Irresistible Refrain Read online

  Instead, he honed in on my weakest spot.

  Bryan.

  An explicit YouTube video of the infamous bad boy guitarist of Tempest became the final wrecking ball that demolished the wall I’d carefully built around what remained of my heart. The wall that had already started to crumble, the wall that wasn’t nearly as strong as I’d needed it to be.

  After that I gave in and regularly took what Martin had offered before. I did whatever, whenever. Why shouldn’t I? Forgotten and abandoned by those I’d loved, it was inevitable where I was going to end up. Better to get it over with and fast pass the trip.

  I learned to compartmentalize my life. I stuck the bad stuff into a box and pretended it didn’t exist. And when the needle was under my skin, when the drugs hit my bloodstream, everything else did fade away. I lost the will to care about anything. I stopped dreaming about the future, and settled for shuffling through the lucid times like the living dead until the next time I could get high.

  I waited up late that night for Martin. He came back as promised, but he hadn’t come alone. Strader was with him. Tall and thin with a gnarled face, Strader’s brand of evil made Martin’s seem angelic.

  I rose from the couch, pulling my robe tightly closed with one hand fisted over my chest. Outwardly I tried to project confidence. Inside my nerves were all over the place. It wasn’t lost on me that both men tracked my movement with anticipatory gleams.

  This wasn’t good.

  “I’ll just leave you two alone to discuss business.” Chin down; I hustled toward the back bedroom.

  “I’ll go with you.” Strader’s mouth practically drooled with lascivious intent.

  What? No!

  Eyes going wide, I looked to Martin for help.

  “No, wait.” Martin held up his hand. “Let me talk to her first.”

  Strader looked like he was going to refuse, but then his expression changed. “Sure.” He gave me a lurid grin, gaze raking me head to toes in a way that made my flesh crawl. “But just so you know, it’s gonna happen, willing or not.”

  And there it was. There was no longer any doubt what he wanted, what he had come to get.

  Me.

  My heart began beating so fast it felt like my chest was going to explode. It was extremely unlikely I would be able to convince Martin to change mind. He owed Strader a lot of cash. Being under Martin’s thumb had been one thing, becoming a disposable plaything for a man like Strader was entirely another. I’d reached the end of the road, and I refused to go further, deciding right then and there that I’d rather die than endure whatever Strader had planned for me.

  But I wasn’t going down easy.

  A deadly calm fell over me as I watched Strader give Martin a tight nod. “I’m going out to the car. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  As soon as the door shut after him, I turned to Martin, chin lifted, hands balled into fists at my sides. “I won’t go with him.” I was so proud that my voice didn’t quiver.

  He laughed. “Like you have any choice.” There wasn’t an ounce of mercy in his eyes.

  What a fool I’d been to believe a man like Martin Skellin had ever cared for me.

  He reached for me.

  “No,” I managed to rasp though fear had sucked the air from my lungs. I shook my head vigorously and took a step back.

  A mistake.

  “You strung out bitch.” Martin’s eyes flared. He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me so hard my teeth clattered together and my thoughts became rattled. “You can and you will.”

  “No.” My eyes burned, but I didn’t cry and I didn’t back down.

  That’s when he lost it. I didn’t even see the blow coming. The force of the impact knocked me back on my heels. I tasted coppery blood in my mouth. He glared at me. I glared back, never hating anyone more than I did him in that moment. I went after him, pounding my fists ineffectually against his solid chest. He easily knocked my hands away and smacked my face again with his open palm.

  I backed away covering my burning cheek with my hand. He’d hit me before, but he’d never looked at me with such malice. The entire left side of my face was a fiery blaze now. Frantically I retreated, looking around the room for something to defend myself with. Then he rocked me with another blow. His fist felt like a brick as it blasted into the left side of my skull. I reeled into a side table, knocking it over. Everything went black for a moment. When I blinked away the haze, I found myself on the floor with his body looming over me.

  “Ok,” I mumbled. “I’ll go. I’ll go.”

