"Wasn't Abbey going to call me?" Joley asked, somewhat hurt that her sister hadn't given her the news of her impending marriage.
"Don't be silly," Hannah said. "You were in Europe and they just decided. They're waiting on the actual date to speak to you. You're going to stand up for her, remember? And Kate and Sarah and Libby will be married at Christmas."
"Finally. I thought they'd never actually do it, just talk about it."
"If you get married, Joley," Hannah asked, "how would you want your wedding?"
"Since it's never going to happen, I don't think about it. I'm going to be the favorite aunt," Joley pronounced. "The fun one who always lets the kids get in trouble."
"You'll find someone, Joley," Hannah reassured her. "You just have to be more open and let it happen. You've always been so fiercely independent."
"It's more than that and you know it. I despise men weaker than me and hate men stronger than me. That pretty much leaves me with nowhere to go."
"I thought I wouldn't be able to live with Jonas, Joley, but when you love each other you find a way to compromise. Jonas does get bossy with me, but I've found that I have as much power in the relationship as he does."
"I know you're perfect for each other," Joley said. "I think I always knew it, but Jonas is different. He's a good man and he loves you more than anything else in the world because you're you. Hannah, you deserve to be loved that way."
"And you don't?"
Joley was silent.
"Joley." Hannah's voice was soft with love. "You're a great person. You sacrifice for everyone. Don't do that to yourself, don't sell yourself short."
"I don't." But Joley knew things about herself Hannah didn't know. Dark things she craved, maybe even needed, in a relationship. She loathed that part of herself, driven by sex and danger, suppressed most of the time, but so strong the need fought her continually. She wanted to be loved, but what decent man could ever love someone like her? Sometimes, like now, when she felt driven to the brink of madness, she wished she wasn't a Drake and she could drown herself in alcohol and drugs and not feel the pain.
"Tell everyone I love them, Hannah," Joley said. "I'll be home soon."
"I really will fly out," Hannah offered.
"No you won't. You'll stay right there and do whatever Libby tells you to do," Joley said. "And Jonas. Tell him I said bossing you around right now is a good thing."
Hannah laughed. "I'm so never telling him that!"
"Get some sleep. I'm much calmer now," Joley lied, forcing cheerfulness into her voice. "And wish me luck in Chicago."
"You don't need luck, Joley. Your talent sells tickets. Have fun, and call me if you need me. You know I'll come. Love you lots."
"Back at ya." Joley hit the end button and tossed her cell phone onto the bed before sinking down on it.
Hannah would come to her, but Joley would never ask her now, not when she was pregnant, especially after the vicious attack. Hannah was special, and Joley always turned to her when she felt in crisis. Hannah dealt with everything in her own sweet way, wanting to make the world better for her sisters. She had been a success as a supermodel, but Joley knew she'd be even more of a success as a mother.
Joley was closest to Hannah, loved her dearly, and it had been Ilya Prakenskii who had saved Hannah's life. He had stopped her attacker and kept her alive until the Drakes had gathered together to help heal her, and for that alone, Joley would always feel a connection with the man.
"You have Jonas," Joley murmured. Jonas was tough as nails when he had to be, and he loved Hannah. Everyone had known it but Hannah.
Joley ran her hands through her hair several times, before she flung herself backward to lie staring up at the ceiling. She'd killed an hour talking with Hannah, but she had a long way to go before the night was over. The hotel had an exercise room. She could go there. Alone… again. If only the tabloids really knew what her life was like.
Joley. Party girl. Lovers all over the world. Not. It was more like Joley up all night writing songs and going to the exercise room to keep from going into sexual meltdown.
"Damn you, Prakenskii. You're punishing me now, deliberately not speaking to me. Well, you know something, I don't need you. And I don't want you." She leapt up and grabbed her hotel key. Sexual frustration was really good for writing songs. Her best songs had come from detesting, no, loathing Ilya Prakenskii and wanting him with every breath in her body.
