Chapter 2 #3
“No.” Roy came to DJ, and placed his hands on the top of the chair.
DJ was leaning forward, toward the mirror, so Roy didn’t make contact with his bare flesh, but he pinned his gaze in the reflection.
He intended his next words to be as effective as a physical restraint.
“No means no. And when a Dom tells you no, it means really fucking no. Don’t make me tell you again. ”
Roy had put up with antics worse than this from his clients and dealt with it, no problem. But this one got under his skin, and he was too aware of it.
DJ’s hunger trembled through him, that need for a Master impossible to miss. He was barely breathing. But Roy saw understanding in the kid’s eyes.
That almost made it worse.
“Got it. Sir.” The corner of DJ’s lip curled in that sweet half smile.
Roy debated whether to leave or strangle him. It was a near thing, but he managed to do the one that wouldn’t destroy his professional reputation.
“This is bullshit,” Tal snarled. “If I want a girl to blow me, whenever and wherever the fuck I want, that’s a constitutional right.”
Pete glanced at Steve. “I may need to give the Constitution a closer read.”
“Franklin wanted to include that one, but Adams made him take out. Boston prude.”
“You’re such a history nerd.”
“Why do you think I joined a band? Between that and my pizza face, I was never getting laid.”
“Don’t forget your baby fat.”
Steve bent an arm, showing off bulging biceps. “No longer. I’m a total stud. Just ask our official fan group.”
“Ah, yes, the source of all our universal truths.” Pete nodded sagely.
Tal made a strangled sound. Since DJ was tracking the heat level of his tirade, he gauged it was time to wind up his conversation with their sound tech.
“Thanks, Lolly. Those changes will cover it.”
She gave him a sympathetic look before he rejoined his bandmates in the live room. Tal spun in his direction.
“DJ, tell your new attack bitch what’s what around here.”
He thrust a pointed finger at Roy, leaning against the wall in the sound room behind Lolly, then stomped up to DJ, bringing attitude and atrocious morning breath. It was two in the afternoon. DJ lifted a quelling hand.
“Tal, we’re not cockblocking. Just being careful.”
The first couple of days of super enhanced security Roy and his teams had imposed upon them had required some adjustments. DJ hadn’t been thrilled by how it had impacted him mentally. He’d become more wary of his surroundings and suspicious of faces he didn’t know.
He'd brought that complaint back to Moss, and Roy had sat down with him. Patiently gone over the police reports with DJ, answered every question DJ had. He hadn’t talked down to him, hadn’t told him he had no choice. He’d let him step back off the ledge himself.
“My job is to keep you safe to do your job. Tell me what you need to do and I’ll tell you if I can protect you while doing it, and then we figure it out from there.”
Steve and Pete had gone through a similar adjustment. But Tal was going to push back, because he was Tal.
“Band pussy might need extra security vetting.” Pete raised a hand, shooting a hopeful look in Roy’s direction. “I volunteer for that task.”
DJ frowned. “We don’t talk like that about fans.”
“We love our fans,” Steve said. “But Pete’s talking about the opportunistic sycophants who will blow us and sell our measurements to the Internet.”
“Give her a reason to add inches and it can work in your favor,” Pete noted.
“Bro, let Lonnie hear you talking like that and she will chop half of mine off. Shut the fuck up.”
DJ pinched the bridge of his nose to alleviate the headache brewing there. Not because of Steve and Pete’s quips. Tal was staying in his face, but he didn’t need the proximity to see his bloodshot eyes, the slight tremor in his hands. “Tal…”
“He’s saying everyone has to be cleared by him,” Tal said. “Even though I told his guard dogs that Nessa is fine.”
Roy stepped into the live room and moved to DJ’s side, giving DJ a not unwelcome sense of support. Roy met Tal’s angry gaze. “A dealer is a weak link. A criminal’s loyalty can be bought by anyone who wants access to Mr. James.”
A silence settled over the room. Steve and Pete gave one another an oh shit look. Tal’s fists clenched, and DJ tensed.
“I wouldn’t advise it.” Though steel entered Roy’s gaze, his posture remained relaxed. “I assume you care about your bandmate, and understand how serious the threat is against him. These measures protect him.”
It checked Tal’s anger, but he still had excess to spill. He spun back toward DJ, a more vulnerable target, and poked a finger into his chest. “Mr. James,” he mimicked. “You think you’re better than us, DJ. Is that it? Gotta have your own special bodyguard to make the rest of us bow and scrape?”
