West Bloomfield, Michigan
Biting down on an immaculately manicured pinky nail, Gabriel dialed Raiden’s illicitly obtained private cell phone number for the fifth time that week. He pretended not to notice the deluge of sweat dripping down the creases of his palms as the phone began to ring.
Please, please pick up.
Gabriel was never one to beg, but at this particular moment, he was practically on his knees. Raiden had managed to elude his grasp, a fact that he still refused to accept.
“I’m not here.”
Startled by Raiden’s brusque voicemail recording, Gabriel chomped down on the tip of his pinky nail harder than intended. He choked on his words for a moment before plunging headfirst into his well-rehearsed greeting.
“Raiden, this is Gabriel again. It’s wonderful you’re keeping busy, but I’m beginning to feel a bit neglected. It is of the utmost importance that our paths cross again. When can we meet? I’m completely at your disposal. Please don’t hesitate to call at whatever hour is most convenient for you. Any time, night or day, I anticipate your response. Talk with you soon.”
Gabriel snapped his cell phone shut. He was not used to being ignored. Countless drooling admirers from scores of different countries paid unspeakable sums just to catch sight of him. The press tripped over itself in order to coax a smile out of him. Even fellow actors and creative types could not resist him. And yet, there was one who could.
Just my luck that it happens to be Raiden.
Gabriel buried his face in his sweaty palms, for once forgetting to care about ruining his perfectly pristine makeup.
* * *
Novi, Michigan
It was him again—Raiden knew who was calling without having to look. He reached for his cell to silence it before the voicemail alert could occur.
“Who was that?” Taro sounded suspicious.
He and Raiden grabbed the phone at the same moment.
“No one.”
“Who was it?” Taro kept his hand glued to the device.
“Nobody,” Raiden growled. He attempted to yank the phone out of Taro’s clutches without accidentally breaking any bones. Sometimes, superhuman strength is a curse.
“That wasn’t Gabriel Colin calling again, was it?” Taro ruffled Raiden’s hair.
“No!”
He batted Taro’s hand away from his head, temporarily giving his best friend the advantage. Taro seized his opportunity and slipped the phone from Raiden’s weakened grasp. Chuckling in triumph, Taro brandished his prize.
“So, if I look at your caller ID, it won’t have Colin’s name on it?”
“Of course not,” Raiden huffed.
Taro seemed amused. “Okay. So, if I look at your call history, Colin’s number won’t be on it?” He pursed his lips a little too cutely.
“Not if I can help it.” Raiden barely refrained from unsheathing his fangs. Quickly, he made a swipe at the phone.
Being taller, Taro had the advantage. He held the cell high above his head. Examining the screen, he frowned. “Hm. Looks like Colin’s number to me.”
“And how would you know what Colin’s number looks like?” Raiden administered a sharp kick to Taro’s shins in an attempt to knock him off-balance. (It did not work.)
“I recognize it from the other time you didn’t want to answer your phone today. That was only a couple of hours ago. You said it was him, remember? And then—”
“Fine. You caught me. Happy now?” He hated to admit defeat, but had no choice in the matter. “I don’t even know how he got my personal number. I gave him my business card, but that only has the office number on it. Fucking stalker,” he grumbled.
Taro beamed down at him. “You should just call him back.”
Raiden stared up at him in horror before barking out a few humorless chuckles. “You’re hilarious.”
“No, I mean it. Call him back, let him wine and dine you, and then tell him no to whatever he’s selling. Unless, of course, it’s good for the band.”
Taro’s eyes sparkled at this last thought. Raiden bit the insides of his cheeks, silently wishing that human organs could regenerate. He would have dearly loved to shove Taro’s greedy eyeballs into the back of his skull until they popped.
“You’ve lost your fucking mind, Taro.”
“On the contrary, my friend. You’re the one who’s playing with fire here.” Taro tapped the phone against his hand in an annoyingly syncopated rhythm.
Raiden folded his arms across his chest. “What are you talking about?”
Taro continued playing with the phone, rapping it against his palm as he expounded upon his theory.
“Making Gabriel Colin mad is a very unwise decision. I mean, you’ve seen firsthand how determined this guy is. Plus, he’s one of the hottest celebrities right now. Imagine what a bad word from Gabriel Colin could do to your career. You don’t really want him spreading some nasty rumors about how much of a bastard you are, do you?”
Raiden snorted. “I couldn’t care less what that prissy fake thinks of me. I don’t give a fuck what he says.”
“That’s all very well, but you’re forgetting that Scent has a specific image to maintain. We can’t afford any more bad press, especially after—”
“Don’t start this shit again,” Raiden warned him. “I went to that damned party for you. I endured Gabriel’s company. I think that’s more than enough.”
His eyes flickered shut as a memory slammed into him.
He was so close, he was touching me, and I could almost taste him, I could almost feel—
His teeth ached.
“Raiden, listen. I know what’s best for the band when it comes to managing our press. Call him back. Just go to dinner with him and be done with it.”
He groaned at the sight of Taro’s no-nonsense expression.
“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to sit across from him for God-knows-how-many-hours and endure that awful cologne.”
That awfully delicious cologne. Fused with the scent of blood, tempting, taunting with each flick of the wrist, every rustle of fabric—
“Hey, I’m serious. Call him.”
Raiden balked. “You don’t honestly think—”
“Suck it up, pretty boy. You gotta take one for the team every now and again.”
Glaring, Raiden grabbed Taro’s shoulders. “If I do this, you have to take my place at the next three parties I’m supposed to attend.”
“Three?” Taro’s eyes wriggled in their sockets.
“Yes, three! You don’t understand, Taro. This guy is nuts. I’m risking my sanity here.”
“Still, I think three is a bit much.” Taro affixed a look of gritty determination.
“Three,” Raiden hissed. He tightened his grip.
“Bakayarou!” Taro yelped. “You’re hurting me, asshole.”
“Two, then! Take it or leave it.”
Raiden regretted the fresh welts he smelled on Taro’s skin. Releasing his hold, he turned away, disconcerted. I’m getting out of control again.
Taro jumped in front of him. “Sucker! I would’ve agreed to four.”
He flashed his contagious grin, and managed to interrupt Raiden’s brooding. Gently smacking his best friend’s cheek, Raiden threw an arm over Taro’s shoulders and took back his cell.
Just shoot me now.
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