The workout room was deserted, and she grabbed a bottle of water and programmed the treadmill for a run up and down hills. In her head she could hear musical notes with each step she took. Fury at Prakenskii was the pounding beat of the drum. The saxophone was purely erotic, the guitar riff—the blood sizzling in her veins. The keyboard was the breath moving in and out of her body steadily, necessarily. She could hear the bass in each slap of her foot on the surface, deep notes that set her heart pumping.
There was euphoria in music, the only place she could escape who she was, what she was. She had six sisters and she admired every single one of them. She was fiercely protective of them, although she was second to the youngest and all of them had incredible gifts. They all knew she had a weakness for dangerous men, but they had no idea just how terrible her craving for Ilya Prakenskii really was. And he was the epitome of everything she stood against.
She believed in the order of the universe. She believed in good and evil, in the balance of nature. She believed in the right to defend oneself, of course, but she deeply and sincerely believed it was wrong to harm another. It was rumored that Ilya was a hit man, and she could never, under any circumstances, have a relationship with a man who was evil. The problem was, he didn't feel evil. He felt hot and sexy, with that terrible edge of danger she seemed to crave.
She had been in his mind many times. He could communicate with her telepathically, and that meant he had to open his mind to hers. She had caught glimpses of violence, terrible things that made her afraid, but she'd never seen a memory of him murdering in cold blood—and if he was as evil as a hit man would be—than why couldn't she feel it when she could tell so easily with others?
"Joley?"
She nearly jumped out of her skin, whipping her head around and gaping at her lead guitarist, Brian. "You scared me. What are you doing here this time of the morning?" She kept running, turning her head away from him, afraid the guilt would betray her.
"You seemed so upset when you left, Joley. You barely said a word. I saw the Reverend there and I know he and his entourage are confrontational with you, so I was worried."
"I'm fine." She glanced at him. "You should get some sleep. We have a show tomorrow in Chicago."
"Stop that thing and talk to me. This is Brian, not some schmo off the street. We've been friends for years." He held out the water bottle as an offering.
Joley let out her breath and allowed the treadmill to slow to a stop. She took the towel from Brian and wrapped it around her neck before taking the water bottle. "I thought you were allergic to exercise. What are you doing here?"
"You're always here when you're upset."
"I' in here to work out. And I sometimes come up with my best songs late at night."
"Tell me what happened. What were you doing at Nikitin's party?"
She shrugged and swallowed a long gulp of water. "I couldn't sleep and thought I'd check it out. Once I got there, I remembered why I hated those things." She dried off her face. "Did you manage to run down that little weasel Dean whatever his last name is and his friend? The ones hanging with the girls who couldn't have been older than fourteen."
Brian shook his head. "I never found them. Denny helped me look for them, but we couldn't find them anywhere. We checked the pool, the gardens, the garages, everywhere, but they must have made the girls leave."
"If he shows up in Chicago, Brian, I'm having Jerry fire him." Jerry St. Ives was her manager, and she was just as angry with him as she was with Dean. He had promised to oversee the parties and make certain that
no young kids were taken advantage of.
"Joley, you know very well anyone could have invited those girls. For all we know Nikitin did. At least talk to Dean before you give him the axe. He could have been escorting them off the property."
"He ran when I called him."
"Honey, come on. Joley Drake angry is a scary thing. I'll talk to him if you don't want to do it, but at least let's give him the benefit of the doubt. This is America. Innocent until proven guilty."
She rolled her eyes. "And what's with Denny and the blonde?"
"He was afraid you saw that."
"You think? She was blowing him right on the grounds in front of anyone and everyone."
"He was pretty screwed up."
"Is that supposed to be an excuse?" She shoved her hand through her hair in agitation. "I like his girlfriend. Lisa's a really good person and she deserves better than him." She knew she sounded disgusted and judgmental, but it was the truth. "I'm not going to be able to look at him."
Brian shook his head. "Joley, not everyone is perfect."
She burst out laughing. "Is that what you think I am, Brian?"
"We all do."
