especially when he found someone else, even if it was a groupie. Hunter wasn’t a monk, and she couldn’t expect it of him. Maybe she should go off and find someone for herself. Someone not quite so—thrilling, but with more staying power.

  Emmelie kept talking until the lights went down and the ones on the stage gave off a soft, amber glow. Shadowy figures walked across to their stations and picked up their instruments and just—began. One startling, audience-quieting guitar chord from mouthwateringly gorgeous Jace Beauchenne, dark and glowering. She watched his hands, clever hands, move over his guitar. He didn’t play like other guitarists—he hit the cords, struck them as if he were trying to kill them.

  Next to her, Emmelie started texting. Sabina wanted to snatch the phone from her hands, but instead she did her best to ignore the distraction.

  An earth tremor vibrated under her feet. Light flashed over Hunter, his hair loose, hanging forward, gripping the drumsticks as if they were extensions of his hands, surgically grafted there. A plethora of instruments surrounded him. Less a drummer, more a percussionist. She knew he’d had some classical training at school before he’d taken the path of the rock artist. That had to factor in to his performance. It must be so loud, because sound filtered through to her. The band wore earpieces, like large hearing aids. Except for Hunter. She looked closely, but nothing.

  The drums cutting in to vie with Jace’s savage chords formed the cue for the others. Donovan Harvey, the bassist, began a complex pattern on the four strings of his bass guitar and Zazz, an acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder like a troubadour’s, held the mic close and began to sing. His cropped hair, dyed electric blue tonight, although she knew he changed the color frequently, contrasted with the drab, beatnik-black of his clothes. V, the only female member of Murder City Ravens and its saxophonist, breathed a note. Beautiful, dressed in an ethereal silver sheath, her golden hair swinging down to her waist, she began quietly. Sabina saw the way she settled into a rhythm of her own.

  She wanted to hear what they were playing. Enough sounds filtered through to make her want more, not enough to give her a melody. A yearning she thought she’d left behind years ago surged through her. She rarely felt like that about anything, firmly putting her hearing into her past life and coping with what she had now. The notion came as new and different, because she hadn’t thought about it in so long.

  A light illuminated Riku, wearing a guitar but operating a keyboard.

  Wow. Even Emmelie glanced up when he appeared in full light and didn’t immediately look down again.

  From reading about the band, Sabina knew that Riku liked visual kei, the Japanese way of dressing like a rock star. His face was heavily made-up, with a pale, almost white base, cyclamen-pink blusher, and a black line painted above, a dash from his nose to the side of his face, underlining his eyes rather than outlining them.

  Sabina turned her attention to the huge screen at the side of the stage. Smaller screens were set above the band, showing each member, but the huge screen currently displayed Riku in all his glory. His hair was the same color as his cheeks—cyclamen-pink, with part of it sticking in spikes on top of his head and the rest caught behind in a ponytail, which turned black below the golden clasp.

  He wore black with pink accents, the shoulders of his jacket hugely exaggerated, buttoned asymmetrically, as if he’d fastened it up wrong, but the cut indicated he hadn’t. His pants were tight, almost sprayed on, but the bright-pink streamers fastened to his waistband swirled around him as he moved, flying up when they caught the stream of what must be a fan set at the side of the stage. He should look funny, but he didn’t. He looked otherworldly, different and deeply committed.

  Sabina watched him as, utterly intent on his work, his fingers flew over the keyboard with the increasing tempo of the music.

  The crowd went wild. Most people were on their feet by the end of the first number, but Sabina preferred to lean forward and rest her elbows on the parapet in front of her. She w
atched the band, her attention going from one member to the other, Hunter’s rhythms pounding under her feet.

  She loved it. Could watch this every night, even if the band did exactly the same thing, which she guessed they didn’t because she saw the way they gave Jace space to work magic on the guitar and the subtle signals they sent each other.

  At one point the lights dimmed and most of the band left the stage. Hunter left on the opposite side to where she was sitting, but as he did, he looked up at her and stepped into a spot of bright, clear light. He signed, “I can’t see you but I know you’re out there. It makes a difference.”

