Chapter 1
JOLEY Drake stared in a kind of sick dread at the mob of people crowding the gates and fence. She had forgotten what after parties were like, or maybe she'd just blocked them out. Women pushed against the car windows, lifting their tops and mashing their bare breasts against the tinted panes. Some waved thong underwear in various colors. They shoved at the car, pulling on door handles and screaming. She doubted any of those women knew who was in the vehicle, but they were clearly willing to sell themselves to get an invite inside.
"My God, Steve," Joley muttered to her driver, "sex, drugs and rock and roll are such a cliche, but it's so true." Even to herself she sounded jaded.
Steve Brinkley's gaze met hers in the rearview mirror. "You stopped coming to these things years ago; what made you change your mind tonight? I was shocked when I got your call."
That was a question she didn't want to answer, not even to herself--especially to herself. She pushed her forehead into her palm. "I haven't been to one of these in so long, I let everything but the music just fade away. I didn't want to think about what goes on, but now that I'm here, I might just throw up." She meant to sound light, joking, but the pounding on the hood and the hands trying to yank open doors were impossible to ignore.
She felt like an animal trapped in a cage. It was surprising how often she felt that way. And if the mob knew who was inside, they would have begun dismantling the car to get at her.
She hadn't wanted to remember this part of her life. Those first heady months as a megastar, when everything she wanted, or needed, or even thought of was handed to her and the band--that had been so long ago, a dream come true that had quickly turned to a nightmare she tried to forget.
She had been born with a legacy of gifts, but even she had been overtaken by the magnitude of what was offered to her in that first flush of success, being treated like a star, godlike, given anything, wanted everywhere. Like so many stars before her, she'd fallen into the trap of selfish egotism, believing she deserved to be treated differently.
Being a Drake with special gifts prevented her from using anything poisonous to her body, but her band hadn't been so lucky. She'd seen the results, and more than once had walked into a hotel room to find naked bodies writhing everywhere and drugs and alcohol flowing freely. Her boys, as she called them, were more than just friends--almost family--and the excesses of alcohol, drugs and women crawling over one another for a chance to be with a member of a band, to do anything for him, had nearly destroyed their minds and their lives.
Most of the band members lost families to that lifestyle. It hadn't taken Joley long to become disgusted with the way they were all living. She'd walked out, turning her back on music--on the band--on fame. They knew it was her voice that had taken them to the top and without her the band would topple quickly. In the end, her manager and the band members had convinced her they would set rules and abide by them.
Joley knew she couldn't dictate to the band, but she could establish guidelines she could live with. She didn't ever pretend not to have a wild streak, but that didn't include illegal substances or sexual orgies. And it certainly didn't include underage boys or girls performing sexual favors and getting totally wasted with her band. The terms had been agreed to, and Joley rarely went to parties other than with the band immediately afterward. And she never went where someone might be providing all the things she'd most objected to--until now--until tonight.
"Why do you suppose these women feel the need to service bands? What do they really get out of it, Steve?" she asked her driver. "Because I don't understand. They line up to give the band and even the roadies blowjobs. Actually stand in line in the halls, hoping to get the chance. They don't really care if anyone knows their name."
"I don't know, Joley. I don't really understand half of what people do or why they do it."
The guards pushed the crowds back to make room so the car could approach the high, wrought iron gates. All of the guards were carrying guns--and not just polite police-issue handguns beneath smooth jackets either. Those were semiautomatic weapons cradled in their beefy arms, right out in the open like in some gangster film. Joley's stomach lurched as she observed the guards through the tinted glass. These weren't rented security--these men were the real deal--professionals every last one of them. They didn't wear boredom on their faces; they wore masks, and their eyes were flat and cold. She knew if she were to reach out and touch one of them, even lightly, she'd feel the chill of death.
Her cell phone went off, interrupting her train of thought. Flipping it open with a little grimace, she answered. "Gloria, I told you I'd take care of it. I'm getting Logan now. You dragged me out of bed and I said I'd do it, so give me some time and I'll have him there." She knew she sounded bitchy, but really. Gloria Brady, the mother of Lucy Brady, psycho-stalker from hell, every band's worst nightmare come true, was once again demanding to speak with her sax player, Logan Voight. He'd had a brief encounter with Gloria's daughter, making the mistake of seeing her more than once, and now Lucy and her demented ways would haunt him forever.
Joley snapped the phone closed and shoved it into her pocket. She'd been pacing her hotel room when the first frantic call from Gloria came in. Joley had latched on to the excuse, dragging her driver out in the middle of the night, lying to herself that she was coming to the party to deliver the message to Logan and see to it personally that he took care of the problem. Now that she was here, she realized how utterly stupid she'd been. Others might look at the guards and think they were cool; she looked at them and wondered how many people they'd killed.
A guard tapped her window, making her jump, motioning for her to let him see her. Her driver objected, but she rolled down the window and peered at the guard so he could visually identify her. She saw the instant flash of recognition. Joley Drake, legendary singer known simply as Joley. For one brief moment she thought he might ask for her autograph, but he recovered and waved her through the gates.
Sergei Nikitin had been inviting her to his parties for months, but she always made excuses not to go. Sergei was a wealthy man who ran in the in circles. He knew politicians and celebrities of every kind. He maintained the public image of a char
ming businessman who liked the good life and surrounded himself with household names--movie stars, race car drivers, sports figures, models, public figures and of course the most famous bands.
Very few people knew he was reputed to be a Russian mobster with a violent, bloody past and a penchant for making his enemies disappear. Most of those who had heard the rumors thought they only added to his mystique. It seemed inconceivable that the suave, charming businessman might actually order vicious, sadistic deaths to further his already abundant wealth--to everybody but those in law enforcement--and Joley--thanks to her brother-in-law, who was a sheriff.
"Just stop here," she instructed and waited until Steve had pulled to the side of the drive, still a distance from the house, before opening the door. She remained in the seat, hesitating.
The party was in full swing. Music blasted from the house, filling the air around it. Joley could almost feel the building expanding and contracting with every boom of the bass. Even the windows vibrated. She sat in the car with the door open and studied the house. Nikitin would know she'd come. His security people would have radioed the house immediately so Nikitin could be ready to greet her. It would be a victory of sorts for him. Finally. Joley Drake. He'd been pursuing her for months. Another celebrity he could be photographed with.
"Are you getting out, Joley?" Steve asked.
She met the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror and made a face. "I don't know. Maybe. Do you mind just waiting, Steve? I feel bad for dragging you out tonight."