Chapter Text
Ch. 1
Strangers In The Night
Heady metal bass thumped through The Spöksonat’s dark, crowded interior. The nightclub had been established within an old fallout bunker turned underground storehouse and consisted of one large, low-ceilinged, cement room. On the one side: cube-shaped private booths lined the wall, each glowing a different shade of green or teal or blue, the smart-glass windows flickering X’s and O’s to display occupancy. Dividing through the middle of the room was a bracket-shaped bar, arms extending toward the dance floor as if to keep the private section protected from the sea of churning clubbers. On that side of the bar, privacy did not exist. Bodies swayed and writhed around one another under strobing neons, butting against the empty concert stage, lasers scattering light over sweat-soaked skin in time with the beat. And gyrating in the hot, pulsing center of the crowd, was Vaye.
Jackie and Misty had hauled her ass out to the nightclub for her birthday and immediately proceeded to load her up on drinks before disappearing into a private booth. They had left Vaye with a long flight of whiskey shots and a group of barely-dressed sorority girls cheering her on as she threw back one after another in rapid succession, ending the line with a bump of synth coke off someone’s leopard-print laminated house key. Then she had stolen a cigarette from one of the girls’ lips and disappeared into the tangle of people on the dance floor.
The music shifted from grunge metal into a dark, melodic rhythm and Vaye couldn’t feel her fingertips anymore as she pulled her overshirt off and dropped it to the dirty floor. She was beyond giving a shit about one lousy piece of clothing in exchange for air on her sweltering skin. The white cotton of her bustier clung to the sheen of sweat coating her body while she turned in slow circles, swaying her hips to the music, eyes closed, arms raised above her head. Her pulse pounded in her ears from the rush of Snapcoke and liquor - a combination that blurred the room into flashes of light and color against her eyelids. She was lost in the song and the swell of people around her until she felt a hand on her waist and hot breath by her ear.
“Think ya dropped somethin’, sweetheart,” a man’s voice ghosted over her shoulder; gruff and almost drawling on the last syllables. She smelled tequila and clove cigarette smoke on his breath, a dangerously enticing blend in her current state.
Vaye’s discarded shirt was dangled in front of her face, held aloft by a ring-decorated hand, but she didn't turn around. Instead, she continued to sway her hips, pressing her ass into the stranger behind her. She felt his grip on her waist tighten and calloused fingers danced along the edge of her jeans, sending heat flaring across her skin. She angled her face to glance up at him, meeting eyes too dark in this light to discern their true color, and quipped back with whiskey-guided confidence, “Dropped it just for you.”
In response, he smirked and wadded the fabric up before throwing it over the top of the crowd. Vaye whooped and bounced in place when it snagged on a floodlight to hang dejectedly over the empty stage. Grinning, she turned fully to the stranger now running both his hands up the bare skin of her sides, making her shudder involuntarily. Dark hair framed a handsome, if somewhat scruffy, face before falling in loose waves to broad shoulders. The top half of his black collared shirt was unbuttoned, both sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and her eyes raked unapologetically over the exposed glimpse of his lean-muscled chest.
He stood a head above her, forcing her to raise up on tip-toe to speak against his ear over the music, “It’s my birthday!”
A slow grin split his face as he slid one hand to the small of her back, pulling her against him, “That so?” He tipped her chin up with a knuckle, “And what’s a girl like you want for her birthday?”
Vaye jerked her chin away but didn’t step back, “A girl like me?” He said it as if he knew her and she searched his face for any trace of familiarity, but she definitely didn’t know this man - she only found her own high mirrored in the blown pupils of his dark eyes. What did she want for her birthday? Even her friends had failed to ask that question in favor of a night out with Vaye left to her own devices. Their intentions had been good, she'd give them that.
Slipping her arms around the stranger’s neck, she made up her mind and grazed his ear with her teeth while she spoke, “I just wanna have a good fuckin’ time.”
“Buy ya a drink then, birthday girl,” he purred against her jaw.
Tall, dark, and handsome. Silver-tongued too. She could work with that. She was no gonk, his intentions were clear, and so were hers. After all, it was her fucking birthday, and she deserved a gift.
Vaye smirked and grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him with her toward the bar. The rest of her night dissolved into blurred bursts of color and sound and hands on skin, clips of lucidity poking through the haze of intoxication. They threw back shots until the bartender shooed them off, but not before her companion could throw a wad of eddies on the counter and swipe the bottle. The two eventually stumbled drunkenly up the cellar stairs and out of the club into the cool night air, his arm slung over her shoulders and hers wrapped around his waist.
The ping of a text message pulled Vaye from sleep and her brain immediately started to hammer inside her skull, berating her for last night’s indulgences. Fuck, this was gonna be a brutal hangover. She smashed her face into the pillow, took a deep breath, and then froze stiff at the smell on the sheets: spicy clove and sweat and a hint of something distinctly masculine. These weren’t her satin sheets - she didn’t own satin sheets. This wasn’t her bed. And that definitely wasn’t her cat breathing deep and slow on her other side.
