Off Bass (UnBroken: The Series Book 1)

by KC Enders

  “What are you doing here? Actually, how the fuck did you get in? I know I didn’t give you the code.”

  Ian and Gavin both have access to my place, but I know neither one of them would have shared the code with Kane.

  He waves me off like it doesn’t matter, but it does. It abso-fucking-lutely does. “Rand said we need to fix whatever your problem is with me.”

  And there it is. Our fucking manager. He needed to send one of his assistants to snag another bass from upstairs at some point on our last tour. Rand fucking gave Kane access to my house, to my last bastion of privacy. That bastard.

  “So, I thought I’d be the bigger man and come try to make nice with you. If I had known Alexis was here, I’d have come last night instead.” He tilts his head and thinks before adding, “I mean, I did—down a beautiful man’s throat—so I have no complaints. But I would have loved to have been a part of whatever you all got up to here.”

  He twists the lid off the jar of Luxardo cherries and shoves two fingers into the thick syrup, pulling a cherry out. Dark maroon dots my white countertop as he lewdly licks his fingers.

  “You were not invited. Not welcome.” I pause and stare at him for a minute. “How long were you standing there? Watching?”

  Kane pulls his fingers from his mouth, letting loose a loud pop at the end. “Not nearly long enough.” He has the nerve to laugh.

  “Great. Just fantastic,” I mumble, shoving my hands through my hair. “Really a stellar way to try to make amends, asshole.”

  “I have nothing to atone for.”

  The shower upstairs stops, and I clench my jaw, muscles jumping, teeth grinding. Kane should not be in my house, and I should have been in there with Alex, soaping her up so I could get her dirty all over again.

  “Yeah, you do, especially now.” I grab the violated jar of cherries and throw it in the trash.

  As soon as Kane opens his mouth to speak, I hit the button and grind fresh beans for coffee.

  Passive-aggressive? Yep, without a doubt. But I do not want him here.

  The scent of coffee fills the air as I pull two mugs from the cabinet, splashing a little milk in each of them.

  “Oh, I’m going to need my coffee lighter than that.” Kane simpers.

  As soon as it’s done brewing, I fill each mug to the top with hot, fresh coffee, and Kane pouts. He fucking pouts.

  “Well?”

  I stare at him over the top of my mug, the steam not nearly enough to obliterate him from my view.

  He huffs as he pushes back from the counter and stands. He has the fucking nerve to open my pantry and rifle through it until he finds the sugar.

  Before he makes it back though, Alex appears. She slides her arm around me and snags the other cup, bringing it to her luscious lips. She moans, deep and sexy. “God, that’s perfect,” she says sweetly. “Better get in the shower. We don’t want to be late.”

  Late. We’ve got nothing to do today and nowhere we have to be.

  Her hand rests on my stomach as she turns into me. Only I can see the sparkle of mischief in her eye as she winks. She presses up onto her toes, full of grace, and kisses me.

  Kane’s frustrated groan fills the air.

  “I’ll be quick,” I murmur against her lips. “You gonna be okay?”

  Alex nods and gives me a gentle push toward the stairs.

  I don’t like leaving her alone with Kane. Not that I think he’ll do anything—I hope. I just don’t like the idea of the kinds of things that might come out of his mouth. It’s bad enough when I’m in the room, but if he’s got no one there to filter him, who knows …

  Of course, he ignores me as I pass him. He stays completely silent—at least until I’m halfway up the stairs, and then he snorts a laugh. “Surely, you could do better than that. I got a better show upstairs before I opened my mouth.”

  “Don’t be a cunt, Kane. It doesn’t look good on you,” Alex says, calm as can be.

  I laugh loudly as I climb. She’ll be fine while I get cleaned up. Hell, maybe she’ll get rid of Kane by the time I’m done.

  16

  TWO STEPS FROM HELL

  ALEXIS

  By the time Nate saunters down the stairs, freshly showered, droplets of water glistening from the tips of his hair, Kane is gone.