  Those lips I’d once thought handsome spread across his face into a dark as death smile. “Knew you’d see things my way.” He offered me his hand to lift me up. I offered him my left, but the fingers of my right hand closed tightly around the base of the broken lamp beside me.

  As he leaned down, I swung it at Martin’s head with all I had in me. Brass and bone came together with a sickening crack. He lurched face forward into the carpet, and he didn’t get back up.

  I fled down the hall and out into the night with just the clothes on my back and the engagement ring he’d given me to pawn.

  Shaken by the memory, I shoved my trembling hands into my jeans and stuffed those dark thoughts back into the box. I leaned back against a column and forced myself to refocus on Tempest’s performance. The guys were well into their set now. They were polished and confident, and there was no awkward space where I’d once stood.

  Not needed.

  Not wanted.

  As the disheartening reality of that sank in, my gaze stalled dispassionately on War. Wet and plastered to his head, his brown hair looked almost black. I watched him throw the tail end of his long lavender scarf behind his sweaty back as he strutted confidently across the width of the stage.

  He’d made it so easy to resume our old relationship. I didn’t know why he had wanted me back, but he had, and I was grateful. He seemed to want to pretend that the past two years with the RCA deal and Martin had never happened, and that was just fine by me. We were on the same page in that regard though our reasons were undoubtedly different.

  With Bryan, on the other hand, I was afraid there was never going to be a way back to the close friendship we’d had before. We never talked about the night we had spent together, but it was always there, an awkward and unbridgeable gap between us.

  My eyes followed him as he prowled dangerously around the stage with his guitar, by far the sexiest guy I’d ever seen. Lids lowered, face an intense mask of concentration, I watched his fingers flying over his Les Paul. His instrument screamed like a complex climax above the rhythm of the current song. My blood heated remembering those nimble fingers and the effortless way they’d played my body with strikingly similar results.

  Long after the music ended, my gaze lingered on Bryan and the puzzle he represented. There was still much of the handsome playful boy I remembered, but now some additional things much beyond his age. I wondered at the faint lines around his mouth and the guardedness in his manner that had not been there before.

  I guessed the past two years had put some hard mileage on all of us.

  “Where you been?” Every spike of Dizzy’s bleached hair was gelled into place when I arrived for sound check the next afternoon in Boston.

  “Working out in the hotel rec room.” I set my iPhone in the dock and started to tune up my guitar.

  “Your mom and the girls go back to Seattle last night?” His barbell piercing rose as he lifted his brow.

  I nodded. I’d hated saying goodbye to my family, but even worse than that was the thought of sticking around to see the lovey dovey morning routine with Lace and War. Watching the two of them play house within the tight confines of the bus was pushing the limit of what I could take. She and War had disappeared last night right after the show and though I tried not to, imagining what they were doing in that back bedroom with the door closed made me almost physically ill. It was just as bad as it had ever been. I didn’t know how I was going to get a h
andle on it.

  “You must’ve been at it really early. You were gone before I got up.” Eyes the same whiskey color as his sister’s narrowed suspiciously. “You been working out for two whole hours?”

  “Yeah.” I slanted a brow. It hadn’t been near long enough.

  “Trying to avoid War and my sister, huh?”

  My head snapped up.

  “Wish I could,” Dizzy shrugged out of his trademark black leather jacket and lowered his head down over his Ibanez RG, completely oblivious to my telling response. “When I left this morning they’d already started arguing at the top of their lungs. It was just like old times.”

  “She tell you anything about what happened with Martin?”

  “No.” Dizzy ran his tongue over the silver loop in his lip. “She doesn’t do heart to heart chats with me anymore. Besides, that always used to be your territory.”

  “Hmm.” I grunted noncommittally. That came to an abrupt end two years ago. “I’d like to kill the son of a bitch for what he did to her.” I stomped down on my pedal board so violently that it bounced off the black hardwood surface.