Careful not to make too much commotion, she slowly rolled over and sat up. Covering her bare chest with the maroon top sheet, she took in the man asleep on his stomach beside her. A mess of dark hair spilled across his pillow, obscuring his turned face, aside from a hint of stubbled jaw - and it was a nice, strong jawline from what she could see. The broad expanse of his back rose and fell steadily as he slept, shifting lean muscle beneath olive skin. Her eyes trailed hungrily along the line of his spine to where his bare waist disappeared under the sheets. He hummed in his sleep and she held her breath until he tucked an ink-decorated arm under the pillow and settled again, facing away from her. Shit, she needed to leave before he actually woke up.
Vaye gently extricated herself from the slippery sheets and shivered as a breeze from the open window raised goose flesh over her naked skin. She plucked her bustier off the floor and pulled it over her head, fastening the straps while she scoured the room for the rest of her clothes. A used condom hanging off the rim of a wire trash bin caught her eye first; at least she didn’t have to worry about that. The faded denim of her pants sat in a sad pile near the bedroom door, atop her boots, where she must have slipped out of them at the same time as her shoes. It was her underwear that she couldn’t find, and she gave up looking after a few minutes spent tip-toeing around the cold wooden floors of her one-night stand’s bedroom. Guess she was going commando. Grimacing, she pulled her jeans on and tucked into her boots, zipping them as quietly as possible before snatching her phone from the bedside table and scurrying out of the room.
She spared the barest of glances at the rest of the apartment on her way out. It was essentially a studio with an added master bedroom. The main living area was all one open space with a half wall marking the kitchen area and a small bar. A wall-mounted TV hung opposite an L-shaped leather couch sitting in the middle of the room along with a basic coffee table and a footstool. It was nothing extraordinary. She caught a glimpse of sunrise over a waterway through the panoramic window before the apartment door slid shut, leaving her in a small plainly accented atrium. Nothing here looked familiar at all from the night before - she didn’t even know what part of town she was in. How shit-faced had she been?
A quick scan of the room and she found the elevator tucked into the far wall, the gate framed on either side by vending machines. She crossed the atrium, pressed the call button, and sidestepped to browse one of the drink machines while she waited for the elevator to make the eight-floor trip up. Her phone pinged in her pocket at the same time a canned coffee clattered out of the Vend-O-Matic and the lift chimed its arrival. Cracking the can open, she stepped in and punched the ground floor before pulling her phone out.
If the tiny words on her screen could carry a tone, it would have been one of guilty panic. Vaye would be lying to say she didn’t get a small kick out of it after her friends had low-key bailed on her last night, but the wave of incoming texts this morning was a pain in her ass. There were eight from Misty and two from Jackie, and she briefly scanned the messages before opting to just call her worried friends.
Misty picked up before the first ring could even finish, and her relief was palpable through the line, “Oh, thank goodness, V! I thought we had misplaced you!”
She chuckled, “Nah, Misty, can do that myself. You didn’t hafta blow up my phone though.”
“I will not apologize for worrying about my friend.” The tinkling sound of doorbells filtered in from the background. “Now where are you?”
“Uh…good question, hold on.” The woman on the other end gave a hum of acknowledgment and V sipped her bitter canned coffee as the elevator came to a shuddering stop. “I am…” She exited the complex’s lobby with quick steps and stopped outside, squinting against the light, to spin in place and scan for street signs. “I’m at Longshore South,” looking to the North she could see the distant angular architecture of Charter Hill’s shopping district and added, “Think I’m near Lele Park?”
“How did you end up on the other side of town?”
V rolled her eyes and submitted a cab request through her Delamain app before putting the phone back to her ear, “I had company.”
Misty gave an exaggerated gasp on the other end of the line, “Why, V! Did you have a one-night stand for your birthday?”
“Ha. Ha. Why is that so surprising?” She dug her crumpled cigarettes from a back pocket and sparked one up.
“Because it’s you, V.”
Misty had a way of speaking that sometimes made her feel like she was missing out on life’s punchline - this was one of those moments. Vaye exhaled smoke through her nose and feigned annoyance, “What the hell’s that s’posed to mean?”
In typical fashion, Misty switched the subject before V could get her attitude fully revved up, “Need me to open the shop for you this morning?”
A glance at the time told her it was already past eight - she was running an hour behind. “Shit, that would be great. I needta shower and then I’ll head right over.”
“Good. Cause I’m already there.”
“You’re nova, y’know that?” A clipped honk from the curb signaled the arrival of her automated taxi. “My ride just pulled up, gotta go.” She flicked her smoke into the street and slid into the back seat, “Thanks, Misty. I owe ya one.”
