Heart Broke (Hard Rock Roots #8)

by C. M. Stunich

  “They were in an accident,” he says, sounding tired and worn-out. Rob works as an insurance salesman, so I can totally see that. If I worked as an insurance salesman, I'd only be at the job long enough to buy a gun and a single bullet.

  “Oh, shit, are they alright?” I ask, pausing in the kitchen. It's a disaster of take-out and pizza boxes, and it smells like my cat's litter box. Well, technically, he's not my cat. One of my girlfriends left him here when she moved out, and I kind of like the little bastard. I spy the cat crouched on my stove, completely hairless, a hideous feline monstrosity, and flip it off. Hubert hisses at me and flicks his tail, glaring at me with creepy white-green eyes. The effect is somewhat lessened since he's wearing a black sweater. Hey, this is Vegas and it gets hotter than hairy balls in a pair of briefs. I keep the air conditioner cranked, and Hubert being a hairless cat and all, he gets the chills.

  Told you I was a nerd.

  “They're alive, if that's what you're really asking,” Rob says, just before a piercing screech crashes through the phone and I jerk it away from my ear like I've been slapped. Either that's a banshee coming to take my soul to the underworld, or it's Rob's daughter, Kinzie. Yes, Kinzie. Weird name. I know, that's what I thought, too.

  I am so fucking glad I don't have children.

  I work very, very hard to make sure my dick is sheathed at all times. And I always use my own condoms, just to make sure they're fresh and free of holes. Honestly, if I had to choose between having kids and throwing myself off of a bridge, I'd have to think for a while to give you an answer.

  “Well, that's good, right?” I ask, shooing the cat off the stove and sliding an old pizza box forward. The slices inside are stiff and tough, like chewy cardboard covered in melted plastic. I shove the end of one in my mouth anyway and turn around, leaning back against the counter. “So what do you need me for?” I ask around a mouthful.

  “You know her parents live in South Africa, right?”

  “Yeah, and?”

  “And that's halfway around the world.”

  “Okay?”

  “Zayden, they're in critical condition. There's a good chance neither of them will make it through the week.” I flinch and swallow my bite.

  “Man, I'm so sorry to hear that. Give Mercedes my love and tell her I'm praying for them.”

  “Why don't you tell her yourself?” Rob asks cryptically as I snap my fingers at Hubert who's desperately trying to untangle himself from his sweater.

  “Put her on, I guess,” I say, wrinkling up my brow and finishing up my pizza slice. I scratch my belly with tattooed fingers and wait.

  Silence.

  “Rob?”

  “Zayden, Mercedes and I are flying to Joburg to see them. Tomorrow.”

  Joburg. Johannesburg. The city that's home to the tallest building in Africa. That much, at least, I know. Everything else here is a mystery to me. I grab a second slice of pizza and then toss it aside. That one has mold on it. Third one looks fine though.

  “What the fuck are you getting at? You know I suck at word games, Rob.”

  “Zayden, I'm asking you to drive up here. You know, to take care of the kids for me.”

  Holy shit.

  “Um, no?” I say, barely managing to keep from dropping my pizza to the floor. Take care of Rob's kids? I've met them once. Once. And they were little demons from hell – screeching, wailing, squalling monsters. Oh, and that's not to mention the brand new freaking baby they just had like last year or whatever. A seven year old girl, four year old twins (who may or may not be human based on their behavior), and an infant.

  Oh fuck the fuck out of that.

  “Why doesn't Mercedes go, and you can stay with the kids?”

  “My wife's parents are on their death beds, Zayden, and all you can think about is yourself? Do you think I'd have called if I had anyone else?”

  “That really inspires confidence, bro. Why would you even trust me with watching your kids anyway? I killed two goldfish last week. On accident.” I don't mention the fact that it was actually Hubert who murdered Teensy and Woo-woo, two more pets left over from a past girlfriend.

  “I work a shit job. I have no money, no family in this world other than you. Mercedes has nobody left other than her parents. Zayden, please. Don't send my wife alone to watch her parents die.”

  Aw, man.

  I stand up straight and pad across the cold slate tile floor to the fridge to grab a soda. My brother's using the sympathy card on me right now, and it's working. I might be kind of a douche sometimes, but I'm really a nice guy underneath. I think? I mean, I try to be anyway.

