The Devil's Reprise: A Rockstar Romance (The Devils Duet Book 2)

by Karina Halle

  “Oh, she’s doing well,” Jacob went on. “But she still needs you, even though she may not know it yet.”

  I frowned. “Are you being purposely vague or do you know something?”

  He shrugged, suddenly blasé. “I don’t know what I know. Call it a residual hunch. Even if I knew something, I’m not her manager. I’m not a guard or a guide. I just know she might need help. Somewhere deep in this dead old chest of mine, I feel like her story is just getting started.”

  I could tell there was something else he wanted to say.

  “And?” I pressed. I wanted him to leave the room more than anything so I could dig out the rest of the coke and get a little morning lifter going on, but Dawn was front and center.

  He straightened up. “Call her. When you’ve got your brains together. Invite her on the tour. If you want, I can make sure she covers it for Creem, or you can just bring her along for kicks. Tell Rusty I’m the one who misses her if you have to. But just call her. Talk to her. And if you save her, maybe she can save you. And this time, maybe you’ll let it stick.”

  With that, Jacob left the room, leaving me alone in the darkness brought on by black-out drapes and a raging hole in my heart.

  I waited a few moments, then before I got too scared, I picked up the hotel room phone and asked to be connected to her number. Though I rarely used it, I knew it by heart.

  “Hello?”

  Her voice came through the crackling line with clarity. It did something to my head, shaking out the cobwebs better than a line.

  “Dawn?” I asked, just to make sure.

  “Sage?” was her response. Unsure, brimming with nerves. So adorable. My whole body immediately melted into the bed. My heart surged with guilt.

  “Hey, angel,” I said, trying to hide the fear. “How are you?” I glanced at the clock on the table, trying to figure out her time on the West Coast and failing. “I hope I’m not waking you.”

  “It’s ten-thirty in the morning. I’m no longer a lazy college student.”

  What fucking month was it? April already?

  “I figured that,” I said smoothly. “Congratulations. Welcome to the real world. How does it feel?”

  Dude, I was sounding like a complete fucking moron.

  “Eh, it’s okay,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I think I might look sexier in this so-called real world, though.”

  All I heard was “look sexier.” Suddenly my mind flashed with an image of us tangled in the sheets at my father’s house in Redding, one of the last times I saw her. She was firm and soft all at once, big dark eyes, hair thick and shiny as chili oil. A smile that could power a thousand cities.

  “I don’t think that’s possible,” I said, hoping she could feel the lust in my voice. Hoping I still interested her the way I used to. “Listen, what are you doing next month? Is May busy for a retired rodeo queen?”

  I had to ask. She was a barrel racer before she became a full-fledged music journalist. The thought of her in rodeo queen gear was a harbored fantasy of mine, and barrel racing, her dismounting a horse all sticky and sweaty and then mounting my horse, was just icing on the cake.

  “No, not yet,” she responded. Keeping me on my toes, I see. “There’s supposed to be a bunch of good albums released that I’ll have to review right away, but that’s about it.”

  I gulped down the next question then dug for the strength to ask it. Bite the bullet. Be the rock star.

  “How do you feel about flying to Paris and meeting me there? I’m about to go on tour, and I’d love a sexy, talented music journalist to cover it.”

  And, once again, I sounded like a moron. A desperate, cheesy moron. I should have heeded Jacob’s advice and waited until my hangover was gone.

  But to my surprise, she enthusiastically replied, “Are you kidding me?” like she’d just won a trip to Disneyland. I guess, in a way, she had. The Disneyland of rock ‘n’ roll. All rides included.

  “Do I ever kid? I’m serious. Tell me when you’re free and I’ll fly you over here. I’ll take care of you, angel.” I remembered what Jacob said. “I really miss you.”

  I fucking meant it. But she’d never know how much. She’d never know that I’d give anything for her to try to fix me again.

  We could save each other. Right?

  “I really miss you, too,” she said.

  Holy fuck. Way too much for my chemical-laden heart to carry this early in the…well, afternoon.

  I cleared my throat, trying to sound breezy. “So you’ll come? Tell me the dates and I’ll make the arrangements.”

