Chapter Five

Brooks

There was no way Caliana was as casual about Clay's death as she was trying to portray.

Those two were tight. True, I hadn't been around for years, but I couldn't imagine a world where Clay would let his sister drift away from him. Especially when they had no one left.

So the way she was reacting was either a mask she was putting on just to me, or toward the world as a whole, trying to hide her grief behind a different face.

Over the next few days, I think a part of me expected her to show up, to claim some of Clay's things, to get her paperwork, maybe even to reconnect with me.

And as each day passed without her showing up, I cursed myself for not following her, for not making sure she was alright, for not fucking communicating with her about my regrets for losing contact, my desire to maintain some sort of connection with her.

On the sixth day, the apartment was empty, save for the desk that I just hadn't wanted to tackle yet. All the furniture was gone. Personal items were in the small storage unit I'd rented.

I'd repaired some holes in the wall, scrubbed the insides of the cabinets and the entire bathroom, and finally dropped down at the desk, looking at all the paperwork.

And I just… couldn't bring myself to do it.

I needed to get out.

I was choking on my grief in this apartment.

Clay's items and memories had been my only company for over a week.

I needed a break.

I could tackle the desk the next day.

I probably should have gone off to the club, caught up with the guys, seen what was going on, if there was anything that needed my attention now that I was almost done with Clay's apartment.

But I found myself grabbing the file folder off of the desk, taking out the pages that had to do with me, grabbing Clay's car keys, and heading out.

Did I feel a bit like a creep as I pulled up outside of the little mom & pop printing shop that Cali lived above?

Yeah, yeah, I did.

I tried to tell myself that it wasn't creepy to make sure that Caliana had the documents she needed to be able to inherit Clay's estate.

I hadn't planned on parking just as the door to the side of the print shop opened, and Cali herself rushed outside.

Wearing, I shit you not, a neon pink tube top under a mesh rhinestone shirt, a pair of black shorts so cut off that the bottoms of her ass cheeks were hanging out, and a pair of chunky, high, neon pink and green combat boots.

Where the fuck could she be going dressed like that?

A car pulled up to the curb, and Cali pulled out her phone to confirm her ride-share before climbing inside.

"Fuck, Clay," I said, looking up at the sky. "What's my move here?"

I didn't need to ask, though.

Because there was not a doubt in my mind that if Clay saw his baby sister dressed like that, going out alone on a random Wednesday night, that he would feel the need to see what the hell she was up to.

"She's gonna fucking hate me for this," I said as I waited for the car to pull off before following at a safe distance.

Wherever she was heading, it wasn't close. Because thirty minutes later, we were still heading down the highway, heading in the direction of a densely industrial area full of factories and, well, not much else.

The knot that formed in my stomach at seeing her outfit twisted tighter as the ride-share suddenly turned off of the highway, onto a side street, then quickly into the parking lot of a darkened warehouse.

But there were a shitton of cars in the lot.

I pulled into an empty spot, then watched as Cali unfolded from the car, gave them a wave, then reached to something at her neck I'd missed before.

In a second, it flashed to light. A pulsing neon purple and yellow necklace.

Then, one after another, each wrist and ankle lit up before, finally, she marched her way up toward the side of the warehouse, moving inside without so much as dealing with any sort of bouncer.

Great.

Just great.

Some unknown, underground kind of party without any proper security.

"Wish you'd have told me she'd grown into such a handful," I said, talking to Clay as if he was sitting there in the car beside me.

Then I tucked my keys into my pocket, grabbed some cash, and climbed out of the car, following a crowd toward the door.

"Heeeeyyy!" a bubbly green-haired girl said, turning to walk backward with her crowd as she beamed at me.

"Hey," I said, nodding at her. "What's the fee here?" I asked, glancing down at the bracelets that went nearly up to her elbows and the dozen or so necklaces sitting on her chest, made of those little bead things we played with as kids that our parents would use the iron to melt into the molds we'd put them into.

That much jewelry wasn't a fashion statement.

Kandi.

That was kandi.

This was a fucking rave.

"Thirty-five if you bought tickets. Fifty at the door," she told me, reaching to slide one of the bracelets off her wrist, holding it out to me.

"I don't have anything to give you," I said, shaking my head.

"That's not the point," she insisted, thrusting it at me, then turning to follow her crew into the warehouse.

I glanced at the letter beads.

Delulu is the Solulu.

With little smiley face beads between the words.

I slid it on my wrist, figuring it was the only thing that would make me look like I even remotely belonged, then followed the girl and her friends inside.

"Ticket?" a tall, skinny guy with white spiked hair and blown out pupils asked as I moved toward him.

"Cash," I said, grabbing the money and passing it to him.

He pocketed the cash, then waved over toward a long table where a shitton of headphones were sitting, each with different neon lights lit up on them.

I grabbed the blue, the least offensive shade, and slipped them around my neck, but didn't put them on my ears.

There was an almost eerie silence as I followed the crowd from the stage area and into the main room of the warehouse.

I didn't know much about raves.

But I knew they were usually loud and flashy.

In front of me, everyone slipped their headphones on, their bodies immediately starting to writhe.

It was a silent rave.

