Twisted(14)

Lila leaned forward to plant her hands on the table. “Keep telling yourself that.” Her blue eyes were on fire. And in Gray’s current state of mind, he half expected them to pop out of her head and hurtle like mini-missiles right at his face. “You’re expendable, every one of you. You think your talent will save you? Look around Los Angeles. See how many of you there are and then come talk to me about how your ability makes you exempt.”

“What the hell’s the point of having a contract if you’re holding it over our heads constantly? We walked away from fucking Trident’s morality clause and it sure as hell sounds like—” Nick ground the heel of his hand into his eye. “Forget it. Different dancers, same tune. Guess you didn’t save us from much, huh, Boy Scout?” He directed the last bit at Deacon.

Rather than shoot back a retort, Deacon steepled his fingers over his stomach. Placid to the last, except for the stone stare he leveled on Nick.

“You could try saving yourself,” Lila suggested, propping a hip on the table next to Nick while she consulted her ever-present iPad. “You know, just for a change of pace.”

For once, Nick didn’t say anything. He cracked the knuckles on his left hand, his jaw working as if he were fighting to remain silent.

Gray understood the feeling.

“Wow. I’m impressed. This may be an Oblivion record for no sniping. And since we’re all getting along so well, I’ve decided to spring something on you all that I’d planned to save until after the holiday. But why put off what you can do today?”

“My Magnum says we can put it off,” Simon said in a low voice.

Jazz elbowed him. “Magnum or Magnums plural?”

Simon flashed her a grin and yanked on one of her disordered braids. She grimaced more than she normally would have and guilt arrowed straight into Gray’s gut. He’d been too rough with her. Hell, he didn’t know how not to be rough after wanting her for so fucking long.

Which was exactly why he needed to steer far away. Reason one of a million.

Simon flipped her braid between his fingers. “Both, pink passion fruit.”

“Your Magnum is empty. Consider your New Year’s Eve party over, Kagan.”

“Aww, Brianna and Monica will be so disappointed.” Simon’s frown pulled down his cheeks, giving him a hangdog expression.

“I doubt it. Monica was already crawling all over one of the roadies when we passed her.” Nick shook his head. “Some staying power you have, man.”

“Hey, his fist never complains.”

Everyone glanced at Gray. Christ, had he spoken aloud? He always thought stuff like that, but he never actually opened his mouth. Not anymore.

Jazz shot him a smile, her lashes sweeping down to hide her eyes before she shifted her attention back to Lila.

Simon grinned and thumped the flat of his hand on the table in front of Gray. “I got two fists. And I use ‘em both.”

Lila cleared her throat. “As charming as this detour into your personal recreational activities is, Simon, I’d rather we get back to business. Shall we?” Without waiting for his response, Lila tapped her tablet and directed a sunny smile at the group. “Ripper Records prides itself on being a different kind of record company. We take an active interest in growing our artists for reasons other than money, but let’s face it, green always talks. Oblivion is booked for studio time beginning in late January for an as yet unnamed album. I’m sure you’ve come up with a few choices. Let’s hear them.”

Silence reigned.

“We just got off tour, for fuck’s sake,” Nick muttered.

“I didn’t realize you’d nominated yourself as the spokesperson of the band.” Lila waved her hand at the table. “But I’m all for group politics. All in agreement say ‘aye’.”

“Aye.” Simon raised his fist.

“Shut the hell up. If you were closer to sober, you wouldn’t want him to speak for shit.”

Nick lifted a brow. “Oh, and who should be our spokesperson, Saint Deacon? You? In between knitting booties and shining your wedding band?”

“Not going there with you.” Deacon directed his attention at the glittery landscape outside the window. “Miserable pricks suck as company.”

Nick kicked back in his chair. “I’m not even sure you have a prick, never mind a miserable one.”

“He must. I’ve seen his missus’s baby bump,” Simon affirmed.

Jazz poked Simon’s shoulder. “Shut up. You’re all looking like a bunch of jackasses.”

“How dare you taint Papa Smurf’s reputation, Jasmine?” Nick slid a crushed cigarette pack out of his jeans pocket. “And here I was just about to light up in his honor.”