"I was there for the same reason as Denny. I just didn't go through with it." She pushed past him and threw the towel in the empty basket. Housekeeping had come and gone long ago.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Brian demanded.
"I was lonely. I went to the party with the idea of bringing someone home. I'm not perfect, but I'm also not committed to anyone. Denny is. He should be a man and tell Lisa he needs other women. That's only fair."
Brian rubbed the bridge of his nose, narrowing his eyes and frowning in disapproval. "I don't believe you."
She didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Well, it's true. The saint is really a sinner. Sheesh, Brian, you've known me for years."
"You don't sleep around."
"How do you know what I do or don't do while you're at the parties having a great time?"
"I don't believe any of this. You're just upset."
"You don't believe I can get lonely, Brian?"
"Hell, Joley, if you're lonely, I'm lonely, too. Maybe we should just make all the rumors true and hit the sack together." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
She studied him over the bottle of water. For one, horrible moment, she even considered the idea. They were both alone. They liked each other, were best friends, maybe if they got to together… Prakenskii had turned her down and her pride was wounded. She'd always been able to wrap Brian around her little finger. And he was nice. A very nice guy, but she wasn't the least attracted to him, nor was he attracted to her. She sighed. "I like you too much," she said.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means I'm not going to sleep with you and ruin a perfectly good relationship. I like you, Brian. I don't like the men I want to sleep with."
"Okay, now I'm confused, but that isn't unusual around you, Joley." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Most of the time we're all confused."
"Me, too." She grinned at him. "At least we can agree on that."
He smiled back at her. "We've got to catch a plane first thing in the morning and catch up with our bus. Are you going to sleep tonight?"
"You go ahead. I was in the middle of composing."
"You were in the middle of trying to run yourself into the ground. Did seeing Denny really upset you that much, Joley?"
"That and a lot of other things. I'm tired of this life, Brian. I want a home and a family."
"You love performing."
She shrugged. "Maybe I do. I love music. I lose myself in it. But in the end, no matter how good things are, I don't have anyone to share my life with me. Maybe that's why I get so upset with Denny. He's had wonderful people to share happiness with, women who love him for who he is, not what he does, and he throws it away for a few minutes of pleasure. How many chances should he have before none of it's real anymore? Until every woman who goes near him wants him just because he's in a band and not because she loves him? And then we stop playing and he grows old and he's all alone. I guess he can look back and say he counted a few thousand blow jobs and that will comfort him in his old age."
"You're just down tonight."
She drank more water and nodded, agreeing with him because it was what he wanted. "Yep, that's what it is."
He studied her face. "You really aren't thinking about quitting, are you? We're on top. Every song we release is a number one hit. No one does that. No one. Every concert is sold out. Our albums are double, triple platinum. Come on, Joley, tell me you're just having a bad night and you're not serious."
"Does it matter what I say?" She pushed past him toward the door.
He caught her shoulder and stopped her. "Of course it matters. You always matter. I hate that you're unhappy. I'll talk to Denny."
"He can't change who he is. But I'm not lying to Lisa for him. I'd never want you to lie to me if my boyfriend was screwing around on me, and I won't do it for or to any of you."
"That's fair enough," Brian said. "It was one party, Joley, one that got a little out of hand. Nikitin's parties are notorious for excess, but we don't usually stay long. We make an appearance, have a few drinks and leave."
"He supplies women." She made it a statement.
"He has women on the guest list; most hosts of parties do."
"You know what I'm saying. I know what he is, what his reputation is. He's seducing the band, don't you see that? Supply drugs and alcohol and women. Take a few blackmail pictures and hook the boys on the high and he's got you all under his thumb. That's how he operates."
"Nikitin throws some killer parties, Joley, which is why everyone goes when he invites us, but he's not offering anything we can't get anywhere else. Hell, Jerry can get us any drug we want, any woman we want. That's not why we like hanging out with Nikitin."
"You like him? Nikitin?"
