Irresistible Refrain t-1

by Michelle Mankin

  “Lace, get out of here quick!” he yelled.

  I bolted for the door but I wasn’t fast enough. Two meaty hands landed on my shoulders and I found myself spun around looking at the long stringy haired pusher.

  “She’s a pretty one, Mama.” His rancid breath nearly made me puke as he leered down at me. I started to shake.

  “Leave her alone!” Dizzy shouted while twisting violently in the arms of the wide bodied man restraining him. “She’s just a kid.”

  “Sean likes ‘em young,” the wide bodied dealer explained. His fat lips curled into a sneer.

  Fingers digging painfully into the sensitive flesh of my upper arms, Sean backed me up against the wall. Bile burned the back of my throat as he let go of one arm to touch my cheek. Warm tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes.

  “Mama,” Sean threw a meaningful glance her way. “If you want your candy. I get your daughter. That’s the deal.”

  “No!” Dizzy shouted. “Let her go, you piece of shit.”

  “Shut him the fuck up, Trace,” Sean ordered harshly.

  I heard a sharp metallic click. My eyes widened as I watched Trace bring a switchblade up to my brother’s throat. My chest got so tight I could barely breathe. I shook my head.

  “You heard him little man,” Trace warned my brother. “Be quiet.” A volcano of ineffectual anger erupted inside Dizzy’s eyes.

  I looked to my mother for help. “Please, Momma,” I pleaded. “Tell them no. Make them go away.”

  Eyes dull and lifeless, my mother’s gaze went right through me as if I didn’t even exist. Sean yanked my arm and pulled me toward the bedroom.

  “No,” I rasped, trying to slow him down by dragging my feet. “I’ll scream.”

  “You better not, or I’ll have Trace carve up that brother of yours,” Sean’s fingernails scratched my arms making more tears sting my eyes. “And stop your bawling. Tears don’t change a damn thing in this shitty world. You’re old enough to know better.”

  He kicked the door closed and had me pinned to the bed within seconds. I struggled at first, but stopped when I realized he seemed to like that. His body was so heavy on top of mine that I found it difficult to breathe, and when I felt his slimy hands slithering up under my shirt, I stopped wanting to try.

  I turned my head toward the door, withdrew inside myself, and pretended I wasn’t even there. Just as I felt the welcome blackness begin to take me under, I heard a heavy pounding and voices outside the door.

  “Police.” That one word was my lifeline. It gave me the strength to renew my struggle.

  Sean threw a furtive glance at the window, but our apartment was on the eleventh floor, so that wasn’t going to work out very well for him. Evidently reaching the same conclusion, he gave me a hard shake before he jumped off me. “Keep your mouth shut or I’ll come back for you and your brother. I know a guy who likes little boys. Understand?”

  I nodded, scurried off the bed, and slid down into the far corner of the room, wanting as much distance between him and me as I could possibly get. I pulled my knees to my chest as he threw open the door. I watched him skid to a halt in front of a cop’s drawn gun.

  “Turn around. Hands up on the wall, Evans,” the uniformed officer ordered. “I should have known slime balls like you and Carson would be involved in something like this.” Behind him, I could see that another officer had already restrained Trace. My mother stood vacantly beside them making no effort to come to me.

  “Detective Shannon. So nice to see you,” Sean returned, voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “I suggest you exercise your right to remain silent.” Detective Shannon’s gaze swept over me as he cuffed Sean. “You can come in.” He glanced over his shoulder. “The girl’s in here. Looks pretty shaken up.”

  I heard footsteps. Dizzy appeared first, tearing up when he saw me, Ms. Jackson right behind him. Dizzy crossed the room and knelt down on the floor in front of me. He reached out his arms.

  “No.” I shook my head. “Don’t touch me.”

  Dizzy withdrew looking hurt. I noticed Bryan hovering in the doorway watching us with a worried frown. Shame darkened my cheeks. I laid my head down on my crossed arms and closed my eyes, trying to block everything out.