  “He left?” Nate asks, peeking through the rooms on the first floor. “I don’t think that’s ever happened without threatening to call the police.” He hops over the back of the couch and falls into the cushions next to me.

  “Does he do this often?” I ask, tucking my feet under his ass.

  Nate leans forward and snags the remote off the coffee table, pulling up his movie library. “Do what? Show up here, break in, or not leave?”

  “All of that.”

  He shoves a hand underneath him and pulls my feet up onto his lap.

  Dancers do not have pretty feet, and mine, especially right now, are atrocious. I will never understand how he can hold my nasty feet, massage them, but when I crack my neck or pop my back, he freaks out.

  “Quit.” I cringe, trying to pull my feet away from him and hide them away. “Give me those back.”

  With his large palm wrapped firmly around both of my ankles, Nate leans forward, tossing the remote to the table.

  Familiar music fills the room, and he settles in to watch whatever he put on. And ignore my question, evidently.

  “Seriously, what’s the deal with Kane? That’s not normal, is it? For him to just walk into your house and …”

  Nate trails his palm along my leg. His touch is light, sweet. Comforting in its familiarity.

  “Everyone kind of does. Kane, not so much. Usually, he’s with one of the other guys because I never gave him the code. But, yeah, here in the city, my place is where we tend to congregate.” He says it like it’s not a big deal, but upstairs and even earlier in the kitchen, I thought he was going to lay Kane out.

  “Okay, but—”

  “He’s a lot. His personality has always been big. Bigger than me, bigger than I’m comfortable with.” Nate shifts, sinking lower into the couch. He hooks his palm under my leg and tugs until my butt rests right up against his thigh and my legs are splayed across his. “He’s been pushing me, digging at me since we were kids. When we went on the road, it felt like he did everything he could to piss me off, make me uncomfortable.”

  “I thought he had a thing for Gavin. Was he hitting on you? Did … did something happen with them?”

  For as long as I can remember, even before hormones surged through any of our teenaged bodies, Kane was obsessed with Gavin.

  “Nah, nothing like that. I mean, Gavin had Sarah all through school, and then when she fucked him over and cheated on him, it wasn’t long before he found Gracyn. Kane just …” He rolls his lips between his teeth and drops his head to the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I think he just gets a rush out of stirring shit with people. And I’ve always been an easy target for him.”

  He rolls his head to the side until he’s staring straight at me. His pale green eyes framed by the longest lashes that would make any girl jealous.

  I get lost in his gaze, in the past reflected there. In the possibilities for the future scrawled there.

  “We took turns with who shared rooms—Gavin was always trying to keep things copacetic. And it seemed like every time Kane and I had to share a room, he brought at least one person back, usually more. I ended up spending a lot of nights out on the beach, walking around whatever town we were in at the time. Wondering why the fuck I’d dropped out of college. How the hell I’d ended up there.”

  I want to wrap my arms around him. Pull him to me and push away the crappy parts of his story. I want to erase them and write in new chapters. Happier times and shiny memories.

  “Some nights, I woke up to …”

  “To what?” I ask when it feels like he’s not going to finish.

  His shoulders bunch up, and his hand tightens around my ankle. “To Kane’s left
overs crawling into my bed.” His lips flatten into a harsh line. “The times it was a dude, Kane would let loose with that evil fucking laugh of his, like he’d been encouraging it. Got to the point that Gavin roomed with Kane most of the time.”

  “And you’re sure there was nothing between them?” I rotate my ankle with the intent of easing Nate’s grip, but when the joint pops loudly, he lets loose with a full-body shiver.

  “Disgusting,” he says under his breath.

  “Sorry.”

  He traces a lazy trail from my ankle along the swell of my calf and back. His callouses are rough, but his palms are warm and soft. Each pass brings his hand higher on my leg, slow and sensual, just a hint of tickling before he trails back or changes pressure.