  She paused, thinking, and during that, I wondered if she was rethinking it all. Maybe this was too out of the blue and I was too presumptuous. But then she said, “May fifteenth would be good. I could come for a week or two, depending. Maybe three if I’m lucky.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t like leaving home for too long.”

  I could live with that.

  She continued, her conscience getting the better of her. “Can you call back later tonight? I need to talk it over with the family.”

  “Of course. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  I hung up the phone, got out of bed and opened the black-out curtains, peering out at the white-hot spot that was Detroit. We had two more weeks on the East Coast and then it was off to Europe. Sage Knightly and his mediocre solo tour was going overseas, a place Hybrid had never gone.

  New ground. New territory.

  And, if I was lucky enough, an old flame.

  Chapter Two

  Dawn

  May 1975

  “Here’s to Dawn,” Melanie announced, holding her can of Pabst in the air. Despite the Creedence Clearwater Revival pumping through the speakers we had brought into the barn, everyone could hear her. Mel always knew how to be the center of attention.

  “To Dawn!” everyone cheersed in drunken unison, raising their drinks as Mel quickly motioned for me to get into the middle of the circle that was haphazardly forming.

  “Get in here, bitch!” she yelled. “Stop being such a wallflower; you’re blending in with the hay.”

  I rolled my eyes and shuffled my way through the crowd of people, most of them my friends, some of them just random dudes who had decided there was nothing better to do on a Saturday night in Ellensburg than crash a girl’s going away party. Oh well, there was a reason I was having the party in a barn anyway—less damage could be done by drunks, friends or not. Oh, and I could keep my dad and my brother, Eric, out of it.

  I grudgingly walked out into the center of the circle, looking around at the sloppy grins and glazed eyes. Despite me yelling earlier about no smoking in the barn, a huge cloud of pot smoke rose from the back of the crowd, followed by a poorly hidden cough.

  I was never very popular—in high school or out of high school. But ever since I came back from going on tour with the now-defunct Hybrid—ever since I recorded their crazy collapse for Creem—I’ve become something of a local celebrity.

  Okay, that’s totally stretching the truth. I don’t really have more friends. I don’t get stopped on the street or anything. But I’m no longer boring Dawn Emerson, music freak and rodeo queen. I’m Dawn Emerson, the girl who survived a deal with the Devil. Not that anyone believes what I wrote in the article. They all think I was using metaphors.

  I wasn’t.

  And it wasn’t my deal with the Devil, either. Though sometimes, lately, it feels like it was.

  Sometimes things seem a bit too good to be true.

  “Thank you, everyone, for coming,” I said as Mel nudged me in the boob, hard. I glared at her and pushed my wavy red hair out of my face before smiling at everyone. “I don’t really know why we’re having a party since I’ll only be gone for three weeks, but—”

  “Cuz maybe you’ll almost die again,” someone from the crowd yelled. My money was on the dude smoking pot.

  Everyone laughed. I did, too. A fake laugh, but the more I’
d tried to tell people how much of the article was true—that guitarist Sage Knightly had made that deal with a demon on the shores of Lake Shasta, that everything he was given was slowly taken away from him before he reached the age of twenty-eight, that people in his band actually died and Sage and I had almost followed that same fate—well, people tend to look at you like you’re crazy. The paranormal isn’t widely accepted, even though it was the ‘70s and I thought civilization was coming along in leaps and bounds.

  Speaking of.

  “Well,” I went on, “we’re also here to celebrate the end of the Vietnam War!”

  Even though we had a few soldiers among us in the barn, my words were met with greater applause. The damn war had just dragged on so long that, in the end, I didn’t know many of my friends who actually supported it. We just wanted it over with, and it finally, finally was.

  The music went louder, CCR’s “Bad Moon Rising” filling up the space from hay to rafters along with resumed chatter and the crisp clack of beer cans opening. I was glad my horse, Moonglow, was out at pasture; otherwise she would have gone nuts.

  “Geez, Dawn,” Mel said, giving me the stink eye. “You could at least act like you’re having fun.”

