The Power to Break (The Unbreakable Thread Book 1)

by Lisa Suzanne

  Where have you been, you been, you been

  (Female Part)

  I believed the words you said

  When you took me to your bed

  I believed you when you lied

  When you caused our great divide

  The best revenge is getting back to him

  It won’t be some stupid little whim

  Not again, again, again

  (Together)

  The best revenge is sweet victory

  When one and one are meant to be

  Where have you been, you been, you been

  I blow out a breath when I finish reading the lyrics. I love the song. Love the words, the sentiment, the passion in them.

  The irony hits me over the head—the singer of Vail wants me to sing a song about revenge with him when I’m only here because I want revenge on his drummer. It doesn’t matter why I’m here. What matters is I can use every single piece of what brought me here to advance my career and fuck over Ethan at the same time.

  “What are you thinking?” Griff asks. I realize silence has stretched between us for the better part of the last hour after Tony started up the bus and we pulled out of the bus lot at the MGM on our way toward Phoenix.

  I sigh. “I’m thinking I don’t have a choice.” I push the paper over toward him and watch as his eyes move over Mark’s handwriting.

  “This is good,” he says.

  “I know. Everything he touches turns to gold.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  Ethan. I almost say it—almost. I stop myself. I didn’t come all this way just to have fucking Griffin talk me out of my plan. “Nothing’s stopping me,” I say instead. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up only to see it fall through.”

  “Vick and I were talking and she told me Mark has a work area on his bus where he can actually record. You two could do a demo, pick a city and book studio time, and have this thing out in the next couple weeks, right as the tour starts picking up.”

  “You’ve already got it all figured out and I haven’t even signed off on it yet.”

  “You will,” he says.

  I lift a shoulder. “Yeah. I will.”

  I don’t even bother waiting until we get to Phoenix. I pick up my phone and text Mark Ashton at the number he gave me during the meeting less than a week ago at the Ashmark offices.

  Me: Great lyrics, love the sentiment, would love to hear the story behind it all. I’m in.

  His reply is immediate.

  Mark: I’ll have Vick get in touch with Griff to work out the details. Excited for this collab.

  I am, too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MACI

  We pull in behind a big, silver bus when we arrive at our lot in Phoenix. Between the Vail boys, our crew, and the semis holding our equipment, the lot’s full. Tony parks us as close as he can get to the silver one while still allowing room for me to disembark.

  The silver one belongs to Ethan. I see him sitting on a couch facing my direction. He doesn’t see me, though. His eyes are focused down on his phone. I stare at him for a minute. He’s fuzzy through both of our tinted windows, but I can make out his silhouette. I think about drawing my shades, but I want to stare at him for a second. Despite the hatred I feel for him, I can’t help my body’s reaction or the strange feelings I have—passionate and fiery and something more, something I can’t identify yet.

  Something that scares me and makes me think how easily he might derail my whole plan.

  “You really have a thing for him, don’t you?” Griffin asks.

  I glance over at him. “For who?”

  “Fuller.”

  I lift a shoulder as my eyes return to the man on the bus next door. Griff doesn’t even know the half of it. “I’m interested.”

  “I asked Vick about him.”

  My head whips in his direction as anger floods my veins without warning. “You what? Why the hell would you do that?”

  He saunters toward my mini-fridge with more confidence than he should have during this conversation. “To gain intel.”

  “Griffin, keep your goddamn mouth shut. I don’t need your meddling.”

  He looks wounded by my words, but fuck that. He pulls two bottles of water out of the fridge and hands me one.

  I heave out a frustrated sigh. “It’s not your place to get involved.”

  “Don’t you even want to know what I found out?”

  “Oh, are we in fourth grade now?” I ask as I twist the cap. My mouth is dry as I think about Vick telling Ethan my manager was sniffing around. I don’t need Griff stepping in during the last inning of the game to fuck up everything I’ve worked so hard for.

  “I did it for you,” he says softly.

  “Fine,” I huff. “Tell me what she said.”

  He sits next to me and doesn’t look at me when he talks. “She said he’s interested in you, too.”

  I don’t respond, but I have to admit my heart leaps.

  “I just want you to be happy,” he says softly.

  “Do you think Ethan will make me happy?” I can’t help the vulnerability in my voice.

  He shakes his head. “No, I don’t. But if you think this is what you want, then I want to do whatever I can to help.”

  “Well don’t. I’ve got this.” I can’t admit as I draw the curtain so I can’t see Ethan anymore that I’m thrilled to know I’ve snagged his attention.

  *

  “Come in,” I yell after I hear a knock at my bus door. Tony’s in a meeting with the other drivers and Griff is meeting with Vick to start hammering out the details on my collaboration with Vail. I have no idea who’s at the door, but I’m sitting at my table sketching. I was writing lyrics, but sometimes when I hit a block, I try to draw out the scene in the song to see if inspiration hits. More times than not, it works.

  Ethan’s head appears from around the corner. His blue eyes hit me, a slight squint to them like he’s already preparing to glare at me when we haven’t even exchanged any words yet.

  “Heard we’re collaborating.” He skips the friendly hellos, and I can’t tell how he feels about this duet from his tone.

