by Zoe Blake
“This is Joshua,” Anastasia was saying, putting a possessive hand on the lanky youth beside her. “And this, Ella, is Gregory.”
“Nice to meet you,” Ella said, sticking out her hand awkwardly.
“You too,” he said, equally awkwardly.
He wasn’t bad looking for a blond guy, but compared to Zainon, whose saturnine, gorgeous face Ella had been staring at for the better part of two years, Greg looked young and pale.
“We’d better go if we want to make it in time,” Joshua said, opening the car door. “Ella and Greg, you can ride in the back. Get to know each other better.”
Ella ignored Anastasia’s exaggerated titter and clambered in, resisting the urge to pinch herself. In less than an hour, she would see him. Actually see Zainon Matthews. She was so lost in thought that she barely even noticed Greg getting in beside her.
“You look nice,” he ventured.
“Thank you.” She stared pointedly out of the window, hoping he would take the hint. To her relief, he seemed to; no further attempt at small talk was made.
As Anastasia and Joshua continued a murmured conversation in the front, Ella leaned back and closed her eyes, allowing the music Josh had put on to wash over her as she tried to take deep, steadying breaths—as deep as her black lace corset would allow—and prepare herself for what she had no doubt would be the greatest night of her life.
It had been surprisingly easy to obtain Ella’s ticket from Griselda’s bony clutches. Anastasia had merely told her mother that she’d misplaced her own ticket—”I can’t find it, Mom! I don’t know where I had it last!”— and squeezed out a few tears, and after a half-hearted show of fairness during which Griselda had sought Ella out to confirm that she wouldn’t really finish her chores on time, the woman had indeed handed the ticket to her beloved daughter.
Nor had getting ready and sneaking out of the house been too difficult. As agreed beforehand, Ella had flounced upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom ‘in despair over missing the concert’ and Griselda had been completely unaware that Anastasia had not only left a small selection of clothing, but also some make-up in her stepsister’s attic room. That little gesture had touched Ella inordinately; even though she never had reason to wear cosmetics, she loved to read magazines and watch YouTube tutorials, amazed at how a little color and artful shadowing could transform someone’s face.
Their biggest potential worry, Nathan, had thankfully left earlier to pick up a friend on his way to the concert, after he had ascertained that Anastasia was going with a date.
Still, Ella kept having to resist the urge to pinch herself. She really was dressed up and sitting in the back of a car on her way to see Zainon Matthews. For a brief moment, she wondered whether Griselda had already discovered she was no longer in her room. No, she decided. That woman casts a dark and evil shadow over every waking moment of your life, and she will do so again tomorrow. Tonight, you will not think about her. Tonight, you will just enjoy yourself.
“So, are you really a Zainon fan, or are you just going for a night out?” Greg said, startling her from her reverie.
“I. Um. I’m a fan,” Ella said, cringing inwardly at the understatement.
“Cool. Me too. I’ve got all his albums.”
“So do I.”
“His backstage parties are legendary,” Greg went on. Then he frowned. “But guys never get in.”
“Oh.” She tried to think of something else to say. “How come?”
Greg looked at her as if she were stupid. “Because he’s straight.”
“Oh,” Ella said again, kicking herself for her obvious show of naiveté.
“Not that you’d know it to look at him.” Greg peered at her in the gloomy darkness of the car. “He wears more eyeliner than most girls.”
“Mmm. Probably just when he’s on stage, though,” Ella responded.
“Yeah. Maybe.” Greg sounded dubious, and she suppressed a smile. With that raw, thrilling voice, amazingly broad shoulders, and those panty-penetrating, light gray eyes, as far as she was concerned, Zainon could wear as much eyeliner as he wanted to and she’d still find him sexy as all get out. She wondered idly what the rest of his body looked like. Was he tall or short? Was he wiry and slender, or did that hint of broad shoulders in the poster fulfill its promise of a nice solid build all over? Did he have any tattoos? Probably. Didn’t all rock stars?
Very soon, I’ll know. She gave a little shudder as the thrill of excitement shivered through her body once more, and began pleating and un-pleating the hem of her miniskirt—anything to help consume some of her nervous energy.
“Are you all right?” Greg asked. “You seem a bit… I don’t know. Distracted.” He gave a little chuckle. “Anyone would think you’d never been to a concert before.”
Ella pasted a smile on her tight lips. “Of course I have.” She prayed Anastasia wouldn’t overhear them and give her away. “I’m just excited, that’s all. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
Had a bigger understatement ever been made?
“Me too.” He seemed about to go on when Josh raised his voice, speaking loudly enough that they could hear him over the music pulsing in the front of the car.
“We’re almost there. God, look at the crowds. It’s a sellout.”
Ella glanced out of the window and could see the throngs of people, most of them dressed in black. Several were wearing Zainon Matthews t-shirts, and the women all looked self-confident, sexy, and glamorous. She felt a sudden rush of anxiety.
“Want some of this?”
It took her a moment to realize Greg was holding something out toward her. A hip flask. “What is it?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Whiskey.”
