“Why?”
“’Cause she screwed me.”
“Literally?”
“No, figuratively. She kicked me out of the game to have a better chance at winning.”
“No?” Jake questioned, in surprise.
“Yes.”
“Damn. That’s cutthroat.”
“Yep. And now I hate her, so that’s that.”
He eyed me skeptically. “If you say so.”
“I do. And I want to get drunk tonight. You in?”
Jake contemplated his decision for longer than seemed necessary. “I’m in.”
* * *
Before the concert, I passed a few bills off to Beau, the stagehand roadie whom no one wanted to pick them up at the airport, and told him to make a party happen.
“No problem, dude. Are we talking kickback or rager?”
“Whatever that wad of cash buys me,” I said, slapping his shoulder. “Don’t let me down.”
“Have I ever?”
He wasn’t the smartest of dudes, but when it came to parties, Beau Beckley was like an idiot savant. No one could outdo a Beau-sponsored soirée. Hand the guy a few hundred bucks and within an hour he’d have a keg and a couple of strippers delivered to the door. He was just that good.
Later that night, I stood on the side of the stage and watched with amazement as my brother played for the sold-out crowd. There was something different about him that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. It was almost like he had a renewed purpose in life. We hadn’t yet had a chance to talk about Casey, but she’d clearly had a profound effect on him. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who’d changed in the past two months. I had an overwhelming feeling that life as I’d known it would never be the same.
After the concert, the band and crew made their way into the underground parking garage. Some local women who’d been invited backstage earlier in the evening were also now at the party. Liquor was freely flowing, and the women were hot. For the first time since the Kenzie takedown, I was feeling no pain. Jake hung with the crowd for a while, but I could tell he wasn’t feeling it, and he excused himself soon after, and Vadim and Dom escorted him back. I guess I should have followed, as I normally did, but tonight I wanted to let loose and relax.
After Jake’s departure, a beautiful, raven-haired woman named Dunya made her way over to me. My eyes examined her enthusiastically. She’d be the perfect antidote for a backstabbing square dancer. Of course, Dunya was more interested in asking when Jake was coming back than getting to know me. I expertly deflected her questions, but damn if that woman refused to give up. My usual techniques for redirecting the conversation just weren’t working. She wasn’t falling for any of my bullshit. Maybe I was rusty. Although it also could have been the fact that, in my inebriated state, I kept mispronouncing her name, which caused her mood to sour.
“Dunby?”
“No. Dunya.
“Dunyah?”
“No, Dunya. Ya…can you say ‘ya’?” she tried, irritation thick in her accent.
“Yeh. Ya. Yo. Yum,” I cackled, really feeling the effects of the alcohol. She swore something in her native tongue.
“Do you like me, Dunby?”
“Dunya. And I like that you’re Jake’s brother.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, I might like you better if you weren’t making fun of my name.”
“I’m not making fun of your name. I just can’t pronounce it.”