  “Me too, man. I wish she would’ve taken my advice and stayed away from him in the first place. But the way I hear it, the dude’s days are numbered anyway. Word is he’s gotten himself into a real tight spot. Owes a lot of money to higher ups and doesn’t have the funds to cover it.”

  Before I could pimp him for more information, the sound of War’s raised voice reached us.

  “What’d I tell you?” Dizzy’s chin lifted as War and Lace came into view. “They’re still going at it.”

  “No, Warren Andrew Jinkins. I don’t want to.” Lace looked beautiful with her hair pulled back from her face in a messy bun, loose tendrils curling all around her neck, but her blond brows were drawn together. “I haven’t sung anything in over a year.” Her sexy lips pressed flat into a tight line. “Not in public anyway, and your label sure as hell won’t like it if I get up on stage during your set.”

  “Come on, Lacey. Just do a number here at sound check.” War blocked her path, his tone turning coaxing. “I wanna hear that sexy voice of yours over the speakers.”

  She shook her head, sidestepped around him, dropped down into an abandoned folding chair, and threw her coat on the floor.

  Hands on his hips, War continued to glare daggers in her direction as King and Sager came strolling in side by side, the same height, though King weighed about twenty pounds more than Sager now, all of it muscle. He’d taken to drinking protein shakes and lifting weights with a religious fervor since his dad had the heart attack. He had his cell held out in front of Sager, the screen turned sideways. Sager bent his head to watch, his brown eyes hidden beneath unruly strands of inky hair. The bassist snickered at whatever King was showing him. Probably some YouTube video. Whenever he found something funny, he couldn’t wait to share it with Sager.

  Smiling widely, Sager clapped King on the shoulder before they separated to get set up.

  “War, come on, dude,” I cajoled, pulling his attention away from Lace. “We gotta get outta here by one, so they can change the set up for BS.”

  “Alright,” War muttered after lobbing one more loaded glower at Lace. “We’re not through discussing this,” he warned her.

  “Yeah, yeah.” She shot him the finger.

  I hid my smile.

  “You guys haven’t changed a bit. Two of the most stubborn people I know,” Dizzy observed. “Can’t you compromise?”

  “Not when I’m right, and she’s wrong,” War explained with his usual arrogance, grabbing the center mic and turning his head back to look at me. “‘Truth.’” He dipped his chin. “Hit it, Bullet.”

  I fingered the three string riff repeatedly to set the pace for the frenetic opening. Hips swaying back and forth to the beat in a serpentine pattern, War began the opening lyrics at the same time that King came crashing in with the drums, Dizzy with the rhythm, and Sager with his steady bass line.

  I moved to stand between Sager and Dizzy, all three of us leaning back as a choreographed unit, instruments held pelvic level, jamming away together.

  Except for a couple of interjected echoes by me during the chorus, ‘Truth’ was a vocal showpiece for our lead singer beginning to end.

  “Holy shit!” Lace exclaimed after War let out the last primal yell. “Why didn’t you guys do that one in New York? It sounds even better live than it does on the recording.” She stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her black tunic top, and walked over to me, gesturing at my Les Paul. “How the hell do you do that?”

  “Bullet’s pretty fast with his fingers.” Sager chuckled.

  “Ah, so that’s how you got the nickname.” Lace smiled. “Faster than a bullet on the frets, huh?”

  “Uh, sort of.” King shoved Sager. “Even faster to get a woman off. One time he even…”

  “Shut it.” I cut in and glared at King.

  Lace’s smile warbled, but she managed to right it.

  “What?” King shrugged. “It’s Lace. It ain’t like she never heard that shit before.”

  “If you bitches are done joking around,” War interjected. “I wanna have a serious word with you, Lacey.”

  “Stop pushing me,” she said firmly, her hands fisting on her narrow jean clad hips. “And leave me the hell alone about it. I’m not changing my mind.”

  “I’m thinking you will.” War angled closer. “Babe, you wasted way too much time and talent when you were with that asshole Martin.”