  “Let me talk to her.” I heard Ms. Jackson say. “I think she’ll respond better to a woman right now.” I felt the warmth from her body as she sank down beside me. She gently stroked my hair. “You did nothing wrong, Lace,” she soothed in her soft voice. “But you need to tell the police the truth. You and Dizzy can’t stay here anymore with your mom. It’s not safe.”

  Dizzy and I had moved in with our uncle after that. He’d been a mean son of a bitch, but he didn’t knock us around and at least we were off the Avenue.

  I didn’t see Bryan again until high school, and by then I was so full of myself. My ego had inflated right along with my cup size. I’d believed my good looks and curves would be my salvation, my way out from under the shameful shadow my mother had cast over me. I was so certain that I’d make something out of my life.

  I’d been wrong.

  3

  I paced while waiting for my family. They were coming in to catch our second performance at the Garden. Over in the corner, War, the lucky bastard, had his arms wrapped around Lace. She wasn’t smiling but looked rocker chick sexy having knotted a tour t-shirt underneath her breasts in a way that accentuated them and exposed a great deal of skin above a pair of dark jeans that fit her like a glove.

  Watching the two of them together made me even more edgy. I looked away, spinning the leather cuff on my watchband around to check the time again. Thirty more minutes before we went on. Shit. Since we were the opening band for the mega group Brutal Strength there was no way Tempest could go on late.

  Where were they? Their plane landed hours ago. Last night’s winter storm probably had something to do with the delay.

  “Bry.”

  I turned in relief at the sound of a trio of familiar voices calling my name and had only seconds to brace myself before being enveloped in a group hug. “Mom.” I kissed the top of the brunette head that only came to the center of my chest now. My mom might be tiny, but a more resilient woman I’d never met, except perhaps for one other. The crap hand life had dealt my mom hadn’t made her bitter. She’d only become more determined to succeed, sacrificing everything over the years to take care of me and my sisters. I could never repay her for all of that, but that sure as hell wasn’t going to stop me from trying.

  I rocked back on the heels of my favorite pair of motorcycle boots and looked at my younger sisters. Miriam was the oldest, a senior now. Her I worried about the most. Though as driven as my mom to succeed, she had a talent for getting into trouble. She acted first and thought things through second…if at all. Recently, it’d taken quite a bit of finesse on my mom’s part to keep the school from suspending her when she’d been caught up on the roof having an impromptu snowball fight with her friends from the drama department. Miriam’s vivacious personality and good looks were ideal for the career she wanted as an actress. If only she could stay out of trouble.

  “What the hell are you wearing?” I whispered in Miriam’s ear. “It’s freezing outside and you’re practically coming out of that blouse.”

  “Lighten up, Bry.” She smiled and flipped a lock of black hair over her shoulder. Eyes the same grey green as my own twinkled mischievously. “It’s a rock concert not Mass.”

  Before I could pursue the matter further, my sister Ann, a book tucked under her arm, threw her arms around my waist and hugged me pretty damn tight. My heart warmed. I returned the hug with equal enthusiasm. Ann I didn’t worry about. She was just as studious as Miriam, but with a gentle soul and a level head. I tucked a strand of her straight brown hair behind her ear. She peered up over the top of her plastic frames at me.

  “Still enjoying working weekends at the veterinary clinic?” I asked her.

  The enthusiastic smile on her face broadened. “I’ve
got two shifts now. Mom says when I’m a junior I can add one day during the week, too.”

  “That’s great, Ann.” Animals were her passion. Always had been. Though we’d never been able to have a real pet, she’d collected the stuffed versions since she was three. She wouldn’t give any of them away and had so many now that they covered all the built in shelves in her bedroom. I planned to get her a real live Labrador puppy to go along with the house I was saving up to buy for all three of them.

  “War says to tell you we’re on in five,” King announced.