  “There was nothing. I think it fed something in Kane, made him happy or whatever, just to be close to Gavin. Didn’t matter to him that his feelings were unrequited, but lately, it’s gotten bad again. Really bad.” He stretches his hand and then balls it into a fist a couple of times, seemingly unconscious of the movement.

  “But just toward you.”

  There’s no question in that. It’s obvious that things are beyond strained between Kane and Nate. His slight nod unnecessarily confirms it.

  “And how is that affecting your career? The band?”

  The laugh that huffs from him is not a joyful one. “Negatively. Our last tour got really fucking complicated with scheduling breaks and rerouting dates so that we had enough separation to get through the whole thing. I found out from Ian and Gavin that our manager, Rand, had a car waiting for me after the last show so I could leave. He played it off like it was a last-minute thing because of what went down between Kane and me, but the guys later called bullshit on that.

  “So, I came home after the show only staying for part of the label’s party and the VIP event. Even if I hadn’t decided to go have my hand checked out, I would have been whisked away in the name of peace.”

  “That’s—”

  “Shitty. Real fucking shitty.” Nate’s fingers dip under the hem of his t-shirt that I threw on after my shower this morning. He grazes the skin on my stomach, and electricity jumps along my nerves.

  I sit up and climb onto his lap. His eyes flare with heat as I move his hands to cup my breasts. Nate’s teeth sink into his plump lower lip as our hands push them together, enhancing my already-ample cleavage.

  I’m thankful that I never had the money or time to make a breast reduction a reality for myself. Because right now, the hassle of binding my chest to optimize my dancer’s line is worth it.

  I slide my hands from his and run them up his chest, grasping his face between my palms. I press my mouth to his lips and lick inside. I don’t know if it’s his hands on me or the way he just bared his soul, but I feel like I can’t get close enough to Nate.

  The t-shirt lifts over my head, landing on the arm of the sofa just moments before the front door opens and Ian bursts into the room.

  “Honest to fuck, seriously?” Nate murmurs against my mouth. He clutches my bared torso to his chest, covering me, though I doubt Ian even notices that he’s caught us.

  Instead, Ian stalks to a chair in the corner and folds his tall, lanky body into the dark brown leather. “Sorry ’bout last night, man. Next time’s on me.”

  He shoves his hand through his hair and stops, shock sliding into place. The panic rolling off of him has me scrambling for my abandoned shirt until he pulls his ever-present beanie from his jacket pocket. As soon as he has it settled on his head, he relaxes back into the chair.

  “You owe Alex. A couple hundred bucks easy with the way you were putting down the whiskey.” Nate leans and hooks the t-shirt, bringing it to me.

  When it’s in place, I slide off of Nate’s lap and smile at Ian. “Don’t worry about it,” I tell him as he reaches for his phone.

  “What’s your Venmo?”

  I wave him off. “Seriously, next time. It was great hanging out with you.”

  His eyes pop wide, and his gaze bounces from me to Nate and back again, like he just figured out what he walked in on. “Fuck, guys, I’m sorry. Jesus, were you … fuck.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “I fucking cockblocked you and Calloway, dude. So uncool.” He leans forward, pushing to his feet.

  “Sit your ass down. It’s not like you’re the first one to interrupt today. At least you apologized instead of asking to join in,” Nate says on a laugh.

  “You kidding me? How did Kane get in? I didn’t think you gave him the code.”

  “I didn’t. I’m guessing he got it from Rand. I’m going to have to change it up or something.” Nate reaches forward and lowers the volume of the TV. “What’s going on with you though? You seem super preoccupied.”

  “Nothing of note, man. When are you headed up to G’s? You going up early, hang out in the country for a bit, or …”

  I sink back into the sofa and watch the exchange.

  “What are you talking about?” Nate asks, his brows knitting together.

  The room chills, tension filling the void as Ian shifts uncomfortably. “Uh, I mean … you didn’t get the heads-up from Rand? We have another meeting this week down here and then …”

  Ian leaves way too much unspoken and hanging in the air, but it’s painfully obvious that Nate’s in the dark.

  He pushes from the couch and jogs up the stairs without so much as a word.