  I looked down at her and patted her afro. Mel was a tiny little thing with a bubble butt and a bubble rack, complimented by her waist-high jean shorts and backless fringe top. As usual, I towered over her. It didn’t help that I was wearing platform shoes.

  “I am having fun,” I told her, putting on a smile. “I’m just…” I looked around the barn at the couples making out on the hay bales, the doofuses doing keg stands in Moonglow’s stall. “No, I’m having fun. This is ace.”

  She snorted and took a lengthy swig of her drink, the foam spilling onto her cocoa-colored chest. “Wanna lick that off?” she eyed me with a sly grin.

  “Don’t tell me you’re getting all experimental on me,” I warned her, giving her a playful shove. “I’m sure you’ll find someone here to lick that off for you.”

  “And what about you?” she asked, grabbing up a few strands of hay to wipe off the foam, while her eyes darted around the barn, looking for any eligible bachelors. “You finally gonna get laid or what? Perfect time, just before you go to Europe. No strings attached.”

  I hated getting into this conversation with her. I’d been single ever since I came back from the tour last fall. I guess it was kind of weird; I mean, I was twenty-two and technically unattached. But…I was busy. Finishing my studies at the University of Central Washington and working as a part-time music journalist had taken up all of my time until now. I barely had time for a horse, let alone a boyfriend.

  Not that I needed a boyfriend for a roll in the hay.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. Then, knowing she wouldn’t be satisfied with that, I added, “Maybe.”

  “I think you’re going to change your mind by the end of the night.”

  Now I snorted and folded my arms across my B-cups. With my freckles, red hair, and tall build, I wasn’t exactly Morgan Fairchild. Even if I weren’t so picky, it’s not like dudes were throwing themselves at me. “You sound oh-so-sure of yourself. I pretty much know everyone here and, sorry, not shagging anyone in this vicinity. Not tonight. Not ever.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said in a strange tone, her eyes focusing on something across the room. I followed them.

  And then the barn seemed to roll to a stop.

  Ryan Bettman.

  My ex-boyfriend.

  He was standing in the corner, drinking from a red plastic cup and laughing with some girl I went to high school with. Not the girl I’d caught him cheating on me with a year ago, thank God, but there he was. I hadn’t seen him once since we’d broken up.

  And dammit if it still didn’t hurt somewhere deep inside. I was so over him, it wasn’t even funny. My heart was hung up on someone else. And yet, looking at him made me feel weird, torn in two. Part of me wanted to bury the hatchet and let bygones be bygones, but the other part was like, fuck that, you cheated on me, you asshole. Prepare to die.

  “Why is he here?” I seethed under my breath, my eyes stuck on him. He looked good, which was kind of annoying. Tall, lean muscle clothed in fashionable denim bell-bottoms and a paisley shirt. His hair was shaggy but the kind of cut you knew took hours to blow-dry just right. He wasn’t the stoic, all-black-wearing, muss-up-your-hair-and-go type of man.

  He wasn’t Sage Knightly.

  But who was?

  “I don’t know, don’t you dare think I invited him,” she said. “But every young adult in Ellensburg is here right now; it’s Popular City, Dawn. He’s probably visiting his folks and…oh shitballs, he’s seen us.”

  She was right. Ryan was now staring at us—staring at me—with a charming grin on his face. I guess the combination of the leggy redhead and the curvy black chick was always noticeable no matter where we were.

  “Aaand he’s coming over here,” Mel spoke with her mouth hidden by the beer. “Night, John-Boy!” And with that, she turned on her heel and scooted herself through the crowd, disappearing in seconds flat.

  Fuck this. I smiled awkwardly now that I was in Ryan’s tractor beam. He was coming over, closer and closer.

  Be strong, Dawn, I told myself. He’s no one. You’re someone. You’re Rusty.

  “Hey, Dawn,” Ryan said as he approached, lowering his cup by his side, like he suddenly wanted to hide the fact that he was drinking. Or maybe he was planning on shaking my hand.

  I firmly kept my arms folded across my chest and smiled as breezily as possible. “Ryan. Didn’t think…well, this is a surprise.”