  I nodded, turning back to my family, frowning when I caught the look that passed between our drummer and Miriam. What the hell? King was totally checking her out. I was gonna kill him. And eff it if Miriam wasn’t returning the favor. Dammit. She was even arching her back to make her boobs look bigger.

  I grabbed her arm.

  “Bry,” Miriam hissed. “You’re hurting me.”

  I ignored her, guiding all three of my women to one of the roadies I trusted. “Mark, can you take my mom and sisters to their seats?”

  “Sure thing, Bullet.”

  “Thanks.” I laid a palm against my mom’s soft cheek. “Mark will bring you backstage after the show. I want to introduce you to all the tour personnel.”

  “Can we meet Avery Jones?” Miriam asked face bright with anticipation.

  My smile flat lined. It’d been a bit of work, but I’d managed to avoid Red since she’d dumped me. But far better to spend the evening with her than endure another night watching Lace with War. “Sure.” I sighed.

  4

  I sat on the top of a stack of amps, watching the Jackson family reunion, on the outside now looking in, extinguishing the desire to be included with them again before it could unfurl completely. My chin dropped down to my chest, the length of my hair sliding forward effectively concealing the longing on my face.

  Stop it, I told myself. That kind of family love and loyalty in all its Hallmark loveliness wasn’t for me. Once upon a time maybe, but not anymore.

  Why couldn’t I accept the way things were? I didn’t belong with them anymore, no matter how much I wished things were different, and Bryan was never going to be mine. My gaze followed him after his mom and sisters left and he moved to take the stage.

  I hopped down from my corner perch and wandered closer as Bryan and the guys got ready to perform. I’d arrived too late last night to see the show. I watched King take off his shirt as he climbed up onto the drum riser, and my eyes widened at what I saw. I shook my head in appreciative disbelief. When had King gotten those guns? He used to be the chubby one. Not even remotely so now. He was as cut as an Abercrombie and Fitch model, a sexy Latino one with his square jaw and bronze skin and dark closely cropped hair.

  My gaze drifted over to Sager, the other half of Tempest’s comic duo. He and King had been best friends as long as Bryan and War. Everyone in the band knew their constant joking was really a coping mechanism, their way of dealing with the crap they’d been through. Their humor was as much a part of who they were as the clothes they wore, although Sager wasn’t wearing much right now, just faded jeans. The lanky bassist had recently dyed his curly brown hair jet black. Long uneven wisps of it framed his angular face.

  Bryan came over and said something to him that I couldn’t hear. Sager nodded, pulled his signature newsboy cap down lower over his brown eyes, and pointed his hawkish nose to the floor as he tuned his Fender.

  Bryan’s gaze flicked to me.

  And I couldn’t make myself look away. Those light colored eyes of his I could stare at for hours if the rest of him wasn’t equally as enthralling. The thick black ink of his tats scrolled fluidly over the bulges of his biceps down to his wrists where an assortment of black leather and silver bracelets were stacked together. Just like the other guys, he was shirtless, and I found myself lusting after the sexy lead guitarist of Tempest. His chest was smooth, his abdomen flat, and his narrow hips were laced into a pair of tight black leather pants. War called to him and he turned away, giving me a view of his backside.

  Even his ass was perfection.

  I swallowed to moisten my dry throat.

  Bryan sauntered across the stage in heavy biker boots and met War at center stage. War clapped him on the shoulder before plucking the mic out of its stand. Giving me a wink, War then faced the audience, his hands draped lazily over the mic stand waiting while a man in wire rimmed glasses finished the band’s introduction.

  His spiky platinum hair gleaming beneath the stage lights, my brother plugged in his favorite Gibson Plaintop, made an adjustment on his footboard, gave Bryan a thumbs up, and flashed me his infamous double dimpled smile.