  Tears rolled down her face. She didn’t hide them. Two, one from each eye. They filled her lower lids and then fell from the corners, tracking down each side of her face. They were her homage to him and what he’d done.

  Other people must have seen him. He’d used ASL, one of the most common out there, so someone out of these thousands of people must have read it too. But he could have been signing his mother, as far as they knew. The message could mean something to both of them.

  Not that Emmelie had seen. She was too busy texting.

  During the acoustic numbers, Zazz held the audience in his thrall. She watched his lips, made out most of the lyrics as he sang. Not about love or its loss, but about people who allowed their negative sides to rule them, criticizing and wrecking other people. He opened his soul, showed them some of the people he’d known and made the particular universal. Sabina loved it, drank in every word.

  Only Jace accompanied him, but her attention was distracted when Hunter returned to the stage, walking quietly across to his kit in the gloom. Although he was among the plethora of instruments, he shook only a small percussion device, which she guessed added new textures to the song. She wanted to hear it.

  Occasionally sound filtered through, but unfocused and undefined. It gave her only a taste, an aural glimpse into the music. She wanted more.

  The song about negativity segued into a song about victims, people who were used or who took a wrong path in life, people who received the wrong advice, and people who leaped in without considering the consequences. Not a song about responsibility though, because Zazz sang about tragedy, and sometimes events that were beyond the control of the victims.

  It should have been depressing, but Sabina found the experience exhilarating. Although Zazz had exaggerated the stories in his songs, there was something in them for everyone to recognize, evoking times they’d been less than perfect. But they’d survived. They were here. The togetherness he created staggered her. Even Emmelie had stopped texting and was watching Zazz, lip-reading.

  The lights blazed and the band appeared back on stage. Without warning, they created a massive, discordant note that pierced even Sabina’s wall of sound and she heard everything. Like having her ears cleaned out.

  They launched into a new song and her senses subsided once more, muffled and dull. But that one note made her hungry. More, she wanted more.

  For the rest of the performance, she watched Zazz, her attention occasionally going to Hunter. She had no idea how her lover kept up that level of clean, precise work. He and Donovan seemed to act as one at times and at others, Donovan moved forward to set up a counter to Hunter’s driving rhythm. Occasionally Riku moved back to take a hand in the drumming, and she discovered why Hunter’s kit was so diverse and plentiful—sometimes he wasn’t the only person using it.

  She had no idea how much time had passed and she didn’t care, as long as they didn’t stop. The mosh pit’s occupants surged forward, the occasional person spilling over the barrier to be tipped back by one of the security guards standing with his back to the band. How they managed that, she had no idea. She’d make a lousy security guard.

  The concert came to an end, but when Emmelie stood to leave, Sabina put her hand on her employer’s arm. “They’ll play encores,” she said. Emmelie got out her phone.

  Three extra songs, the last something plaintive that made the crowd sway. They were still singing after the band left the stage.

  Emmelie put her phone away and faced Sabina, one eyebrow raised. “What now?” she signed.

  She hadn’t bothered to pay attention to Chick’s instructions then. “We wait for someone to come get us.”

  Emmelie sighed and watched the crowd slowly disperse with an attention she’d failed to bestow on her son, then lifted her hands. “I don’t think I’m missing a great deal. These concerts require a lot of effort, don’t they?”

  “They do,” Sabina answered, “but they make a lot of people very happy.”

  “You know he decided to leave the classical world early? He was always listening to music, until I had complaints about the noise.” She grinned, a rare expression for Emmelie. “Can you imagine? Deaf people complained about the noise!”

  Sabina didn’t find it funny, but she gave a polite smile. Habit. Emmelie liked people to share her rare jokes. All Sabina could think of was a sad and lonely little boy trying to attract attention any way he could. Not that it had worked. And now he’d moved away. One day Emmelie might realize what she’d lost. Her dismissal of her son as not good enough would come back to bite her. And now she wanted to use the attention that rightfully belonged to him to publicize her own interests.