Not wanting to appear rude, she took a great slug, fighting back the urge to grimace as the cheap liquor burned its way down the back of her throat. Almost immediately, a deep, comforting warmth settled through her tummy. “Thank you,” she said, and meant it.
“Let me know if you want some more,” Greg said, taking it back and raising it to his own lips. “I have another with me.” He grinned.
I like him, she realized. He’s almost still a boy, but he’s kind. Ella hadn’t experienced much kindness since her father had died, and it made a nice change to have someone genuinely being nice to her.
“Okay, we’re here.” Joshua parked the car and they all clambered out. “Let’s go and party!” He slung an arm around Anastasia’s shoulders as they started walking toward the stadium, and Ella smiled to herself. No doubt her stepsister was on cloud nine, and as far as Ella was concerned, Anastasia deserved all the happiness in the world after helping her achieve this dream—to see Zainon Matthews live. The night air was crisp and a little cool, and Ella was finding it tricky to walk in her high-heels, but nothing could have dampened her spirits.
It was almost time.
It was even better than she had imagined in her wildest dreams. Surrounded by jumping, cheering, screaming and clapping people, Ella stood stock still, her entire being focused on the man on stage.
They had managed to push themselves quite close to the front, and now Zainon Matthews was within just a few feet of her. He was even more handsome than in his poster, and the way he worked the stage—his raw, thrilling voice reverberating through the microphone—sent tingles of something Ella couldn’t quite identify shooting up her spine. His stormy, light eyes were lined with black kohl, making them glitter with intensity in the bright lights, and he seemed larger than life as he ran back and forth, entertaining the enormous crowd. He was wearing torn black jeans adorned with gleaming silver chains, a tight, sleeveless black shirt from which his tattooed biceps bulged sexily, and several big silver rings on his hands. His midnight black hair was dripping with sweat, and no matter how often he slicked it back, a lock fell forward onto his smooth, pale forehead.
Ella was mesmerized. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone quite so charismatic in her entire life.
The people arou
nd her were singing along, pumping their fists in the air, jumping up and down in time to the beat… but she remained frozen in place, oblivious to everything and everyone else.
She didn’t want the night to ever end, and with the start of each new song, her heart sank a little bit lower at the certainty that soon, it would be over and she would have to return to a life so miserable that tears of desolation pricked her eyelids at the mere thought of getting back into Josh’s car.
Blinking them back, she reminded herself of her resolution to enjoy every moment of the evening and not waste a second of it thinking about what was waiting for her afterward. So she lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders and let Zainon’s voice soothe her very soul. It felt almost as though he were penetrating her with his music. Greg was trying to say something to her, yelling to make himself heard, but Ella uncharacteristically ignored him. Instead she stared at the man on stage, willing him to look at her—just once.
And then it happened. During a ballad, as he slowed to a swaggering walk toward the front of the stage, Zainon turned his head and, for a heart stopping, breathtaking moment, his piercing eyes met Ella’s.
She could quite happily have died right at that moment, for she knew she would never, ever feel this good again.
“You’re nearly done,” Thorn said, throwing Zainon a towel with which to wipe his face. “Just the encore to go and then we can party.”
Zainon accepted the bottle of water his oldest friend handed him and took several grateful swallows. His throat was on fire, every part of his body ached, and he was wringing with sweat. But he wouldn’t have changed a single thing. Zainon Matthews had two great loves in his life, and his music was one of them. As for the other one, he would indulge that after a nice cold shower. “Thanks,” he said, handing the bottle back to Thorn.
“We doing the usual thing tonight?” Thorn asked, raising an eyebrow.
Zainon grinned. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”
“Because, frankly, you look shattered.”
“You try jumping around and belting out songs for nearly two hours,” Zainon said wryly. “We’ll see how you look then.” He poked Thorn in the gut. “Although you could do with the exercise.”
Thorn guffawed. “Asshole.” Then, “So did anyone in particular catch your eye?”
Zainon closed his eyes, blotting out the roars of ‘encore!’ in the background as he tried to visualize that evening’s audience. “Just a couple,” he said, taking the notepad Thorn held out and scribbling down a few descriptions before handing it back to his friend. “Remember the rule. No ID, no entry.”
“I know,” Thorn said, rolling his eyes. “For how long have we been doing this? It ain’t my first rodeo.”
“Thank Christ for that.”
“You’d better get back out there.” Thorn hooked a thumb over his shoulder, where the clamors for Zainon were getting louder. “Your fans are getting restless.”
Fans, Zainon mused as he threw the towel to a nearby roadie and slicked his hair back off his forehead. He’d been writing and singing songs his whole life, but it had only been a couple of years since his big break, and he still wasn’t used to the idea of so many people showing up and paying money just to see him. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.
Taking a deep breath, he spent a moment just listening to the crowd as they chanted his name over and over again. Performing was better than any drug. Hell, it was better than anything in the world—with maybe one exception. With a broad, mischievous smile, he leapt back out onto the stage.