He shrugged. "If he isn't already a billionaire, he's close, and yet he's cool, and I hardly think he needs to supply our band with anything to get us under his thumb. What would be the point? I don't know him very well, but yes, I like him. He's personable and intellectual. You know me. I don't hit the party scene hard, but I do like conversation and he's an interesting man. We've been talking quite a bit. He doesn't do drugs that I've seen, so we hang out, have a drink or two and talk world affairs. He's very knowledgeable in a lot of areas I'm interested in."
"Such as?" She wasn't touching him, but his aura had changed slightly, enough for her to know he was uncomfortable with the conversation.
"Well, the market for one, what are good stocks. What makes a good investment. He really knows his stuff. He has advisors, but he does a lot of his own research and makes solid choices."
She could hear the admiration in Brian's voice and it alarmed her. "What about his men?"
"His men?" Brian echoed, his frown deepening. Now his aura changed sharply, throwing out a mixture of colors—annoyance—disturbed—even anger. "What men?"
Her eyebrow shot up. "The ones with guns everywhere. Did you notice them? Those guns are real, my friend."
"Well the threats to him are real as well. You ought to know about that. You need bodyguards. Which reminds me, where were your bodyguards when you came to the party? Why was Steve just sitting in the car like an idiot? With the Reverend there, anything could have happened. Jerry warned you that the threats against you have been escalating. And you have that nutcase fan fixating on you and trying to tell you he loves you. His letters are very disturbing. Twice he's managed to get nearly onstage."
She sighed. "I might have a bodyguard or two, but I sure don't have men with automatic weapons guarding my gate. What's up with that?"
He shrugged. "It's probably a necessity."
"Why, Brian?" She persisted, wanting to shake him.
"Wouldn't a bodyguard or two be enough, or some rented security? Have you taken a look at those men? And what about Prakenskii?"
Brian's head
went up sharply. "I saw you with him. Did he make a move on you? Scare you? Because I can talk to Nikitin about him."
She gave a short laugh. "You really have no clue what's going on there, do you? Nikitin would never fire Prakenskii. He's afraid of him, just like anyone else with a brain. And those guards you think he needs, they're all trained soldiers."
Brian gave a growl of total frustration. "You have no idea what his life was like in Russia. He had a lot of enemies. That's why he has a man like Prakenskii working for him."
"A man like Prakenskii?" she echoed. "What has he said about his bodyguard?"
"Just that he's very dangerous and not to cross him. He advised me to stay out of his way." Brian lowered his voice as if the walls had ears. "I think he's killed a lot of people."
"Is that what Nikitin told you?"
Brian shook his head. "He implied it. And the other bodyguards defer to Prakenskii over everything. I've never actually heard the man talk. He looks at people and they just jump into action without him saying a word. Frankly, he scares me and I wish Nikitin would get rid of him. I know he doesn't altogether trust him."
Joley went on alert, radar suddenly going on with a loud warning shriek. She was instantly protective, everything in her rising up to defend Ilya—which was silly—and stupid—but she couldn't stop herself. "What does that mean? Why would you have a bodyguard you don't trust working for you? He's the man who takes the bullet for you."
Brian narrowed his eyes, suspicion creeping into his expression at her sudden change of attitude. "I don't know, but a couple of times I've seen one of Nikitin's other guards, a man by the name of Pavel Demidov, come in and whisper to Nikitin. They both always look around to see where Prakenskii is. If Prakenskii is watching or is close by, Nikitin waves Demidov off. Within a couple of minutes he makes excuses to me and tells Prakenskii to watch things while he disappears for a while. Nikitin almost always goes to a phone and has a heated conversation in Russian. He definitely doesn't want Prakenskii to hear or see him. There's no question he trusts Demidov and not Prakenskii. What's Prakenskii to you?"
"I'm just curious." Joley widened her eyes in innocence. "What does Nikitin say?" Nikitin felt evil, unlike Prakenskii, who felt—well—sexy. She nearly groaned aloud. She was so far gone she wasn't even hiding it from Brian.