  “The kids don't have passports, Zay. And Mercedes doesn't want to take the baby on such a long flight. Can you imagine trying to care for a one year old in a hotel room? Or how about at the side of a hospital bed?”

  “Dude, it's a fourteen hour drive up there and all I have is my ugly ass Geo. The car is older than I am, Rob. I was conceived in the backseat of the damn thing. I can't drive that piece of shit to the grocery store, let alone into California.”

  I pop the top on my Mountain Dew and down half of it before Rob decides to speak again, his voice low and thick, like he's on the verge of tears. Fucking Christ. In the background, Kinzie screams again, sending a chill down my spine.

  “You're my last chance, Zay. Please. Please do this. What would Mom and Dad say if they were here?” I roll my eyes and run the fingers of my right hand through my the hair on the left side of my scalp. The other side is currently shaved like a military man gone punk. “I'll tell you what they'd say: Family is everything and everything is family. This is as much your problem as it is mine, Zay. We're brothers, and even though you can be an irresponsible prick sometimes, I love you.”

  “Gah,” I stick my tongue out at my own reflection and shake my head. I can't take this lovey family shit. I feel myself just about ready to cave in. My buddy runs the shop I work at, so he'd understand. Besides, I could get the new dude, what's-his-face, to take over my appointments for me. I'd miss out on a lot of nipple piercings, but what choice do I have? I can't tell Rob no and not feel like a piece of human garbage, now can I? “Fine.”

  Rob sighs in relief as goose bumps break out over my arms.

  I'm going to hate this. Every second of it. I know that to be a fact.

  “But I want a plane ticket. I can't drive fourteen hours straight, man.”

  “I can't afford a plane ticket for you. I just spent all of my savings on tickets for Mercedes and me. You'll have to drive. If you leave now and take minimal rest stops, you can be here a few hours before our flight leaves tomorrow.”

  I start to protest, but the phone is suddenly snatched away from my brother by his wife.

  “Thank you, Zay,” she sobs, voice thick and sniffly. “Thank you so much. I love you like the little brother I never had, you know that right?”

  Great.

  I'm a sucker for pretty girls in distress.

  I purse my lips so tight that my lip rings stand out like swords on either side of my mouth.

  “See ya in fourteen hours then.”

  Sometimes, the one thing you really want, you can't have. Available now from Violet Blaze.

  Forbidden love shouldn't feel so good.

  It also shouldn't hurt so much.

  How could the one person I can't have be the only person I truly need?

  Florian Harper Riley has my heart and he doesn't even know it. I used to think that was okay, that I'd get over him, but no matter how hard I try, I can't purge his sharp green gaze from my thoughts.

  He's a tattoo artist, the love of my life, the man of my dreams. But he's also my stepbrother.

  Fate can be wicked cruel.

  Three years earlier...

  I curled my own fingers around my throat and bit back a gasp. It shouldn't feel so good to be touched like this. The hand wrapped around my own was firm, but insistent. There was no way I was getting out of it this time.

  “Flor.” The word
dropped from my lips like a cinder, one that I thought had gone cold but that always managed to flair back to life in a surge of heat and desire that I knew was wrong. Knew it. But couldn't stop the fire from fanning itself into a raging flame.

  My brother – sorry, my stepbrother because let's be honest here, there's a big difference – pulled me forward so forcefully that I stumbled, fingers still at my throat in a gesture of surprise. What, exactly, he was doing here, I wasn't sure, but the hard glint in his eyes and the firm set of his mouth told me what I feared most: that he still, and maybe always would, think of me as a sister. If he didn't, then why was he so angry? Why did his full lips twist down in a scowl at the corners? And why was his grip so hard and his aura so … messy. His emotions twisted down his arm, following the colorful lines of his tattoos as they wrapped his bicep, bleeding into me and choking back my breath. Messy. I couldn't tell if he was just pissed or if he was disappointed, too, if maybe he couldn't believe he'd just caught me with a boy's arms around my waist and his tongue in my mouth. I was supposed to be the good one, right? The one that didn't give my dad or my stepmom any trouble because Flor gave them more than they could handle.