  I exchange a look with Ian and open my mouth to ask what’s going on when Nate’s feet pound down the stairs. He hops over the back of the couch, way too far from me now, and slides his thumb across the screen of his phone, waking it.

  While his profile is never anything less than stunning, with his brows lowered and his chin jutting forward, he looks a little menacing. Pissed off, for sure. He taps away at his phone and sets it facedown on the cushion between us.

  The air crackles with uncertainty as he waits for a response. I’m guessing from his manager, but if I’m honest with myself, I’m afraid to ask.

  “Are you fucking with me? Shit sounded serious. Rand said all of us, no exceptions. He’s even got that guy, Vince, from the label in town.” Ian’s tongue darts out, flicking at his lip ring.

  Nate nods silently. He flips his phone and checks the screen, and then he puts it facedown again. Time spins slowly, heavily, until finally, he pushes to his feet, grabs his phone, and stalks through the brownstone. A door opens and slams shut again at the back of the house.

  I twist, looking in the direction that Nate took off before turning and meeting Ian’s concerned gaze.

  “Shit. I didn’t know.” Ian pulls his beanie low on his head.

  “Didn’t know what?” I know so little about what’s been going down with all of them that I don’t even know whether to be pissed or concerned for Nate.

  “I mean, I figured Rand called all of us at the same time. Called this meeting and then set it up to meet at Gavin’s place so we could use his studio and record some shit.” Ian leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees. “No fucking idea what the hell is going on.”

  He’s obviously uncomfortable, shoulders tense, knee bouncing, hands clasped tightly together, and thumbs pounding out a beat against each other. It’s none of my business. This is so not my tea to get involved in.

  “You really have no idea?”

  His head pops up, and he stares at me for a beat, his eyes full of questions and confusion. “I don’t. I really fucking have no idea what’s going down.”

  Sweet Ian, never thinking poorly of anyone.

  “Honey, someone is pushing Nate out. Pushing to get him replaced,” I say softly, eyes darting to the back of the house. I have no illusions that Nate’s figured out what’s happening, but I don’t want to say it out loud. Throw it in his face and make things even worse.

  “Who would …” Ian’s gaze darts up to meet mine as he silently answers the question for himself. “Fucking cunt.”

  Indeed.

  17

&nb
sp; ALL TIME LOW

  NATE

  Fallen petals swirl around my legs as the chill seeps through my bare feet. This patio is a rare gem in Brooklyn. And while, normally, it brings me peace and is one of the many things I love about my brownstone, right now, it’s cold and damp, and there is nothing good about it.

  Or maybe that’s just me.

  I count to ten and then fifteen, trying to find some calm where there’s none.

  Fucking Kane.

  Somewhere around sixty-seven, I give up. On the yoga breathing, the Zen bullshit that I can’t seem to find anywhere, and the counting.

  I pull up Rand’s contact information on my phone and start counting all over again.

  Seven. It takes seven rings for him to pick up my call, and the voice filtering through from his side is a damn good indication of why.

  Fucking Kane.

  “Hey, uh, bud. What’s going on?” The tremor in his voice, the hesitancy and avoidance of using my name, adds to the pile of shit today has become.

  I thought everything was going better when I finished my shower and found that Kane had left my house without a fight.

  I was goddamn convinced it was better when Alex crawled onto my lap and stuck her tits in my hands and worked them over. And when she shoved her tongue in my mouth and kissed the fuck out of me.

  Jesus, even when Ian strolled through my door, unannounced, interrupting me from getting some, I thought things were going better. Like maybe he was going to finally open up about whatever had him so fucking twisted up.

  But evidently, I was wrong across the board.

  Fucking Kane.

  A door whooshes closed, and Rand lowers his voice, indicating he has changed rooms, not willing to risk giving away that he’s talking to me. “Nate, buddy. You there?”

  Fucking Kane.

  “Nate?”

  “What’s going on, Rand?”

  “What d-do y-you mean?” He can’t hide the nervous stutter.