  I smiled proudly back. I didn’t envy Dizzy his success. He deserved to be out on that stage. He was one of the best rhythm guitarists I’d ever heard, though I was a little biased for sure. His steady reliable pacing gave Bryan the freedom he needed to go all crazy on lead. My heart squeezed. I’d missed my easy going brother so much. Maybe if he’d been around, I would’ve had the guts to leave Martin sooner.

  2 weeks prior

  “Go ahead and leave, bitch,” Martin told me in that same disaffected voice he always used whenever I threatened to leave. Which wasn’t often anymore.

  After all what other choice did I have?

  I had no money, and I wasn’t welcome back in my uncle’s house. I’d tried to go back there the first time Martin had hit me. “You’re just like your mother,” he’d told me.

  Turns out he’d been right.

  I pressed my lips together, my vision blurring as I stared at my arms. Just looking at them made me long to shoot up again. I hated what I’d become, and I hated Martin, but I loved the drugs more. I craved that next high more than food or water, more than oxygen, more than life, more than love. I’d do just about anything for that next fix. And that’s what gave Martin the power he had over me.

  My gaze slid to Martin as he slipped the Glock into his shoulder holster and pulled on a jacket. His eyes hard and dark as flint met mine. He was handsome, except for his eyes. If the eyes really were windows to the soul, I should have realized much sooner that he didn’t have one.

  His gaze was cold, emotionless, and calculating as he studied me. A growing sense of unease flooded my body, making my pulse pound and my respiration increase. There’d been thinly veiled statements from him lately, pressure to do things that I’d been able to deflect, but didn’t know for how much longer.

  When we first met he’d been kind, and I’d believed there’d been something worth having between us, but now I was just as certain it’d been wishful thinking. I’d been wrong about so many things.

  One thing I was sure of- guys just wanted a piece of me. They would say or do what they needed until they got it, and then they were gone.

  Bryan was the first to make me feel that way. I never realized how much I needed and took his approval for granted until it was withdrawn. My throat clogged remembering his callous dismissal of what I’d thought we shared.

  What a stupid little girl I’d been.

  Never welcome.

  Never wanted.

  My mother had been right all along.

  A part of me, the part with dreams, the beautiful part, had been snuffed out by darkness. Fear had replaced hope and apathy had replaced fear until all that remained was this empty frame, a place card for the woman I’d once been, still pretty to look at, but hollow inside.

  Martin grabbed my shoulders, squeezing just hard enough to hurt. I looked up at him, gritting my teeth together, keeping my expression as neutral as possible. I’d had to adapt quickly to survive his sadistic streak. He enjoyed breaking people down so he could control them. Most of the time he didn’t get physical, as long as I didn’t show weakness. It was strength he admired. My backbone. What remained of it anyway, that he respected.

  “I’ve got some China White coming in tonight.” His coal black eyes searched mine. “I’ll bring you a bindle.”

  “Alr
ight.” My lips curved up into a thin caricature of a smile.

  His answering grin was a travesty as well, feral and predatory. He didn’t even try to hide his disdain for me as he went out the door. Why should he? He had me. He knew that. He always seemed to know everything. Just like he’d known how susceptible I’d be to him and his brand of fake charm the first night we’d hooked up together.

  I’d had an idea who Martin Skellin was before that night. His reputation had always scared me away, but after being tossed aside by everyone I’d ever trusted, I hadn’t really cared what happened to me or who I did it with.

  I should have…

  because although Martin was attentive in the beginning, using his influence to get me a job singing at a local club, his true colors began to bleed through shortly afterward. He was into some serious illegal shit. I woke up nights, seeing and hearing things that I wished I hadn’t. Suspicion became a reality that I tried but couldn’t ignore.

  Then Tempest hit it big and Martin had a new game to control me, a more effective way to break me down. He began showing me articles and pictures of the guys and loved to point out what a big success they were without me. I tried pretending it didn’t matter thinking eventually he would give it up and move onto something else, something less painful, but he hadn’t.

  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.