Page 25 of Savage Salvation

Gage

“You’re driving it just to piss him off, right?” Memphis laughs from the passenger seat of the Lambo Ryan is itching to get his grubby fingers on.

Maybe part of my decision to drive it was to goad him, but my truck definitely wasn’t an option after Kinsley got ahold of it with her favorite whacking stick. “You saw the truck. Didn’t have much choice.”

“You had a choice between a dozen other vehicles, three of which have heftier price tags than this one. But I’m glad you did it. That dickweed is on my last nerve. I don’t know how you’ve dealt with him as long as you have.” Memphis pauses, his head slowly turning to me. “None of this is because of him. It’s her.”

Fuck. It doesn’t change anything whether someone I consider my friend knows why I put up with the pansy-ass. But I don’t like being that decipherable to anybody. Because if Ryan gets a hint of what I’ve been up to all these years, she’ll become more of his target than she’s ever been. He’ll know she’s my weak spot. And he’ll exploit it.

“No. He needs a good knock down and losing the wager will do.” For now.

“Where are we heading?” Memphis asks, but he already knows exactly where we’re heading. “Ah. That’s right. Golden Promenade, the hotel owned by the corporation you hold a stake in.” He shakes his head, glancing out the window before turning his smirk to me. “What band is booked there tonight?” I don’t answer the rhetorical question before he adds, “But it’s just for the bet, right? The one you’ll get nothing from if you succeed.”

“I don’t need anything. It’s just for fun.”

“Nah. You fight at the Den for fun and still collect winnings.” His grin spreads as he says, “She is the prize. She has been all along. Hasn’t she? Why else would you put up with the shitbag you can’t stand the mere sight of, but has a direct connection to her?”

No point in denying. “And?”

“And I hope you capture your prized unicorn.” He holds his fist up, waiting for a fist bump that won’t happen.

“He can’t know. And you won’t tell him.”

“Of course not,” Memphis shifts and lightly taps his fist against my shoulder. “I’m in your corner. Even if it’s not looking so good from this spot right now.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not completely out of it yet.”

“Not unless her bat finds your pecker—which wouldn’t surprise me at this point. Maybe think about switching tactics or something.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Try again. Unicorns are nearly impossible to capture. At least, according to Myla. She’s still obsessed with them.”

He laughs when speaking of his little sister, and it makes me miss my brother even more. I know he’s happy, though, so that’s enough to push down the emptiness I feel with him gone.

Memphis says my name, keeping his gaze pointed out the passenger window as he speaks. “The thing Myla says she loves most about unicorns—they have great powers that heal and can even bring back the dead.”

Memphis has it correct. She is the ultimate, unattainable prize. One who moves exactly like a mystical unicorn, scattering at the first sign of a predator catching sight of her existence. I don’t want to capture and injure her; I want her to revive my soul, bring me back to life. I need her magic. “Too bad they’re not real.”

20

Kinsley

Last song. The show has been great. Golden Promenade’s gorgeous ballroom is filled to the brim with guests, all smiling and happily enjoying the music. The deep-red decor, along with the dim lights, provides a perfect backdrop for an early Valentine’s celebration. That part gives me a strong urge to puke at the glorified display of raging hormones brought on by an illusionary shot to the ass from a damn cherub’s arrow. Right now, the only place I’d like the fictitious arrows to aim is my eyes because they won’t stop searching out Gage.

He’s comfortably seated at the table in the far corner. And of course, I have a clear and complete view of him. And even though he’s in the back area, acting as if he had nothing to do with my instrument mysteriously arriving to the venue with our other equipment, I won’t let my guard down. Even when I spot him put his phone to his ear, stand, and leave the ballroom, I keep my senses on high alert.

The last song wraps up to a cheering throng. Cruz rides the high he gets from the crowd, egging them on to chant for the encore that he knew we’d play either way. It’s an original; the one he loves keeping as the finale.

And the audience loves it. Everyone dances along with the upbeat melody, and while my limbs keep up with the beat, my mind isn’t feeling it. And I hate that. And I blame the asshole in back (even in his absence) for spoiling the atmosphere that I usually enjoy at every show despite the location or turnout.

Once the lights pointed to the stage dim, I breathe a sigh of relief. We don’t have any pyrotechnics during the show, but I braced myself for a fiery display of the malfunctioning explosive who always feels the need to show his ass. And I wouldn’t put anything past him at this point.

“Dude, this place is great!” Cruz shouts as we pack up our equipment. The music-goers on the floor move with the prerecorded music playing over the speakers as they continue enjoying their night.

Once we have everything loaded up in the van, Isaac passes each of us a small booklet with a Golden Promenade keycard. I nearly sputter, “We’re staying here?”

“What?” Benji says at the same time, looking to the one in his hand. He’s just as astonished as me. I’m sure he expected the same night I did—one room, two beds, the cheapest motel nearby, and some very uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. I’d pretty much decided on sleeping on a cot if available, or in the van, or even with Benji because he’s the only one who hasn’t completely lost his sense.