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Orlov threw his head back and laughed theatrically, disguising his threats. “If you don’t give me back what you stole from me, I will kill all your family members, one by one.”
Dylan grinned at the reporters. He muttered, “Okay, okay... I’ll give it back. Just stay away from my family.”
“Good. So you bring it to me tonight. To my home.”
The energy in the room was hyper now – all the reporters were excited about how well the two men seemed to be getting along. Another reporter raised his hand and shouted a question about the deal.
Orlov answered on auto-pilot, as Dylan said under his breath, “I can’t tonight; I’m busy. I’ll bring it to your office tomorrow morning. Agreed?”
“I’m meeting tomorrow morning with my Russian colleagues until noon,” Orlov said. Then he raised his voice and explained to the reporter how excited he was about Grafton Techs’ impending sponsorship.
“Okay,” Dylan whispered. “I’ll deliver it after you finish your meeting. And that way your Russian colleagues won’t kill you, huh?”
Orlov stuck out his hand and loudly said, “Yes, Mr Quinlan. I’m very much looking forward to us doing business together.”
Dylan squeezed his hand tight. “Me too, Vladimir. Me too.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The venue for Joseph’s gig was one of the most renowned in London – all the major stars had played it on their way up. Sarah had been here a few times on the rare occasion when she’d taken a night off to see a band – perhaps if a musician happened to be staying at the hotel and offered her tickets, or if it was a band she really loved.
It was a bit of a dump, but that was all part of its charm, and Sarah didn’t feel overdressed in her little black dress, because most people had made an effort to get spruced up. Everyone knew it was an honour to be here tonight. You certainly wouldn’t notice this venue from the sidewalk unless you knew what you were looking for – the sign on the wall was tiny and the entrance blended-in with all the other box-like Georgian architecture in the street. If you did happen to find the entrance, you had to negotiate your way down a flight of narrow stairs – as well as past the hefty door-staff. The venue then sprawled underground, taking up the basements of several buildings above. This meant there was no natural light, creating the feel of a seedy pub backroom – although it held around a thousand people. It was dingy – with its scruffy wooden floorboards and shoddy décor – which consisted of a bad paint job and crappy furniture.
Fashionable Londoners loved it.
As Sarah and Dylan squeezed past the doorman and made their way into the throng, she realised that it was already packed. The crowd seemed excited to be here – there was a fun pre-gig atmosphere, and the anticipation was as thick as fog. Sarah noticed that a few young men and women were even wearing T-shirts sporting Joseph’s band name. They’d clearly built up a loyal fan-base already.
The stage at the front of the room was set with a huge drum-kit, a bass guitar, and Joseph’s precious Fender Stratocaster that Ivan had apparently bought him years ago. It was the antithesis of the press conference Dylan had given earlier behind his plush podium. This stage reeked of primal abandonment. Excitement flashed through Sarah as she soaked up the electrifying vibes. But her fizzing mood crashed away as she spotted a lone guy in the crowd staring intensely at her and Dylan. He looked Russian, and he had a nasty scar on his face… Sarah’s body washed with terror. Had she seen this guy before somewhere, or was she being paranoid?
Dylan glanced at her, probably because she’d almost broken his fingers by squeezing them so tight.
“You alright, sweetheart?” he shouted above the partygoers. “Try to relax, okay? Nothing bad’s gonna happen here.”
She breathed, trying to centre herself. He was probably right – he usually was. She glanced around for the Russian again and saw that he was now chatting with another guy. They were probably just here to see the gig. She forced herself to calm down and enjoy the evening. Joseph had worked hard to organise this concert himself, and she owed it to him to have a good time.
Things really seemed to be taking off for him, and Sarah was pleased. He’d told her that his band had recently signed with an American management company after they’d worked hard at gathering fans online. But Joseph had decided to crowdfund the money he needed for the concert tonight himself. His business acumen was up there with his older brothers’. But he somehow didn’t seem as ruthless as them – the proceeds were all going to charity; he was a good guy with a kind heart. What a way to spend your twentieth birthday – Sarah had spent hers with Dylan and some college friends who they’d both lost touch with years ago. But the Quinlans had always been ambitious.