Twenty minutes later, V was keying into her apartment in Japantown, giving the door a hard kick when it stuttered on its railing. A leathery head bumped her leg while she paused to light an incense in the entryway and she bent to greet her naked cat with a scratch under the jaw, “Hey, Nibbs, sorry I wasn’t home last night.” The wrinkly little creature chirped a meow and rubbed around her calf once more before trotting toward the cabinet housing her food. Typical cat.
“Okay, okay,” V padded after the animal and cracked a can of pâté, crinkling her nose against the pungent fish smell as she plopped it into a bowl and set it on the floor. Nibbles crooned and set to devouring the mush with shovel-like mouthfuls, her purring between bites sounding like a broken water pump. V chuckled and gave her a scratch on the head before heading to the bathroom, intent on a very hot, very sobering shower.
As she slipped out of last night’s clothes and turned the water on, V let her mind wander while the shower pounded into the top of her head. It wasn’t often that she had a blackout night. Or maybe calling it a brownout was better since bits and pieces were coming back in flashes.
Her body remembered last night, she could feel it in the ache between her legs and the tired muscles of her stomach and thighs. But between the liquor - a lot of liquor - and the Snapcoke, and whatever else she had gotten into, memory was not on her side today. The last bit of true clarity in her head was that of dragging someone by the collar from the dance floor to the bar. She couldn’t see his face in her mind’s eye - just a mane of shoulder-length, dark hair and a wolfish smile that even now made something inside her coil in delight.
Things went fuzzy after that. She recalled the bartender cutting them off and the stranger swiping a half bottle of something potent on their way out. He had pushed her against the brick outside and she could almost still feel his hands on her skin, the rough stone at her back, his teeth and tongue on her neck. V paused with a lathered hand in her hair to frantically check her throat in the shower mirror for marks. Relief flooded through her to see her hook-up had at least been gentle enough to leave the skin there unmarred.
Somehow they had made it across town, all the way from Heywood to Charter Hill, and his apartment. She was determined to convince herself he hadn’t driven that far after that many drinks, but it was a losing battle. V tipped her face into the scalding stream and tried to bring up the remaining scraps of the evening. It was like trying to hold sand - the tighter she grabbed onto one thought, another would slip into the void, leaving her with flashes of sensation. The memories had been retained by her body, not her drunken mind. Calloused hands on her waist, her ass, her chest. The taste of whiskey and cigarettes on his tongue, the smell of cloves and sweat - stronger in her memory now than it had been on the sheets this morning. One thing she clearly remembered was the feeling of knotted scar tissue under her fingers on his chest, and how much that had turned her on. The noise she had ripped from her partner’s throat when her tongue had traced over the marks across his shoulder would probably live rent-free in her head forever. She didn’t think she’d ever heard a man so vocal in bed in her entire life and she understood the appeal now.
V let out a full-body sigh and shut the water off, leaning her forehead against the cool tile wall in an attempt at soothing her still-pounding head. “Happy birthday, Vaye,” she muttered to herself, “Starting off thirty with the best lay of your life and you can’t even remember his fuckin’ face.” She dried and dressed quickly, tidied her leftover eyeliner from the night before, and was out the door and hopping in her jeep in under thirty minutes.
Misty looked up from her magazine as V pushed through the door of the media shop with bottled coffee in her hands and her patch-covered backpack slung over one shoulder. A cigarette pivoted on her lips as she greeted the blonde with, “Thank you soooo fuckin’ much.”
“It’s the least I can do-“
V stuck one of the lattes in her face and cut her off, “After ditchin’ me last night?”
Her friend smiled sweetly, “It sounds like it worked out well for everyone, didn’t it?”
“Y’know what-“ V shook the bottle and sucked in a frustrated breath before conceding, “Goddammit. You got this fuckin’ ESPN or somethin’, dontcha?” No matter how many times she denied it, V would swear until she was blue in the face that Misty had a second sight.
“You know I don’t watch sports,” she deadpanned and claimed the beverage in front of her face.
With a snort, V tossed her backpack behind the counter and slouched on an elbow to finish her cigarette. It was looking like a boring day already. The shelves of vinyl were tidy enough, with only a few stray sleeves sitting atop milk crates packed to the brim with yet more records. There was a bulb out in the ‘Classics Corner’ of the room - she could change that later. Incense, drink coolers, and the multitude of knick-knack shelves needed to be stocked. All of it was just a series of monotonous tasks to keep her busy between paperwork and the occasional customer. Business ownership at its finest.
V sighed and ground her cigarette out. “Well better get to it then,” she turned back to her friend, “Thanks again…seriously.”
“Don’t mention it.” Misty smiled and patted her hand, wrist bangles jingling against the countertop with the motion, before heading to the exit. She paused with a hand on the door and toyed with one of her many necklaces thoughtfully. “I do want to apologize for leaving you at the bar last night-“
“Uuuuuh-huh?” There was a ‘but’ coming, she could feel it.