I guess that made sense.

Since I was pretty sure none of us were in this warehouse legally.

Inside the main area, yellow, pink, and green strobe lights flashed across the room.

Like Cali, almost everyone in attendance had something on them that lit up. Flashing necklaces, bracelets, and rings. Others had those glow stick necklaces we used as kids that you cracked to make them light up.

Everyone had on their headphones, and now the bright lights on them weren't steady, but flashing.

Against the far wall, neon images were projected on the wall. The largest of them being a big old school boombox.

Toward the back of the building, a woman was set up as a DJ station, her one arm thrown up as her other spun a record.

Beside her, several other women had giant glow in the dark balls that they were tossing out into the crowd.

It was… a lot.

Apparently, though, I was the only one who thought so.

Everyone else was into it, arms up, bodies swaying. A woman had a large circle around her as she did some impressive moves with a lit-up hula hoop.

From around my neck, I could hear the almost frantic pulsing music blasting as my gaze scanned the crowd.

There were hundreds and hundreds of people.

Finding Cali in this crush wasn't going to be an easy feat.

"Christ," I hissed, watching a girl walk up to another random girl, her tongue sticking out, a pill nestled at the tip of it. The other girl leaned in, her tongue teasing the pill off and into her own mouth.

This was a rave.

So that was likely MDMA, GHB, ketamine, or LSD.

A growl moved through me at the idea of Caliana being reckless enough to possibly take some unknown pill from a random stranger.

I mean, contrary to what the prospects might think of me at the club, I wasn't a fucking prude. I didn't care if someone wanted to smoke weed, try shrooms, or even pop party drugs.

But you had to be safe with that shit.

Know your dealer.

Be with friends.

Know you weren't going to end up drugged, assaulted, and left for dead somewhere.

As much as I wanted to believe Clay's baby sister would be smarter than this, I also had to remember that this was a woman in the grips of grief. She wasn't acting normally.

Which was why I had to do what Clay wanted.

I had to take care of her.

That didn't mean, though, that I had to be a killjoy.

Clearly, she needed this shit.

It didn't matter that I didn't understand or like it.

I just had to be here, keeping an eye, making sure she was safe.

With that in mind, I moved through the crowd, scanning around for her. In a normal crowd, her neon tube top would have stood out. Here, though, it seemed like her outfit was on the tame end. Half of these girls were wearing underwear and glow in the dark body paint.

I was about half an hour into it when I finally spotted her dancing by herself, arms thrown up, eyes closed, just lost in the music, in the vibe of the place.

Fuck, she was beautiful.

And I hated myself a bit for noticing that.

I always thought women were at their most gorgeous when they were in their own world, when they didn't think or care if anyone was watching them.

Sometimes, it was the stupid shit. Like catching a girl belting out some silly aughts pop song while painting their toenails. Or dancing around the kitchen while making food. Smiling at something they were reading or looking at on their phones.

When their beauty wasn't performative, just… there.

That was what was so pretty about Caliana right then.

Her eyes weren't open, scanning the crowd for friends or a man to dance with. She was just lost in her own self, in the music. She didn't care if someone was looking or not. This was just for her.

I shrank back, leaning against the wall with the projected hologram images, not wanting to be in anyone's way, but keeping an eye on Cali.

I should have felt more like a creep.

But I reminded myself that this was a big fucking illegal event. And I'd already seen the casual exchange of drugs from unknown sources.

I glanced away when two big men moved in toward each other, making me tense, wondering if this was a fight that would lead to mass panic, people stampeding away, trampling over one another in the process.

The fears were unfounded, though, as one man grabbed the other's hips, and started to grind with him to the music.

Feeling paranoid, my gaze scanned back to the crowd.

To find Cali missing.

"Fuck," I hissed, scanning the dancers, trying to catch sight of her.

But there were too many bodies and the light was too fucking low.

"Are you seriously following me?" a familiar voice asked me a couple minutes later as the panic started to grow when I still hadn't caught sight of her.

Of course I hadn't.

Because she'd been sneaking up on me.

Turning, I found her standing there, her headphones around her neck like mine, a sweating plastic cup in her hand covered with a drink bonnet, just the straw sticking out, making it all but impossible for someone to slip anything into it.

I guess I hadn't given her enough credit about that.

"I was coming to your place," I told her, lowering my voice since there was very little noise going on with everyone listening to their music with the headphones. "To bring you the documents you need," I added. "And you were leaving."

"So you… followed me," she repeated, sipping her drink with a raised brow that said she had all night to wait for a reasonable explanation for my behavior.

"Why are you at an illegal rave alone?" I asked.

"It's not any of your business."

"Where's the little redhead?"

"I don't need her to defend me."

"There's safety in numbers."

"I'm perfectly safe," she said, waving around. "Not a single fight or predatory guy in sight."

Something about what she said tingled at something in my brain, making me turn back to the crowd to realize she was right.

The men were dancing with men.

The women… with women.

Was this a gay rave?

Did gay raves exist?

"Contrary to what you clearly believe of me, I'm not a complete fucking idiot. Now leave before you completely ruin this for me," she demanded, taking another sip of her drink before yanking her headphones back on with one hand, and moving back into the crowd. But this time, she disappeared into the center of it, making it impossible to keep an eye on her without getting close.