  Lace’s eyes narrowed under the criticism. “Yeah, well, I’m not wasting any more of my time with you today when you’re acting like such an authoritative jerk.” She scooped her coat off the floor and stomped down the stage right stairs.

  “Lacey, come back. Don’t be that way,” War called out after her, but she didn’t stop. Her angry strides took her quickly up the aisle past the rows of empty seats. She’d finished buttoning her coat by the time she disappeared through the double doors at the top. “Bryan.” War turned to me. “Keep an eye on her, will you? You know she won’t talk to me when she gets like this.”

  “Alright.” Dizzy was right. This was just like old times. I unstrapped my guitar, placed it in the stand, and jogged after her, catching up to her at the other end of the mezzanine. “Lace. Hold up.” I grabbed her arm.

  “Leave me alone, Bryan.” Jerking her arm free, she whirled around, her back straight as a board, her chin lifted, her eyes flashing. When she got all worked up like this she could be a handful. I also thought it was cute as hell, but I knew better than to mention that.

  “Don’t take it out on me, Lace, just ‘cause you’re pissed at him.” She continued to scowl and I gave into a grin. “You know I’ve got more than a few inches on you.” I cocked a brow and took a step closer to demonstrate. “I’ll use that to my advantage if I have to.”

  “Promise?” Her lips twitched. Hand to the center of my chest, she pushed me back.

  Hell yes. I’d meant my height, but she’d obviously taken my comment in a whole other direction. It’d been too long since she’d flirted with me like this. I missed it. I missed her. I leaned into her hand, eyes focused on hers, nostrils flaring as my lungs drew in her familiar scent. She used to carry a tube of vanilla scented lotion around in her purse, and it had always pissed War off when she got the slippery stuff on the equipment. “C’mon.” I lowered my voice, pouring on the persuasion. I wanted to spend time with her today, for myself, not for War. “I haven’t seen you in years. We used to be really good friends. I miss that,” I admitted, speaking my thoughts out loud. I reached in my pocket for cigarettes. “There’s nothing exciting going on around here til seven. Why don’t we go hang? Explore Boston?”

  “I’d like that,” she replied and then graced me with an all-out, eyes sparkling, rock my world Lace smile. My fingers tightened around the plastic wrapping of the cigarette pack. She was so fucking beautiful when she smiled. I’d forgotten how it could affect me. A hundred memories of
her looking just like that came rushing to the surface of my mind as I basked in the radiant glow of the current one. I still wanted to do whatever it took to make her smile like that. Nothing had changed in that regard since we’d been kids.

  I sat on a bench in the Commons with Bryan, sun heating my back. Picnickers crowded the park and children dashed back and forth between spread out blankets. Bostonians were out in droves enjoying the atypically warm January day. I stared at Bryan. His shades were pointed in the direction of a young girl with braids being chased in circles by a couple of boys.

  “I remember when you used to have braids like that,” he mused. “Before your insanely annoying Brittany Spears phase.” He shifted, angling his long jean clad legs toward me.

  He was so exceptionally handsome with his light brown hair peeking out from under the top of his black knit cap. Unfortunately the mirrored aviators he wore, though sexy, shielded his dark eyebrows and his gorgeous grey green eyes from view. My eyes traced the strong line of his stubble covered jaw and lingered on the sensual lips that I still fantasized about kissing.

  I cleared my throat. “We used to be inseparable, you and Dizzy and me. Always pretending to be rock stars. Do you remember the time we built that stage in front of the House? How we got the other kids to pay fifty cents each just to see us perform?”

  Giving me a bemused smile, he nodded. “Sheet for a curtain. Glass bottles for microphones. You had a stuffed snake for a prop.”

  “You wore a top hat like Slash’s.” My lips tilted up as I remembered. “Where on earth did you find that ratty thing?”

  “A dumpster behind the Tuxedo Warehouse.” He reached over and gently removed a strand of hair that the soft breeze had blown across my lips.

  I pulled the edges of my worn pea coat together, pretending that my shiver was caused by the cold and not be the feel of his rough fingers against my mouth. “We had some good times.”