  His dark hair bled into his eyes, dripping with sweat from the heat of the party and the crush of bodies, and I stared in simple fascination as he swept it back and glared at me.

  “What the fuck,” he began as I cringed, “are you doing here?” I watched in horror as my stepbrother's gaze lifted and met that of the boy's behind me. I kept one hand on my neck, sliding it down to my chest so that I could feel the rapid thump and slam of my heart, much like the chilling bass beat that was tingling up my toes and making me blissfully deaf. Maybe then I wouldn't have to hear the sound of my father's disappointment when he sighed and then later probably screamed at me for this little adventure? “And who,” Florian continued, “the fuck is that?”

  “None of your business, bro,” my mystery date said, curling his own fingers around my hip in a strange mockery of the way I'd done to my own throat, caught up in surprise when Flor had appeared out of nowhere and pulled me from my make out session and back to the harsh, gritty twang of reality. “Hey, are you alright?” the guy asked me as I glanced over my shoulder and swallowed hard. I guess he mistook my speechlessness for fear because he stepped around me and got in Flor's face. “You can't make her leave if she doesn't want to go.”

  “I can,” Flor snapped back at him, grinding his teeth and squeezing my wrist even tighter than before, “if she's my sister.” He leaned in and let my date have it with a simple whisper of words. “Oh, by the way, she's only fifteen, asshole.” My new friend tore his hand away from my hip like it was on fire – but not the good kind, not the kind I was feeling right now as Flor's sweaty fingers tugged me forward. No, this was more like he was terrified of me now, like he wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole. I guessed he wouldn't want to, considering he was twenty-one. Guess I shouldn't have lied about my age.

  “Hey, Flor,” a girl with long black hair and brightly colored extensions giggled as we passed by. “You in a hurry or something?” She eyed me with no small amount of contempt as Flor dragged me through the crowd and paused only when we were standing on the porch outside the little green and white house. In the middle of a neighborhood known locally as The Whit, it was unlikely the cops would get called on this place, so it was a hotspot for parties. I knew because I'd followed Flor here more than once. Tonight, though, tonight I'd really believed him when he'd told his mom he – and I quote – felt like shit and was going upstairs to lie down. Florian never lied about going to parties. He just … went. No matter what sort of fight his mom put up.

  “Yeah, I sort of am,” he growled, ignoring the girl and pulling me down the steps in my heels. His broad back filled my view, blocking the clusters of teenagers and young adults hanging out on the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps. The fabric stretched across his muscles in a way that was criminal. I was young, sure, but I wasn't so young that I couldn't appreciate that, couldn't appreciate the way Flor's body had changed from a lanky teenage boy's to a … to a man's.

  I flushed from head to toe and rolled my eyes. I'd binged last week during spring break, reading each and every single one of the romance novels crammed onto my stepmom's shelf. It was part curiosity, I guess, that encouraged me to read them. That, and part disappointment and frustration that Flor got to go away and I didn't. Since then I'd been saying and thinking strange things, like how Flor always smelled so good. Or how I was glad he didn't shut his bedroom door when he was changing his shirt. That kind of stuff.

  I looked away from Florian's back to stare at the pavement for a moment, trying to pull myself together. If he was a mess of emotions then so was I. Nervous, anxious, frustrated … jealous. I swallowed hard and glanced back over at the girl. She was standing with her arms crossed over her flat chest, her lips pursed, looking from Flor's face to his hand, the one that was wrapped around my wrist, and then back again.

  “You brought me here,” she said accusingly, the fabric of her black dress reflecting the light from the flickering street lamp above us. I watched her eyes as they moved over my stepbrother, taking in each and every line of his body like she was lost in the desert and he, he was a nice, tall glass of water. When her eyes moved over to me, I saw a primal response, a surge of jealous anger that made me swallow twice – not because I was scared but because I was angry. Didn't she know that Flor didn't belong to anyone? He said that all the time when his mother asked why he never brought girls home. Then, of course, he'd whisper under his breath that he actually brought girls home all the time, only that she didn't notice.

  I tried to pull my arm from Florian's grasp, but he wouldn't let go of me.