On a sigh, I moved over toward the door, seeing it was the only accessible exit, so if anyone decided to try to drug and remove her, they'd have to pass by me.

And that's where I stayed for the next three hours until, finally, people started to remove their headphones, and make their way to the door.

"What, did you stay for the show?" Cali asked as she spotted me holding up the wall by the door, nodding toward a couple on the other side of the door, two women making out heavily.

"Not my thing," I said, shrugging.

"Yeah, right," she said, rolling her eyes. "That's everyone's thing. I don't even go that way and I'm revved up," she said before walking through the door, leaving me to follow behind, dropping my headphones off on the table like everyone else, then getting back out into the night air.

It was humid as fuck, but it was still somehow cooler than the closed-in warehouse full of moving bodies, and the slight breeze had some of the tension leaving my shoulders.

Ahead of me, Cali reached to lift up her hair, allowing the air to tease over her bare skin for a moment before reaching for her phone.

"Why don't I just give you a ride home?" I asked as she opened up a ride-share app. "I'm already here," I reasoned, shrugging as her gaze cut to mine.

To that, she sucked in a deep breath.

"Fine," she said. Then, much more grudgingly, "Thanks."

She was pretty steady walking to the car, so I had no reason to think she was high, or even drunk for that matter. This hadn't been about that. I found relief in that for reasons I didn't really understand as I opened the door for her, and let her slide in before closing it and moving around the car.

That was one thing I missed now that my main mode of transportation was a bike. Being able to open doors for a woman. Though, you had to admit that the bike had a car beat if you were driving a woman you were interested in around, their arms and legs around you, their body plastered to your back…

Not that I was interested in Caliana.

This wasn't like that.

Or, at least, if I repeated that to myself enough, I figured I might believe it.

"Got some good shit?" I asked as I climbed in, seeing her twisting her kandi around on her wrists, checking out their sayings.

Music is therapy.

Daddy issues.

Stay hydrated.

Strangers with kandi.

"I think this one is my favorite," she said, twisting one around.

Vienna.

"What's that one mean?" I asked, figuring it was something to do with rave culture. Something I knew next to nothing about.

"It's a song," she told me. "Someone gave you one?" she asked, zeroing in on my wrist.

"Yeah," I said, reaching to pull it off and hand it to her. "Here. Add it to your collection."

"That's not how it works," she said, pulling one off of her wrist, and handing it to me.

Amor fati.

"What's it mean?" I asked.

"Love your fate," she said.

"You don't want this one?" I asked, figuring she'd rather part with the Daddy issues one, since she didn't have them. And we both knew I did.

"No," she said, her tone clipped. Like the very idea of this saying rubbed her the wrong way.

Weird.

But nothing about her body language suggested I could ask any follow up questions.

"Did you have a good time?" I asked as I pulled behind the line waiting to turn onto the highway. "What?" I asked when she shot me a bemused smirk.

"You just sounded a lot like a dad right then," she said, shaking her head at me.

That was not the first time I'd heard someone make a comment like that.

I dunno if it was the time away from the club, or maybe Clay's passing that was making me more reflective of my own life.

But I was suddenly wondering why the fuck I'd been so hard on the prospects, why I cared that they wanted to get whipped cream in the pool or fuck on the roof.

For years, I told myself it was because I'd had to work my ass off to prove my worth. And that no one should get an easy ride. Especially the legacies, just because they were related to old club members.

Really, though, why the fuck did I care so much? Who was I to tell them how to live their lives? So long as shit got done at the club when and how it was supposed to, anyway.

At my silence, Cali turned to look out the window.

"It's something to scratch off my bucket list," she said, leaning her head against the rest, seeming suddenly exhausted.

"Not something you'd repeat?" I asked.

"No. Just something I wanted to experience," she said, and there was a melancholy in her tone that I didn't understand. And didn't think she would welcome me pressing her about.

Reaching out, she blindly cranked the volume on the classical station up, making it impossible to carry on any more conversation.

I couldn't help but have my gaze cut to her a few times on the drive, finding her far away, shut down.

So was this her thing?

Keep herself busy to keep the grief at bay?

"Well, thanks for the ride," Cali said as soon as I pulled up to her curb. "Stop stalking me," she added.

"Wait," I called as she slammed the door, reaching into the backseat to grab the folder, then rushing up to catch her before she slammed another door in my face. "You should have this. For… whenever you're ready to deal with it."

Her gaze cut to the folder, looking like she might refuse.

But then she was snatching it, rushing into her door, and closing it on me without another word.

Yeah, Clay wanted me to keep an eye on her.

But she, clearly, didn't want me to.

And she was a grown-ass adult.

I had no right to keep up this shit.

"Tried man," I said, looking up at the sky, then climbing back into the car, and driving back to the apartment, where I tossed all the contents of the desk into a box, threw it into the car, and brought it back to the clubhouse to deal with some other time.

I needed to get back to my life.

And stay the fuck away from Cali.

That was the plan.

Until, one night, she waltzed her ass right into the club.