  He looked at the ground, kind of sheepish for a moment, and I was suddenly flooded with millions of memories. Most of them good. Ah, shit. Time to put down the beer.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to show up like this. I was visiting the ’rents and Steve, you remember Steve.” He jerked his head toward the back of the barn, where I’m sure Steve was. I didn’t need to look to remember Ryan’s idiotic best friend. “Anyway, Steve heard from someone about your party, and he said we should go check it out, and I figured you wouldn’t mind. Do you mind?”

  I sucked at my teeth for a moment, thinking it over. I did mind. But if I minded, he’d think I still cared. So I just shrugged. “It’s cool. Everyone’s here anyway.”

  He scratched behind his neck while shooting me a shy glance. “Well, thanks for letting me stay. You know, you and I haven’t really, uh, talked in a long time.”

  I swallowed slowly. And whose fault was that?

  “No, we haven’t.” I stared him down.

  He rubbed his hand along his jaw and looked over my shoulder at the open barn doors.

  “Want to go for a walk?”

  No. Not really.

  But he reached out and touched my elbow with his fingers, pointing me in the right direction, and I found myself walking beside him. Even in my platforms, he was about the same height, and as we passed through the barn, our bell-bottoms swishing against each other, I knew we looked good together. We always we did. Tall, athletic, wholesome—Ryan and Dawn.

  But I certainly didn’t feel wholesome. And as we walked out of the barn and into the night air, Ryan walked closer and closer beside me with a swagger that suggested brand-new sexual confidence. He certainly wasn’t wholesome either.

  “I sure do miss this place,” he said, nodding at the horizon. The sun had set, leaving purple and periwinkle clouds to settle on the rolling hills that bordered the valley. Moonglow was off in the distance, a hazy figure against the desaturated fields and far-away farmhouses. It was already stinking hot here during the day thanks to Ellensburg’s dry, desert-like climate, but the evenings were still cool and fresh, smelling like new hay and night-blooming flowers.

  “Yeah, I’d miss this place, too,” I said. “I guess Seattle is quite the change.”

  We walked for a bit, stopping along the fence with its broken boards. My dad had bee
n sober for nearly ten months now, which was great, beyond great, but it didn’t mean the repairs around the farm were getting done any faster. Usually it was up to me to take control. But at this point in my life, I was used to it.

  “Seattle’s nice,” Ryan said, leaning on the post and gazing into the distance. A breeze ruffled his hair, and I was struck by how handsome he still was. Sometimes ugly deeds don’t make someone ugly. “But it’s cold and wet and the chicks are uptight.”

  I couldn’t help but smile and leaned on the railing beside him. “Chicks aren’t much different here, you know that.”

  “You’re not uptight,” he said, bringing his eyes to mine. “You’ve changed. A lot.”

  I cleared my throat and looked down at the grass, which was becoming more grey and grainy as the light disappeared from the sky. “How so?”

  There was a pause before he said, “You’re more confident. You walk tall.”

  “I am tall.”

  “You walk taller. You’re a little bit intimidating, to be honest.”

  I snorted and gave him an incredulous look, barely able to make out his face to see if he was being insincere or not. “I’m still Dawn.”

  He licked his lips. “You’re better. Everything about you is better.”

  He took a step closer and slipped his hand around my waist. I froze, wide-eyed, not sure what the hell was happening. He brought me to him and put his lips to my ear. “I’m better, too. Want to see?”

  Ryan pressed his lips to my neck and my eyes fluttered closed at the familiar feeling. Heat was flaring up my face and chest. Christ. Maybe Mel was right; maybe I did need to get laid. This was the closest any man had been to me since I was back in California with Sage.

  “Want to feel?” Ryan went on and took my hand, placing it against his erection and pressing it in hard. Geez, I wasn’t far off by saying he had a sexual swagger to him; the old Ryan would have never done something so ballsy. Pun intended.

  Still, this was wrong. Wasn’t it?

  “Ryan,” I said, even though I hadn’t yet removed my hand. I tried to pull my head away, but his mouth was slowly devouring my neck. “We shouldn’t do this.”