anything illegal he could get them on? Or done anything he could blackmail them with?"
Brian whistled. "You really don't trust the man. Seriously, hon, do you think a man like Nikitin cares what any of our band members do?"
"I think I wouldn't want to find out. He isn't all he seems, Brian. I have a lot of information because I have so much family and friends in law enforcement. He's not a nice guy."
"He told me he grew up in the Russian mob. He said a lot of his men were caught up in that life, but he's broken away, gotten legit and tried to give men like him a chance to have a decent life."
"And you believed him? Looking at the men who work for him, the guns they carry, you believed him?"
"If he did manage to break away from the mob, Joley, especially the Russian mob, with their history of retaliation and violence, I can see why he would feel he would need guns and men who knew what they were doing."
"And how many mobsters actually get out of that world, Brian?" She gave a harsh laugh. "Do you also believe in Santa Claus?"
"You really ought to take some time to get to know him before you judge him," Brian said. "I think you'd like him."
"You've forgotten one teeny tiny, but very important fact, my friend." Joley keyed her room and stood in the open doorway, turning back so he could see her expression. "I'm a Drake. We're not normal. I read people through touch, which is why I'm so careful to rarely touch any of you. I don't even have to touch Nikitin to feel the violence and evil in him. Don't be dumb, Brian, stay away from him, and keep our boys away from him, too. He'll chew you up and spit you out and not even think twice about it. And you can take that to the bank." She closed the door on his shocked expression.
----
Chapter 3
HER palm itched. Really itched. Joley rubbed her hand up and down her denim-clad thigh, clenching her teeth together, all the while trying not to reach out with her mind to find— him —Ilya Prakenskii. Looking out the open door of her dressing room backstage, she could feel the energy in the arena, swelling and rolling like waves on the sea. Ten thousand restless people, excited, waiting, anticipating her performance, yet she knew—absolutely knew—that Prakenskii was somewhere in that vast crowd.
Adrenaline raced through her system, adding to the excitement and the building waves of sheer energy the crowd produced. Heat rushed through her body at the thought of the Russian bodyguard. She couldn't get near him without sizzling chemistry arcing between them. Sometimes, like now, she swore she could still taste him in her mouth. She touched her fingers to her lips, pressing hard, trying to erase the memory of his kiss. He ran in her veins like a drug, a bad habit she couldn't kick, no matter how hard she tried.
"Joley? You up for this? It's crazy out there." Brian shot her a grin. His eyes were shining and he looked as sexy as hell, just the way the females in the crowd liked him. Tight-fitting jeans, shirt open to his flat stomach, chest showing and black hair tousled. The women would go wild when he took the stage.
She stepped into the hall and matched his grin. The rush of the crowd was exhilarating, but it was the music that always moved her. She thought in music—actually could see in music.
Sometimes she could smell and taste it. Notes and melodies floated through her mind when she was talking casually to others. She heard music in the rhythm of the world around her, and sometimes, in silence, she found the most perfect songs. But now, when the energy was so powerful, she saw musical notes dancing in front of her, in colors, like tiny fireflies flashing in the air around her.
One of seven daughters of a seventh daughter and endowed with special gifts which could be both blessing and curse, when she opened her mind, she could feel the hopes and dreams and disappointments in the lives of her audience. She rarely sought out and touched a single mind, rarely invaded
Brian whistled. "You really don't trust the man. Seriously, hon, do you think a man like Nikitin cares what any of our band members do?"
"I think I wouldn't want to find out. He isn't all he seems, Brian. I have a lot of information because I have so much family and friends in law enforcement. He's not a nice guy."
"He told me he grew up in the Russian mob. He said a lot of his men were caught up in that life, but he's broken away, gotten legit and tried to give men like him a chance to have a decent life."
"And you believed him? Looking at the men who work for him, the guns they carry, you believed him?"
"If he did manage to break away from the mob, Joley, especially the Russian mob, with their history of retaliation and violence, I can see why he would feel he would need guns and men who knew what they were doing."
"And how many mobsters actually get out of that world, Brian?" She gave a harsh laugh. "Do you also believe in Santa Claus?"
"You really ought to take some time to get to know him before you judge him," Brian said. "I think you'd like him."
"You've forgotten one teeny tiny, but very important fact, my friend." Joley keyed her room and stood in the open doorway, turning back so he could see her expression. "I'm a Drake. We're not normal. I read people through touch, which is why I'm so careful to rarely touch any of you. I don't even have to touch Nikitin to feel the violence and evil in him. Don't be dumb, Brian, stay away from him, and keep our boys away from him, too. He'll chew you up and spit you out and not even think twice about it. And you can take that to the bank." She closed the door on his shocked expression.
----
Chapter 3
HER palm itched. Really itched. Joley rubbed her hand up and down her denim-clad thigh, clenching her teeth together, all the while trying not to reach out with her mind to find— him —Ilya Prakenskii. Looking out the open door of her dressing room backstage, she could feel the energy in the arena, swelling and rolling like waves on the sea. Ten thousand restless people, excited, waiting, anticipating her performance, yet she knew—absolutely knew—that Prakenskii was somewhere in that vast crowd.
Adrenaline raced through her system, adding to the excitement and the building waves of sheer energy the crowd produced. Heat rushed through her body at the thought of the Russian bodyguard. She couldn't get near him without sizzling chemistry arcing between them. Sometimes, like now, she swore she could still taste him in her mouth. She touched her fingers to her lips, pressing hard, trying to erase the memory of his kiss. He ran in her veins like a drug, a bad habit she couldn't kick, no matter how hard she tried.
"Joley? You up for this? It's crazy out there." Brian shot her a grin. His eyes were shining and he looked as sexy as hell, just the way the females in the crowd liked him. Tight-fitting jeans, shirt open to his flat stomach, chest showing and black hair tousled. The women would go wild when he took the stage.
She stepped into the hall and matched his grin. The rush of the crowd was exhilarating, but it was the music that always moved her. She thought in music—actually could see in music.
Sometimes she could smell and taste it. Notes and melodies floated through her mind when she was talking casually to others. She heard music in the rhythm of the world around her, and sometimes, in silence, she found the most perfect songs. But now, when the energy was so powerful, she saw musical notes dancing in front of her, in colors, like tiny fireflies flashing in the air around her.
One of seven daughters of a seventh daughter and endowed with special gifts which could be both blessing and curse, when she opened her mind, she could feel the hopes and dreams and disappointments in the lives of her audience. She rarely sought out and touched a single mind, rarely invaded
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