  Sabina knew Hunter would let her.

  Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Not a security guard, but Hunter himself. She stood up fast, using her hands to speak. “They’ll mob you, you shouldn’t!”

  “I wanted you.” He reached for her hand and stroked it.

  She could pull away at any time if she wanted to sign, but she didn’t. Despite the almost tangible disapproval of Emmelie, she spoke. “That was amazing.”

  “Come.”

  He drew her out of her seat and into the aisle. Already people were beginning to gather around, but he hadn’t come alone. Two burly men stood a few steps away, ready to intervene if needed. She hadn’t seen them before because she’d only had eyes for Hunter.

  His hair swirled wildly around his face and his eyes blazed. She recalled the legends of her people, stories of warriors who drove themselves into a frenzy, the Berserkers. He looked like that now, a man who knew what he wanted and wouldn’t stop until he’d achieved his mission. Only his mission was her, and she wasn’t the enemy.

  Once she’d reached his side, he dropped her hand to sign to his mother. “These men will take you to the public room where the press conference is taking place.”

  She nodded, her face expressionless now, something unusual for a deaf person. Sign language involved facial expression as well as hand gestures.

  Hunter took Sabina’s hand and led her up the stairs, toward the exit at the side, leaving the guards behind. Ahead of them was another door with someone standing guard. He took her through it, no need to show the band around her wrist, and straight on, along a maze of hallways, some broad, with closed doors lining them, some narrow. Eventually they entered one with doors on either side and he grabbed a keycard from his jeans pocket, swiped it down the slot and pushed it open, dragging her inside. Not unwillingly.

  No sooner had the door closed than he had her against it, his big body swamping her, his mouth on hers, feasting as if they’d spent weeks apart. When he unfastened the buttons on her shirt, she realized his hands were shaking.

  “What about the press conference?” she asked when he’d finally moved back to strip her.

  He looked at her so she could see his words. “They can wait. I can’t.”

  Hooking her arm around his neck, she dragged him back for another desperate kiss. Their tongues met and stroked, demanding attention, and he found the button to her jeans. He had her unfastened in an instant and his big hands, so recently on the drumsticks, were on her now, his finger inside her. He pushed two fingers inside, but she was already soaked, so there was no impediment to his insistent strokes.

  When he finished their second kiss, she tried to pull him back, but he shook his head and pushed at her
jeans until he went down on one knee and dragged them off, together with her panties. Wide-legged jeans, so they went over her sneakers, which he didn’t bother to undo. For a moment, she thought he meant to suck her clit again, and pushed her groin forward to make it easy for him. But with a groan he straightened, his hand going to the fastening of his own jeans. “No time,” he said. “Later.”

  She didn’t know where the condom had come from and she didn’t care. She wanted this gorgeous, sexy man and with every throb of his drums tonight, she’d wanted him more. It was if he’d driven a path right inside her, and her body pulsed with wanting him. If he stopped now, she’d die. Either that or kill him.

  But he didn’t stop. After sheathing himself one-handed, he came back for another kiss. Sabina couldn’t wait another minute but lifted her legs and wound them around his waist, bringing her pussy into close proximity to his cock. Enough for him to grasp her waist and push her down, impaling her in one long stroke.

  He took her without mercy, but she didn’t need mercy. Only this, his cock driving deep inside her with fast, insistent thrusts, the primitive simplicity of their joining a turn-on like no other man had ever done. Or ever would.

  Crying out, she clutched a handful of his hair. He said something but she couldn’t make out what. She was too busy kissing his forehead, his jaw, anywhere she could fucking reach, nipping at him until he cried out, his breath hot against her skin.

  The door gave, probably rattling with every stroke. She didn’t give a fuck, as long as he didn’t stop. Heat rose inside her with the inevitability of nature, tingles sent every hair on her body insane, even the incipient ones on her naked pussy. He sent shocks along her neural pathways until her body became one twisted flash of need and then—fulfillment.

  He gripped her tight as she felt the pulses when he gave up the fight, sending his essence out of his body.