  “This isn't a good time,” he said, pausing to glance over at me. I refused to meet his eyes. I didn't know how to feel towards him. Why was it okay for him to party, to kiss whoever he wanted, to … do whatever with whoever he wanted? I had a right to experiment, too. “This is my sister.” I cringed again, hating the way he said that word. Sister. I wasn't his sister and hadn't even known him as long as I'd known my best friend, Addison. Florian and I had met ten years ago and had only lived together full time for eight of them. “I've got to get her home, okay?” I looked back at the girl and saw her face soften. Sister. The word always did that to them, like I was no longer a threat. Because, of course, Florian would never want anything to do with me. I wasn't a girl to him, just an obligation. I was safe. “And then maybe I'll be back after,” he added which did nothing to enhance the slowly building smile on the girl's face. Her red lips turned down and she rolled her eyes, spinning on her heels and marching up the white steps we'd just come down.

  “Abigail,” Flor said, and I swallowed again, this time to get past the lump in my throat. I wished he'd let go of me; that would've made things easier. “Let's go.” But Florian didn't release me and instead, pulled me towards his car, double parked next to a white Honda Civic, its silver paint dull in the shadowy corridor of the street. Only two street lamps on either side of the house worked; the rest had been broken sometime in the last few years. “Get in,” he said, finally letting go of my arm. I spun then, surprising him, tears welling up unbidden from God only knows where.

  “Why?” I asked him and it was his turn to roll his eyes and shake his head, like he knew better, like he had room to talk. He reached out to take my arm again, but I stepped back, pulling it out of his reach. He mistook my emotions for fear and opened the car door with a sigh.

  “I won't tell your dad,” he said as he tilted his head to the side and watched me. The eyebrow ring in his left brow winked as a car behind us turned on its headlights and pulled forward, zooming around Florian's illegally parked Mazda like it didn't even exist, like we were in our own little world. “If that's what you're freaking out about, don't worry.”

  I watched him watching me, drank in the details of that moment, the way his eyes were focused wholly and completely on mine, the way his
tongue brushed against his lower lip, the way his newest tattoo – a girl with a wolf skin draped over her shining brown curls – gleamed with lotion and a dabbling of sweat.

  “Why do you get to have all the fun?” I asked, and I knew I sounded exactly the way I didn't want to sound – like I really was fifteen. “Why do you get to bring girls over to the house when Dad and River are at work? Why do you get to go to parties on school nights and disappear over spring break, long enough that your mom actually thinks about calling the cops?” I wrapped my arms around myself and took another step back as Florian's eyes narrowed.

  “You're fifteen, Abi,” he said, confirming my worst fear. Eighteen year old Florian knew everything and here I was, his whiny younger sister who played the cello and had just had her first kiss with some stranger. He probably thought I was crazy. “Get in the car and let's go home.”

  “No,” I said and he growled low under his breath, sending a chill straight up my spine. A cool breeze drifted down between the houses on either side of us, teasing my skirt and bringing goose bumps up on my exposed thighs. Florian's school blazer was hanging loosely from my shoulders, but not because he'd given it to me. Because I had decided to go to the party in my school uniform the way the rest of the girls did and wanted to wear burgundy – the color of the senior class.

  “Why are you being so goddamn stubborn?” he snarled at me, running a hand through his sweaty hair. I wondered briefly how long he'd been at the party before he'd found me. “Do you want me to call your dad and tell him you're here?”

  “Do whatever you want,” I snapped back, taking a step towards him this time. I needed him to know I wasn't going to back down without an answer. I watched as he scowled and shoved his hands in his front pockets, looking down at me as he sucked in a deep breath. I could tell he was pissed but trying not to show it. His eyes, green and sharp as thorns, took me in from head to toe, pausing at the black and white skull patterned socks I'd pulled up to my knees. Those definitely weren't regulation for Mercy High School students, but I'd worn them anyway and scraped by without detention for it. I'd even rolled the waistband of my skirt up a few times, hiding the bunched fabric by pulling my white dress shirt out and letting it hang loose – another fashion statement I'd never participated in before today. I could tell Florian noticed. “I'm not going home, Flor. I want to stay.” He looked up at my face then and took his own step forward, the toes of our shoes just this side of touching.