Strong: A Stage Dive Novella (Stage Dive #4.5)
Kylie Scott
One Thousand and One Dark Nights
Once upon a time, in the future…
I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.
I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast library at my father’s home and collected thousands of volumes of fantastic tales.
I learned all about ancient races and bygone
times. About myths and legends and dreams of all people through the millennium. And the more I read the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually become part of them.
I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I would not be telling you this tale now.
But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off with bravery.
One afternoon, curious about the myth of the
Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar (Persian: ??????, “king”) married a new virgin, and then sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade, the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand women.
Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had never occurred before and that still to this day, I cannot explain.
Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to protect herself and stay alive.
Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.
And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.
And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that he might hear the rest of my dark tale.
As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new
one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before you now.
CHAPTER ONE
“I don’t believe this,” I bitched. “My Valentino boots are actually sticking to the floor. That’s how gross this place is.”
Lizzy just smiled. “Told you to dress casual.”
“I am.”
The smile widened.
“Jeans and a tee is casual.”
“A tee? It’s velvet, Martha.” She held a bottle of beer up to her lips, taking a sip. “I said we were going to a dive bar. You have only yourself to blame for the fashion faux pas.”
“But velvet is in!”
“Would you two quit talking? I’m trying to listen,” said my brother, Ben. The big hairy idiot was slouched back in his chair, bopping his head in time to the music.
Lizzy shuffled closer all conspiratorial-like. “I know why you’re all dressed up.”
I said nothing. There was nothing to be said.
Next her gaze went to the man standing at the end of the bar across from us. No, no, I would not turn my head. I would not fall prey to her bullshit. After all, I’d managed to successfully avoid him for the forty-eight or so hours since my not so triumphant surprise return to the West Coast. Even with us both being in the same house. A very big sprawling house, but still.
On the other hand, it should probably be mentioned that he looked awfully good tonight in jeans and a white T-shirt with a leather jacket. Samuel Rhodes, otherwise known as Sam. Not a pretty man with his harsh features and bull-like neck, but something about him appealed to me. As always, his head was shaved and his body was built and my idiot fingers itched to explore.
Okay. So I guess at some point I must have turned my head. And shit, he caught me looking.
The corner of his lips rose just a little, just enough to mess with me, before he returned to doing his job by casually surveying the packed room. My heart did not speed up due to anything done by him. Clearly, I hadn’t totally caught my breath from when we’d walked in half an hour ago or something. That was all. Interesting to note, he did none of the checking me out typical of a heterosexual male who might have been into me. In fact, he didn’t really give me any signals at all. Ever.
What did the odd almost smile mean? Not a hell of a lot. It wasn’t like he ran around all of the time anyway. Sam tended to be kind of scary as per the job description. No, Lizzy had to be wrong, the man did not have a thing for me. A small amount of chemistry and weirdness didn’t amount to a whole hell of a lot. Not if he wasn’t willing to act on it. Because God knows I wasn’t about to, not with my convoluted romantic history.
“Ooh, busted,” said Lizzy. “The bodyguard caught you looking.”
“Shut it.” I inched my chin up a bit, trying not to frown because frowning gave you lines. “Sam and I have known each other for years and nothing has ever happened. You’re completely wrong about this.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, there’s nothing between us.”
“So that’s why you were staring at him?”
I chose not to answer that. “And you know he prefers to be called executive protection officer instead of bodyguard.”
At this, Lizzy burst out giggling, a malicious glee in her eyes. No wonder I liked my sister-in-law these days.
Ben shot us both an irritated glance. We both ignored it.
Of course, I’d known Sam would probably be here. Rock stars going out in public could be a delicate thing. People had a tendency to get overexcited. And while one person wanting an autograph wasn’t a problem, twenty or thirty of them suddenly swarming definitely could be. Having once been part of the entourage, I’d seen it happen to Ben and his fellow Stage Dive band members enough times to be wary. And you couldn’t get by with ordinary security. Rock stars needed protection from their over-zealous fans, but on the other hand they didn’t want the fans roughed up or hurt in any way. It required a delicate balance: control, experience, and a whole gamut of scary physical skills. Hence Sam.
Still, Portland seemed generally less crazy than the good old days back in LA. All of the guys seemed calmer and more settled away from the constant craziness of the party scene. Not to mention the effect of all of the wives/partners and various offspring. The biggest rock band in the world had officially been domesticated.
It was kind of cute. Or sad. I don’t know.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stir you,” she lied. “What do you think of your brother’s new musical bromance?”
On the small stage set up in the corner of the room, a young man wailed his heart out while playing an acoustic guitar. Much angst about a girl who only called him after midnight. Trust a rockster to turn a simple booty call into a heartbreaking ballad. The song was damn good though. He had talent. If only I hadn’t had my fill of the type when I was younger. The kid looked to be in his early to mid-twenties. Lanky with lots of tattoos. Your typical rock ’n roll Prince Charming. Gag. These days my type ran more toward…actually, what I needed or wanted in a male was a total mystery.
And my gaze did not stray back to Sam. That did not happen.
“He’s not bad,” I said, staying on topic. “And his stage presence is good, which is where the money is nowadays. So there’s that, at least.”
“Not bad?” Ben scoffed. “He’s fucking brilliant.”
With a smile, Lizzy held up her hands, making a heart shape out of her fingers.
“I saw that,” grunted her husband.
“Adam is the new musical genius.” She held her beer up to her lips again, downing a mouthful. “He’s moving into our pool house because his cruel and vicious girlfriend kicked him out for being more into music than spending time with her. He’s been sleeping on friends’ couches ever since, poor boy.”
I shook my head mockingly. “Women.”
“We ruin everything, right? What is even wrong with us?”
“Where to begin…we could be here for a while…”
Ben bit back a smile. “Go easy. He’s young, be plenty of time for him to date and shit later.”