DJ closed his hand on his wrist with gentle firmness. “Tal. Take a breath, man. We love you. Nobody is trying to hurt you here, or take something from you.”
“Yeah, stand down, man. It’s okay.”
In several strides, Pete and Steve closed in, putting hands on Tal’s shoulders, linking them together, the drummer at their center.
Roy had been evaluating the need to intervene when Lolly drew his attention with a furtive motion. Seeing the band members had Tal in hand, he returned to the control room.
“It’s okay,” she told him. “They’re like rowdy brothers. It wouldn’t be the first time Tal has left a bruise on DJ’s pretty face. He avoids his hands and throat. He’s not an idiot.”
Not acceptable, was Roy’s thought. And though the sound engineer was calm, she was unhappy about the strife.
An addict tended to escalate over time, and Roy didn’t doubt he’d entered the band’s life when Tal was about to hit a critical mass point.
He saw it in DJ’s tight mouth and sad eyes, and that of his bandmates.
DJ had about five inches on Tal, and his expression was stern, but caring. More than a brother. Almost fatherly, despite Tal being older than DJ.
Their conversation had fallen to a murmur, and then Steve gently punched Tal in the arm, an affectionate gesture. Lolly gave Roy a told you so look.
The Asian woman wore purple eye shadow, and had nose and ear piercings.
Her dark tank was loose over her jeans, molding a trim waist and swell of hip.
Her purple sneakers had silver laces. The tablet she was using showed a screen of complicated instructions.
Ray also noted silver writing along the border of the tablet’s cover.
Gods of music, please keep our connection strong. Should it break, help us fix it before everything goes horrifically wrong. Rock on.
When she noted his attention, her dark eyes twinkled. “That’s for when we’re on tour. Most everything depends on wireless band tech these days, so sound techs pray it doesn’t cut out on the mic or instruments during a show.”
Tal bolted from the circle of his bandmates, drawing Roy and Lolly’s attention back to the live room. He left, disappearing down the hallway. DJ’s expression became shuttered and unreadable.
Nessa had probably texted Tal her current location, which wouldn’t be outside or near the building. Earlier, when Jim had given him a heads up on her presence, Roy had his people cover DJ while he went to handle her.
He’d met her just outside the lobby doors.
Mid-level dealer was his assessment, on the rise in her distasteful profession.
Sexy but tasteful clothes, and her healthy hair, nails and teeth said she wasn’t hooked on her own junk.
Her curvy figure added to the cover she’d been using, a fan girl invited to the studio by Tal.
She’d eyed Roy as he introduced himself with cool professionalism. Her wariness would have been evident with any authority figure, but her survival instincts picked up on his desire to toss her into a six-foot deep pool of wet concrete before it hardened.
“If you want to peddle your shit to Tal Goodman, you’ll do it on premises where DJ James isn’t present.
That includes a hotel, performance venue, restaurant, night club…
you get the gist. I already have your face on camera, and I’ll know your life story before I eat dinner tonight.
So if anything attached to you causes us problems, the cops will be up your ass. Do we have an understanding?”
Her face had gone blank while he spoke. “Yes, sir,” she said. “Sorry to have caused a disruption.”
As she shouldered a Louis Vuitton purse and pivoted, he couldn’t stop himself, pointless as he knew it was. “Why not be a legitimate businesswoman? You look like you have the savvy for it.”
The derisive curl of her lip was her only answer, the typical, ‘you’re an entitled asshole who couldn’t understand my story’ look that so many of them used as a bullshit excuse for ruining other people’s lives.
She headed down the city street, the swing of her hips and her glossy hair catching the attention of every male she passed.
DJ nodded to Pete and Steve. “Let’s get started. Tal’ll be back to join us before long. He’s pretty good about that.”
“Yeah,” Steve muttered. “But getting less good about it.”
“DJ, what are we going to do? He’s spiraling, man.”
“We’ve got a bunch of shows and weeks of travel left. We hold him together, and then figure out what to do.”
It didn’t feel like the right decision, but there was no time to find a stand-in of Tal’s caliber, and ticket holders expected to see an in-person drummer.
“We’ll keep a closer eye on him,” Pete said, though the words lacked conviction. Tal was a grown man. No way to take his candy away from him, or keep him from it.
One problem at a time.
“Lolly, go ahead and fill in the drums.”