  I lift a shoulder as I close my notebook. “It’s all Mark’s doing.”

  “What’s that?” He sits across from me and lifts his chin in the direction of the notebook in front of me.

  “My creative book.”

  His eyes move to mine, and I ignore the heat that fills my chest. “Can I see it?”

  “No.” I pick it up from the table.

  He barks out a laugh. “Why not?”

  “It’s private.” I hug the book to my chest.

  “Fair enough. I have one, too, and I probably wouldn’t show you, either. But the little glimpse I saw before you closed it was impressive.”

  I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”

  “Don’t discredit your talent.”

  No, I’ve got you to do that for me.

  “You think I have talent?” I ask, clearly fishing for a compliment from him.

  “You wouldn’t be on this tour if we didn’t all think you had something impressive, Maci.” While I get the compliment I fished for, it’s not personal enough to hit where I need it to. He said we, not I.

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  He lifts a shoulder. “I’m not sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shakes his head and I’m reminded of the little boy I once knew, the one who didn’t have a father figure, who practically raised his sister because his mom was too busy with her boyfriends to care what was going on with her kids, who was lost and said mean things and turned into an adult who is still obviously lost. “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ll tell you if you show me that.” He nods to the notebook still pressed to my chest.

  I lower the book. “My boobs?”

  He laughs. “I wouldn’t mind seeing those, either, but we’ll save that for a different time. I was talking about t
he book.”

  I flip it open to the page I was working on, a half-completed scene of a girl leaning up on the balls of her feet to kiss a boy, and slide it across the table toward him.

  “That’s…” he trails off, still staring at it. His eyes finally flick up to mine, but they’re impossible to read. “The detail. It’s impressive. Who knew you could do more than just sing?”

  I laugh. “Thanks. Now you go. What were you going to say before?”

  “I came here because I just felt like I needed to see you again.”

  My eyes soften. “You did?”

  He shrugs awkwardly, and it’s funny seeing Ethan Fuller awkward. It doesn’t fit him—he’s never this way, and I wonder for a split second what it is about me that’s causing it. I like it, that’s for sure, and I think it’ll only help me in my pursuit.

  “I, uh…I didn’t like how we left things yesterday.”

  My brows furrow as I think back. “Yesterday?”

  “I didn’t get the happy ending,” he clarifies, and I can’t help my smile.

  He’s defending his choices to me—he doesn’t want me to see him as an asshole who fucks anything that moves. This is definitely forward progress.

  “She wouldn’t give it to you?” I tease.

  “Didn’t ask,” he mutters, glancing away from me.

  I change the subject to help him get back to himself. “You have any talents besides drumming?”

  He shrugs modestly. “I write lyrics with Mark. I sing, too, but Mark has a better voice. Or at least a more recognizable one.”

  “Let’s write a song together,” I blurt before my brain has time to process it, but I immediately realize what a great idea it is. It’ll force a reason for us to spend time together, and it’ll give me the frame I need to get close to him.

  “Nah. You’re already doing the collab with Mark’s song.”

  “So what? We could do one, too. We’ve got a lot of downtime when we’re not practicing or performing.”

  He averts his eyes to the window thoughtfully. His knee starts bouncing up and down, like he needs to get behind his drums, and then he nods. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Sure. Even if it doesn’t go anywhere, it might be fun to create lyrics together. Besides, Mark did that solo album and our publicist has been on me to try something on my own for a while. She thinks it’ll soften my image.” He puts air quotes around the last part of his sentence.

  I laugh. “They must teach that in publicist school because mine said the exact same thing after I called some rapper an asshole in an interview.”

  “Dude, I saw that. And he is an asshole.”

  “I know!” I throw my hands up in the air, and Ethan laughs.

  I study the way his eyes form little crinkles at the corners when he laughs. I notice a tiny dimple in his left cheek when he smiles. He rarely has a smile on his face, which makes it oddly comforting to see it now, like he reserved it just for me.

  “We worked with him two albums ago and he thought he was God’s gift to music. Newsflash, cuntface, you’re not.”

  “Cuntface? That’s cute.”

  His eyes light up at my compliment. “You like it? I’ve got a million of them.”

  “No, I don’t like it.” I giggle. “Let’s try something a little, I don’t know, less disgusting when we work on our song.”

  He nods. “Deal. You want it fast or slow?”

  I choke on a sip of water, and his lips widen into a smile again as that damn dimple makes another appearance.

  “I was talking about the tempo of the song, but if you have other ideas…”

  “Shut up.” I hold up a hand to stop him in his tracks, though I have to admit he’s going exactly where I want him to go.

  “You know it’s gonna happen,” he says. He drums his fingertips on the table, and my eyes go right to them. Long, strong fingers that hold drumsticks and about a billion molecules of talent. My mind goes to what they’d feel like caressing my skin. Entering my body. “We’re both sexual beings, Maci. I know your reputation, as I’m sure you’ve heard about mine.”

  I shake off my last thought as I avert my gaze from his hands. “What, exactly, have you heard about me?”

