Page 112 of Royal Desire

Fuck.

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.”