She gave DJ a thumbs up as Moss stepped in to join her. His grim expression suggested he’d seen Tal taking off.
DJ’s gaze moved to Roy, once again holding up the back wall of the control room. The man stood impossibly still for long periods of time, with the exception of his gray eyes, which were always moving, taking in everything. It was fascinating, and a little distracting.
But right now, DJ needed to address something with his personal security detail that didn’t involve his hotness. Since it would take Lolly time to get set up, he’d do it now.
It wasn’t about Roy stepping in. He’d handled Tal’s challenge to the security decision well. Firm, assertive, not aggressive. Kind of provocative to watch, which eased the stomach acid Tal had stirred up.
He gave Moss a nod as he joined them in the control room. “We need to talk about the Mr. James thing,” DJ told Roy. “Tal has a point. It’s not working for us.”
“I can call the others by their surnames,” Roy said.
“Mr. Lewandowski?” Steve and Pete had followed DJ to the threshold, and Steve spoke. “Jesus, I’d be shot dead before you get that out.”
“During a show, a thousand people might be screaming your name,” Roy told DJ. “I need something that will catch your attention.”
“We call him Dickhead fairly often,” Pete said. “But since he ignores us, that won’t work.”
“Dorian,” Roy said.
“No,” Steve and Pete said immediately.
“First foster home,” Pete told Roy, with a glance at DJ. “Not a good memory.”
“Yeah.” DJ cut it off there. He and his bandmates indulged in dark humor about their early years, but he wasn’t going there right now. If Roy had dug into his life, he could put it together. And the only foster home that mattered was the one that he, Steve and Pete had shared with Marjorie Timmons.
“Okay,” Roy said. “How about Dory?”
"Like hunky-dory, or the forgetful fish? I like the hunky part.” As he struck a manly pose, and Steve and Pete hooted, he pointed out, “Skinny but tough is the new sexy. Thomas Brodie Sangster in Queen's Gambit. Or Andrew Garfield’s Spiderman."
“I prefer him in Hacksaw Ridge,” Roy noted. His comment was backed by faint amusement and serious patience.
No one had ever called him Dory. DJ kind of liked the idea of Roy having an exclusive name for him.
“Dory it is.” He gave Roy the doe-eyed expression one uncensored influencer had called his please fuck me now look. DJ thought the please part gave it an intriguing twist.
The gray eyes became steel. Getting a little lost in the stern look, DJ realized he’d set a trap and then stepped into it himself. Dial it back, man. Don’t screw with the guy in charge of your life.
Yeah, like he’d be smart enough to heed his own advice.
DJ was correct. On his deep dive into DJ’s background, Roy had reviewed the repulsive, too-familiar story.
His foster home from age eight to ten hadn’t been a good one.
He’d been removed from it only after he broke a chair over his foster father’s arm to make him drop the bat he’d been about to use on DJ.
It hadn’t been the first time, but it was the last. The bruises had healed, and eventually he’d ended up in the home where he’d met Pete and Steve.
They started a garage band when they were in high school.
In the police reports, the piece-of-shit foster father had said “Dorian” was violent, uncontrollable, and needed to be in a juvenile detention center. Fortunately, a judge had disagreed, and the man and his wife were no longer approved for foster placement.
Steve and Pete were talking to Moss, so DJ moved to join Roy at the wall. “What’s Roy short for?”
“Royal. Royal Montague Bloodwell.”
He usually inserted the middle name when asked, so it wasn’t so obvious, but he should have known the man who wrote songs for a living would catch it.
“Your name is Royal Bloodwell.” DJ smirked.
“My mother said it was an ambitious name,” Roy said with dignity. “One that would inspire me to live up to it.”
“Is she a good mom?”
“If there’s a Book of Best Moms in a heavenly library, her name’s at the top.”
The teasing note dropped out of DJ’s voice. “Marjorie would be right there with her. How about your dad?”
Roy had learned to push past the slight hesitation so it wasn’t noticeable. Again, he wasn’t sure he’d managed it with DJ. “He was a very good father. Workaholic. Lost him to a heart attack a few years back.”
“Thanks. It’s nice to know some personal stuff.” Then, letting the serious stuff go, DJ gave him a wide-eyed innocent look. “So should I use ‘Sir’ as your nickname?”
Roy opened his mouth to say a variety of inadvisable things, but Lolly was gesturing to DJ and he pushed away from the wall, giving Roy a wink.
“Talk to you later.”