  “You’ve fucked half your band, which is why you rotate who’s playing all the time. Everyone knows you’re banging your manager. But that’s not serious, right?”

  My jaw drops, but I recover quickly and pin him with a glare. “Where’d you hear that?” None of it’s untrue, exactly, but it makes me sound a little skanky to hear it out loud.

  He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. You hear things, you know? What about me? What’ve you heard?”

  “You’ll fuck anything that moves, you never sleep with the same girl twice, and you think you’re invincible.”

  He laughs. “Invincible, yes. Anything that moves?” He pretends to think for a minute. “I don’t fuck anything. I do have some standards.”

  I don’t mention that he didn’t address the middle accusation that he never sleeps with the same girl twice. Sounds like it might be true, then. “Such as?”

  “Well, they need to have a pussy, for starters. And I’m into tits.” His eyes flick down to mine. “Those look like nice handfuls.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  He flashes me that smile again. “Yeah, I am. But you like it.”

  I roll my eyes. “Do I?”

  “You will.”

  “We’ll see,” I mutter. “How about we write this song first?”

  “I don’t know. I think we could have a nice fuck first and hammer out something great in the afterglow.” He shoots me the smile I’m sure works on every woman alive.

  Part of me thinks stripping out of my clothes is the answer here. I’m muddled with confusion because suddenly that’s what I want to do, but my intuition tells me I need to make him wait. I need to make him sweat it out a bit. I have two months to make this work—I shouldn’t blow it in the first week. Millions of women want him, but maybe what he wants is someone who doesn’t trip over her own two feet to get to him. “Are you always this douchey?”

  “Yeah. Pretty much.” He shrugs. “You don’t get a rep like mine by being shy about sex.”

  “I guess not. You think it’s a good idea to have sex with each other before we even hit our second stop on this tour?” I ask. “It’ll be a long two months together if the sex is bad.”

  He looks offended. “Sex with me is never bad.”

  “How do you know?” I narrow my eyes at him.

  “Trust me, I know.” He winks at me. “I’ll wear you down.”

  I fiddle with the edge of my notebook so I don’t have to meet his gaze when I say my next words. “I’m not saying I’m opposed to it. Eventually. I do have some requests, though.”

  “Such as?”

  I glance up at him. “For one, you wear a condom.”

  “Always.” He holds up his hand. “Scout’s honor. My invincibility stems from the fact that I don’t have any STDs even though I fuck pretty much anything that moves.” He throws those air quotes over the last part of his sentence then barks out a laugh. “Plus I’m not really into kids.” He wrinkles his nose, and it’s oddly cute on his face. “God, could you even imagine?”

  I try to picture him holding a baby in his arms, and I come up short. “No, I honestly can’t.”

  “What about you? You want kids someday?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “Why not?” He tilts his head with curiosity.

  I clear my throat. “That seems a little personal for someone I don’t even know.”

  “But I kind of feel like we know each other,” he says. “Don’t you?”

  It’s because we do. We go back further than you even realize.

  I just shake my head. He can’t know who I am. Every time I find myself starting to like who he is now, I’m taken back to the past and reminded of the black heart nestled in his chest.


  “Well if you don’t feel it now, you will once I’m inside you.” He stands to leave. “Think about what you want our song to be about. I have a meeting and Mark will get on my ass again if I’m late.”

  He leaves, and I sit there pondering if I’ll hate him more or less once he’s inside me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  MACI

  I rock my set in Phoenix, and when I walk off the stage, the adrenaline rush leaves me more turned on than I’ve been in a long time. Maybe it’s Ethan’s words from earlier or maybe it’s just the surge I got from the crowd, but I have the sudden primal urge to have a man inside me.

  But not just any man will do. It won’t be Carlos, the guy on bass for this tour, or the local guy who sang before I took the stage tonight, or even Griffin. Not tonight.

  Tonight, it needs to be Ethan.

  As the thought enters my mind, there he stands, as if he fell out of my imagination and onto the floor just to the side of the stage.

  His arms are crossed over his black shirt just like on New Year’s Eve when I left the stage. My eyes fall briefly to his biceps again, strong and lean from his day job. His eyes narrow at me as Griff hands me a bottle of water and lights my cigarette for me. I chug down a few sips, my eyes hot on Ethan’s while I wait for him to say something.

  “Great set,” he says, his words a rerun of what he said the last time we met in a similar place.

  I raise a brow. “You watched?”

  He nods. “The whole thing.”

  “Best part?”

  He squints at me in thought. “Your fans would say ‘Another Shot.’”

  I do my best seductive smile, but I’m sure I end up looking more like that meme of a girl who thinks she looks seductive but actually looks like a sweaty fucking monkey. “You’re not a fan?”

  “I think I sidestepped fan when I walked onto your bus this afternoon and agreed to write a song with you. You have the voice of an angel, Maci, and ‘Another Shot’ doesn’t do it justice. The third verse of ‘Live My Life’ comes close, but when you hit the bridge in ‘Break Me,’ I feel it in my chest like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

  Tears spring to my eyes at his words. They’re everything I wanted to hear since I was fifteen, and they should be enough to wipe away the hurt from the past.