Dylan led Sarah through the crowd and up to the VIP balcony, where Joseph had assured them their tickets would give them entry. They climbed a metal spiral staircase and the fearsome doorman unhooked the velvet rope… This was more like it – it was spacious up here, and quieter; a private viewing balcony away from the crush of the sweaty fans, where Sarah could relax and enjoy the music. A long table had been set up for complimentary drinks, and there were a few people lounging on the leather couches, chatting and waiting for the gig to begin. It was like a totally different venue.
Sarah waved as she saw Adam and Amy drinking Champagne and chatting with a few people she didn’t recognise. There were several young women dressed in jeans and band T-shirts – probably groupies – and people who looked like family members of the other band members. A severe-looking suited thirty-something man was leaning against the wall, not joining in with the partying. Sarah assumed this was the band’s manager. Joseph had mentioned that the two didn’t really get along – especially not as he enjoyed unashamedly flirting with the manager’s beautiful fiancée.
But even this surly manager knew who the star was tonight. Joseph was the frontman, lead guitarist, and songwriter. As the lights faded and the music switched to the band’s intro music – a stirring classical piece full of passion – Sarah watched the drummer and bassist amble onto the stage. The crowd cheered them, but their heart wasn’t in it. They wanted Joseph Quinlan. The drummer and bassist launched into one of their songs and the audience started to move as one, dancing in anticipation for the main event. Already Sarah could tell that the music was catchy but arty – the perfect combination of grooves to dance to, with a gritty edge.
Then he appeared. Sarah didn’t know how he’d done it, but one second he wasn’t there, then he was. The place erupted with screams and cheers, and the crowd surged forward in a frenzy, on the edge of insanity, making Sarah feel relieved she was safely up here, looking down.
He was dressed in a pair of black skin-tight leather trousers, an unbuttoned shirt, and no shoes. Somehow these clothes made him seem Native American. Wild and unconventional. Joseph picked up his guitar and slung the strap over his shoulder, making him look like the quintessential rock star. He grinned into the audience, holding eye contact with some lucky ladies, then he clanged his fingers over the strings, creating a ringing electric note that vibrated around the venue. The audience cheered, recognising which song the band was about to play. Joseph strummed his guitar an
d played the intro, then he opened his mouth to sing. Sarah was impressed. He writhed and gyrated his hips as he played, making him look like a blond Elvis. He lost himself in the music, grinning as he swayed. His lyrics were sensual – all about fucking – and the music was charged with sexual energy. Joseph had an amazing vocal range, from deep breathy whispers to passion-drenched shrieks. Every now and again he would throw in a guttural groan. It was as if he embodied the music – he became it.
After a few songs, Joseph removed his shirt with a flourish – peeling it off like a stripper. This incited excited screams from the young women in the audience – who were probably as impressed as Sarah by his sculpted abs and toned chest. He was slimmer than Dylan, but she could see he worked-out regularly to keep his gorgeous body looking so good. The sweat made his skin glisten and his blond hair stick together in clumps. He seemed like a wild animal – one-hundred-percent primal. Joseph swung his shirt around his head, then let it fly into the audience, causing the crowd to go crazy.
Joseph grinned and continued playing the song, but the shirt-throwing had caused the sort of scramble that Sarah would usually associate with bridesmaids at the tossing of the bride’s bouquet. Joseph and the band launched into the next song, but Sarah could still see his shirt being ripped to pieces by adoring fans. It was like a feeding-frenzy of sharks. Sarah dreaded to think what might happen if the man himself fell in.
She soon found herself dancing to the music – it was impossible to keep still. It was like being at an orgy – a wild piece of primitive theatre. She noticed, as she tore her gaze away from the handsome man on the stage, that there were a couple of music journalists up here, taking notes and watching, captivated.
The hair on the back of Sarah’s neck prickled with unease as she sensed someone watching her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the two Russian-looking men from downstairs. They were casually chatting together on one of the leather couches, seemingly not very interested in the gig. Sarah wondered whether she should alert Dylan, but he’d already followed her gaze.
“Don’t worry,” he shouted. “I’m pretty sure that burly bouncer with the velvet rope won’t let anyone in who wasn’t supposed to be here. Relax and enjoy!”