“-Buuut I get the feeling it was a good thing, V.”
She planted her hands on her hips, “I lost my favorite pair of underwear, and I don’t remember most of the night.” A shrug. “Guess it could be worse. Still,” she pointed a finger at her, “Not cool. And you better tell Jackie that too, dammit.”
Misty chuckled and with a polite nod, ducked her head while pushing out the door.
The morning passed uneventfully. A few waves of sleepy-eyed teens came through for energy drinks like they did every morning before classes started a few blocks away. By now, she recognized a lot of the faces; some students even bothered to make small talk. And that was the equivalent of her daily rush. Most of her business hit on the weekends, which made every weekday feel like deja vu. So she settled onto her stool in the back room and dove into cataloging her overstocked inventory. A task she had been shoving to the back burner for far too long.
The bell chiming at the front door, followed by a shouted “Delivery!” pulled Vaye from her record-sorting stupor. She blinked to clear her eyes from short-sighted focus and checked the time on her phone; she’d been at it for a few hours and hadn’t even realized.
A quick glance at her security camera confirmed it was her usual freight driver, and she hollered back to him, “Thanks, Dan! You can just leave it behind the counter!”
“No can do, miss, V! This one needs your autograph.”
“Ugh! Be there in a sec,” she tucked the crate of mismatched vinyl she’d been sorting back into its cubby and left the storage closet to meet Dan by the front counter. “What is it with these bands thinkin’ a signature’s gonna guarantee their shit makes it off the boat?”
The delivery guy chuckled, “Just doin’ my job, man.” She snatched the clipboard from his hand and scribbled her name at the bottom before handing it back, eyeing the guitar case propped behind her counter.
“See ya next time, V.” Dan handed her a sheet of transfer paper and then tucked the clipboard under his arm and waved before pushing out the door and going on his way.
Curiosity won out as she grabbed the tag from the neck of the case and flipped it over. She whistled, now understanding exactly why it had been shipped signature-on-arrival. It was a DeLuze Orphean - one of the top six-string guitars on the market, brand-fucking-new in its inconspicuous, black laminate case. A single sticker had been slapped near the handle: bold, white text reading SAMURAI. She recognized the name. One of the local up-and-coming rock bands of Night City, she had heard them pop-up more and more these days. But not often enough that she would expect them to have the scratch for this. The instrument was easily worth five-thousand eurodollars, if not more.
She plopped into the seat behind the register and lit a cigarette before pulling the packing slip, still safe in its plastic envelope, off the case. Instead of finding the owner’s name inside, there was only a phone number and a single initial - ‘S’. “Fucking rockstars…” she grumbled.
With a sigh, she pulled her phone out and set it in front of her to dial, squinting at the poorly written numbers on the paper in her hand. She switched the call to speakerphone and let it ring, leaning back in her seat.
A sleep-thick male voice came across the line with a singular, “Yeah.”
The simple pick-up threw her momentarily and she cleared her throat before answering, “Uh, yeah? This is V’s Vinyl in Kabuki. Looks like I got a guitar here with your…initial on it?”
“Uh-huh. And?” His tone was flat, bordering on irritated.
What the fuck was this guy’s problem? She pinched her nose and took a long drag off her cigarette, putting her professional voice on, “And I’m calling to let you know it’s here? You can come pick it up any time.”
She heard the flick of a lighter on the other end and his next words were clearly spoken around a mouthful of smoke, “Callin’ pretty fuckin’ early for a Monday.”
Her eye twitched and she looked at the clock. Noon was early on a Monday? Admittedly, she would rather still be at home too, sleeping off her hangover, but midday was a little much. And some people had normal jobs. She bit back a frustrated groan and almost choked on the pleasantries she vomited into the phone, “Apologies. I’ll make a note to contact you later in the day for future deliveries.”
“Don’t bother. This’s a one-time deal.”
V sucked in an irritated breath through her nose. Her first real client of the day and he was immediately insufferable, lucky her. “Alrighty then. Well, we’re open ‘til 3:00pm today an-“
He cut her off, “Just hold it. Come get it tomorrow or somethin’.”
The line went dead and Vaye stared at her phone in stunned silence for a moment. “Fucking asshole,” she growled and smashed her unfinished cigarette into the ashtray then slipped off her seat. Snatching the handle of the case, she hauled it to the back of the shop and shoved it against the wall inside her closet-sized office. If it scuffed, she’d blame shipping. Hastily she grabbed a sticky note and a sharpie, scribbled ‘ASSHOLE’S GUITAR’ on the little yellow paper, and slapped it onto the body of the case. Then she gave the instrument a middle finger, slammed the office door, and returned to her storage room to finish what she had started.