32. State of Mind
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
STATE OF MIND
Ruby
Blake and I are well into the second set.
I wasn’t kidding when I said I could multitask while I perform. And I can tell that something is off.
Payne still isn’t here, and I have no idea what’s going on. Too much time has passed.
Then Dean got a call, pointed to the bartender who glanced at me before he gave Dean a lift of his chin, then motioned to me that he was leaving.
I’m tempted to cut the set short. Devon isn’t here tonight. He’d never know, but my conscience won’t let me do it.
I need to know where Payne is.
And the longer he’s not here, the edgier I get. He was literally leaving his house forty-five minutes ago. It’s no more than ten minutes from the manor.
The only good news of the night is that The Speakeasy has come alive during the second set.
It took a while for the crowd to gather this evening, but they’re here, loose, and on their way to living it up in the old room that sets the tone for shows like this.
Blake is oblivious to my worries and makes the keys his own.
The tips fire him up, and they’re coming in steady.
I glance at the small clock behind the bar. We can do one more song before we take a break. I want to roll my eyes at some of the requests. Not only are they repeats from last night, but they’re typical and boring. I usually don’t care, but Payne’s absence is making my patience wane.
Blake slides me the written request and is already pulling up the sheet music. I do a doubletake when I see it.
It brings back memories.
Recent memories.
Memories that I’m not at all fond of.
It has to be a fluke. New York State of Mind is one of the most popular piano bar songs ever. But I haven’t added it to our sets since we started at The Speakeasy because ... memories.
There was another bar I worked at that required I sing this song at every performance. If a song can give a person PTSD, this would be mine.
But Blake doesn’t know that. Not to mention it’s sitting on a fifty-dollar bill. There’s no way he’ll let me say no.
I stuff the fifty in the tip jar and turn to the crowd. “One more before we take a short break. We’ve got a New Yorker in the house.”
Blake kills the intro. He even extends it and shows off his years and years of piano lessons. Up and down the keyboard with power and ease with the perfect touch the way he does so well.
When he finally looks up and lifts his chin, I turn to the mic, close my eyes, and sing about holidays, the Hudson River Line, and China Town. The only thing that would make it better is if we had a sax player.
Instead, Blake extends the end far past the sheet music.
The crowd erupts. Just like last night, we’re bombarded with requests and cash. I can barely set the mic on the piano. It doesn’t help that Blake is in his element and wants to accept every gushing accolade he deserves and chit chat like always since he’s never met a stranger.
I lose sight of the bar just long enough to feel a hand wrap around my opposite hip.
I jerk and try to pull away, because there’s only one touch I crave. I’d know it blindfolded.
And this is not Payne.
I try to move, but that hand constricts and holds me tight. I gasp when I’m yanked back, and lips hit the side of my head. When they do, the words send a chill down my spine.
“You ratted me out to my fucking family, Ruby. We had a deal. I was prepared to take care of you for the rest of your life, but you fucked me over.”
I know that voice.
That voice has haunted me.
And still, I can’t believe he’s here.
In Winslet.
At the manor.
My neck constricts to confirm what my brain already knows.
Enzo Caruso is here in the flesh. And he’s got me wrapped tight against him in a way I can’t pull free.
But I can fight, and I can scream.
I do both.
It doesn’t matter how many hours I’ve been singing and entertaining, my vocal cords are strong. It’s like all my years of singing have trained me for this exact moment.
My blood-curdling screech rises above the chatter of the crowd and mood music that’s pumped through the speakers while we’re not performing.
Enzo’s hand lands on my mouth to muffle me. He’s big enough and strong enough to drag me along as he heads for the emergency exit of The Speakeasy.
One of the waitstaff notices. She drops her tray and starts to run my way, but that’s when Enzo raises a gun and points it at the ceiling. Three shots blast through the original library of the manor. People scream and hit the floor. My ears ring. Enzo points the gun toward the crowd.
Everyone gives us a wide berth, and it doesn’t matter how much I fight and struggle. The last thing I see is Blake and the bartender pushing their way to me from the other side of the room. But it’s too crowded, they’re too far, and Enzo has dragged me too close to the exit.
The cool night air hits me as he drags me through the door and slams it behind us. He shoots three more times into the night sky. A car with an open trunk is waiting in the loading dock area. I lost my heels between the stage and the emergency exit.
I can only fight so long before he tosses me into the trunk of his Mercedes. My head bounces off the floorboards, and my hip takes all my weight.
The last thing I see is Enzo and the big, wide moon glaring down at me. Enzo grips the trunk. “Fucking bitch. To think I gave you a way out. All you had to do was keep your mouth shut and marry me.”
I ignore the pain shooting through my body and try to climb out. “I didn’t tell them anything. I swear. I only wanted you to leave me alone.”
“All I needed you to do was cooperate. Crossing me will be the last thing you do. I’ll make sure of it. Say goodbye to your small town and your pathetic life.”
The trunk slams and darkness envelops me like an eerie nightmare coming back to haunt my reality.
I pound on the roof of the trunk and scream one more time as the car screeches off.
Only then do I allow my screams to morph into sobs.