It was almost over. Ella was already close to tears. Too fast, it went too damn fast, she thought helplessly. Zainon was back onstage, his deep, throaty voice once again caressing her very being. I know I said I’d be happy just to go, but now I’m here, I want more, she thought suddenly. More of this, more of him, just more…
Someone was tapping her shoulder, over and over again. It was too firm and insistent to be Greg, and besides, he was on her other side. Turning, she saw a huge, bald man with an earnest expression. His black t-shirt had ‘Security’ emblazoned across it, and a tendril of panic unfurled in her stomach. Had she done something wrong? Oh please, don’t let it end this way, with me being escorted out of here by security…
“Yes?” she said, as politely as she could amidst the shoving, yelling people.
It was so loud, the man had to repeat himself before she could comprehend what he was saying. “Are you over eighteen?”
She nodded, wide-eyed.
His sudden grin was disarming, and relief washed over her. “Want to party with Zainon after the show?”
Ella wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “What?”
“After party,” the man bellowed in her ear. “Want to come?”
She glanced at Greg, who was pointedly staring ahead. Was this what he had been talking about? An after party? With Zainon? Is this really happening?
The next moment felt like an eternity, as what seemed like a hundred thoughts at once shot through her brain.
I’m a virgin.
How will I get home if I go?
Is this a trap?
Did I misunderstand him?
Am I really being asked to attend an after party with Zainon Matthews?
As she stared, dumbly, at the security man, he tapped his wrist, indicating that she should hurry up and reply.
“Okay,” she croaked. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Yes.” She nodded for emphasis, in case he couldn’t hear her.
The man’s huge paw shot out and gripped her upper arm, already steering her away from Anastasia, Joshua and Greg.
“Wait,” she said desperately. “Can I bring my sister?” She pointed at Anastasia.
The man glanced in her stepsister’s direction, then gave a curt nod. “Not the boys,” he added brusquely.
Hurrying to Anastasia’s side, Ella’s words came out in a breathless tumble. “Oh my God, we’ve been asked to attend the after party—with Zainon,” she gasped in Anastasia’s ear. “But we can’t take Josh and Greg. You coming with me?”
Anastasia looked every bit as stunned and incredulous as Ella felt. “Seriously?”
“Yes! But hurry, he’s waiting to take us.” Ella pointed at the security guy.
“We can’t! How will we get home? And what about Josh? I don’t want to leave him!”
Ella didn’t have time to argue. “You coming, or not? Otherwise I’ll go alone.”
Anastasia folded her arms across her chest. “Are you mad? You’re already going to be in a whole world of trouble when we get home, do you want to make it worse?”
The mention of her stepmother was all the persuasion Ella needed. “Fine,” she said. “I’m going. I’ll see you later.” And without another word, she returned to the big man and allowed him to lead her away.
Her heart was in her mouth and she felt a pang of pity for Greg, who had been kind to her and whom she was leaving behind, but Ella knew with every fiber of her being that this was an opportunity she would never have again, and she would do anything to take advantage of it. Besides, what did she have to lose?
Mere minutes earlier, she had been wishing for a chance to prolong this evening of happiness and freedom. Now she had been granted that opportunity, and she wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Chapter Three
As if in a dream, Ella followed the burly security man through a side door into a stuffy, threadbare room. Her heart was hammering hard against her corset, and she had to remind herself to breathe as he told her to wait and disappeared again.
She hardly dared to look around, but was vaguely aware of a few other people milling about; most of them young, pretty women around her age or a few years older, at most. Those who had been selected in pairs were chattering excitedly; the others who, like her, had come alone, were standing about awkwardly.
She wished she’d had more of Greg’s whiskey.
Every so often, a security guy would appear, deposit another fe
male into the room, and leave again.
How many of us are they collecting? she wondered idly. It seemed like there was a faint sense of competition in the air but she told herself she was being silly. After all, it would hardly be a party with just a couple of people. Then again, they could at least have included some men. She was just wishing Greg had been able to accompany her when another man entered. He was tall, with short blond hair and an unmistakable sense of authority.
“First off,” he began in a loud, clear voice, “this is your last warning. Anyone who is under the age of eighteen had better get out. Now.”
Ella found herself looking down at the sickly green carpet. Her toes looked red and pinched in her mother’s peep-toe sandals.
“Next, I need all of you to fill out and sign these waivers and NDAs. No fields are to be left blank, no exceptions, no excuses. Am I clear?” the blond man went on.
Someone was handing out forms and pencils, and Ella took one of each.
“Please have the paperwork completed by the time we come to pick you up in five minutes,” the man barked. “No doubt you’ve heard the rumors about Zainon Matthews after parties.” His lips curled into a positively sadistic grin. “Believe me when I say that they’re probably wildly under exaggerated. If you’re in a committed relationship, prudish, timid, or prone to childish outbursts, this is not the place for you, and you’re welcome to leave. In fact, we ask that you do.
“These parties are supposed to be fun for all involved. No negative consequences for any participant. No drama, no regrets. It’s unfortunate that we have to have you all sign forms but it’s for everyone’s protection, including your own. Any questions?”
