The Complete Tempest World Box Set

by Mankin, Michelle

  Bryan, the thoughtful boy I’d once known, was barely recognizable beneath all the muscle. His body wasn’t all that had changed. His jaw was sharp like a blade, his eyes sharper as he caught me staring and glanced away, cutting me to the quick. It didn’t seem as though much of the sweet sensitive boy I knew remained.

  What did you expect, Lace? We were friends a long time ago. We’re not children anymore.

  My childhood and our friendship ended abruptly when I was eleven, the night of the Metallica concert. I knew that. Deep down, I knew. I just wanted to rewrite a different ending.

  But too many years had passed since then. In Southside, weeks could change a person. Bryan had been thirteen and I’d been eleven the last time I saw him. We had years of unshared experiences between us. Not surprising that the passage of time had chiseled hardness, not softness, into both of us.

  I turned my attention to War. He was as hard as the assorted silver rings he wore on every finger on both hands. Coming on like a freight train, he’d made his interest in me clear, and then some. With the cotton of his tee stretched taut over his chest, he was muscular like Bryan, but where his friend was thickly muscled, War was lean and corded. He was undeniably handsome but with a dangerous edge. Not exactly a deterrent in my mind, or in the estimation of a lot of other girls, apparently.

  War caught me looking at him, but unlike Bryan, he didn’t glance away. Giving me a scan, he smirked, his eyes sparkling approvingly and temptingly with the offer to share his knowledge of intimate things I didn’t know. Things maybe I wasn’t quite ready to know.

  My heart hammering, I lowered my gaze, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans and pretending to look for something. When I glanced up again, I found War standing right in front of me.

  “Hey,” he said, a light teasing note in his compelling voice. “Did you lose something?”

  Yeah, my sanity, apparently, for even thinking about an experienced guy who only screws seniors.

  But I didn’t speak my thoughts. I just shook my head in denial.

  “Come to the front of the garage to sing with me.”

  Oh no, no, no. I didn’t think that was a good idea. Not when I was more than a little attracted to him, and he was undoubtably more than a little dangerous.

  “I want you to share the mic with me.” His lids lowering, he swept his gaze over me. “We should do a duet for this throwdown.”

  “Huh-uh. You sing your song.” I pointed to where the mic was between my brother and Bryan, then flipped my hand around and pointed to myself. “And then I’ll sing mine right back here at my keyboard.”

  “You’re not going to back out, are you?” War’s deep brown eyes narrowed as if he could read my thoughts.

  “No.” Glancing past him, I frowned.

  The crowd that had gathered for the show were mostly girls, older girls, ones he’d probably had sex with. The odds of my winning this singing contest and the accompanying bet weren’t good.

  Determined, I lifted my chin. I might lose, but I wouldn’t give up before I’d even tried. “I don’t back down from any challenge.”

  “Good. Respect that.” Something flashed in War’s eyes, making me feel like I’d passed a test. “But we’re still doing this my way. C’mon.”

  Turning his back to me and affording me a distracting glimpse of his backside in his low-slung, well-fitting jeans, he crooked his ringed fingers over his wide shoulder. And for some reason, I stood without hesitating and followed him.

  At the front of the garage, Dizzy stood on the right of the center mic, and Bryan stood on the left. His golden eyes shining excitedly like mine, Dizzy held his favorite acoustic, a secondhand Martin with a natural finish that was scarred to hell but played well. The analogy could be made to my brother and me, in that life had left its marks on us, but we weren’t damaged beyond repair.

  Or at least I hoped we weren’t.

  “Hey, Lace,” Bryan said, turning his gray-green gaze on me.

  “Hey.” I lifted my chin in response after I recovered from the fact that he was back to acknowledging my existence again.

  Bryan lovingly cradled an acoustic, a sweet used ebony Fender that was mine. My brother had given it to me. The diamond strap lay over his muscular shoulder, and it looked good there. Ditto on the body of the black instrument where it rested low in front of his narrow hips.

  Oh, to be that guitar.

  “Like old times, the three of us playing in front of an audience.” Bryan included Dizzy in a sweeping glance before looking back at me, his lips curled. “Only you without your feather boa.”

  “And you without your top hat,” I said, teasing. “How can you possibly manage to play without it?”

  “I manage just fine,” he said low, his voice inducing a shiver.

  I knew he was no longer merely referencing his guitar-playing abilities, and further, I believed him. His hair in his eyes, the way he looked at me through his lashes, Bryan was the epitome of dark and sexy, in his casual but ready-to-play stance. His feet were planted apart on the concrete, his weight on his back foot. An accomplished guitarist now, I had no doubt. Head to boots, Bryan Jackson was totally swoon-worthy.

  “What song needs two acoustics and no keyboards?” I asked, my voice tellingly rough as I turned to War.

  “Nothing Compares 2 U.” His eyes heated as he stared back at me, his full lips curling up at the corners making me lightheaded.

  “Unexpected,” I managed to say.

  “Think you can handle it?” War ran his gaze over me. If his gaze were rubber tires, I’d have marks on me from the tread. His interest lingered again in the usual places for guys.

  What wasn’t usual was the way I reacted to it. Warmth pooled between my legs. My nipples tingled. My heart raced.

  “I can handle whatever you throw at me, Warren.” I stamped my hands on my hips.

  “War,” he said, correcting me.

  “We’ll see.”

  “Yes, we most definitely will.” The curve of his lips deepened, carving arrogant grooves into his lean cheeks.

  “Diz,” War called, turning from me to my brother. “You ready?”

  “Ready,” Dizzy said.

  “Bry?” War asked, shifting to look at his friend.

  “Always ready to play, brother.”

  “Thought so. Come here, Lacey.” War grabbed me, one of his arms sliding around my waist as both of mine fell to my sides in surrender. He might not be as muscular as Bryan, but there was no mistaking the unbreakable strength of his hold.

  “Let go of me,” I said without enough volume to be believed. My protest was weak, maybe because I didn’t really want him to release me. I might not feel entirely safe in his embrace, but I felt something, for sure.

  “Never,” he said quietly.

  “What?” I asked, wondering if I’d heard him correctly.

  “You ever sang into a mic?” he asked, his eyes flashing with challenge.

  “Lots.” I straightened my shoulders.

  “In front of an audience?” He gestured while continuing to hold me. “One this size?”

  “No.” I gulped a nervous swallow.

  “Thought not. You’re trembling, babe.”

  I was, but not because of the audience.

  “It’s as easy as breathing.” War dipped his chin, shining strands of his dark and light caramel-brown hair sticking to the darker stubble on his jaw as he stared down at me. “If in front is where you’re supposed to be.”

  “Have you?” My pulse racing, I licked my dry lips, and his gaze dipped to them. They tingled from his regard, making my stomach flip. “Sang in front of this many people, I mean.”

  My thoughts were like sand in a desert. Too many and too fast to contain inside the dust storm I suddenly found myself in with him.

  “Talent shows. After-school functions. A couple of frat parties. I have experience.” War’s gaze lifted. His eyes weren’t merely brown like strongly brewed tea. They were pixilated with copper, swirling as if st
irred by a metal spoon.

  “You have a lot of experience,” I said softly. Like with Bryan, we’d segued into another topic, and my heart sputtered at the memory of War in the bathroom with those two girls.

  “Not ever with someone like you.”

  Stunned speechless, I blinked at him, telling myself I must have misheard or misinterpreted his meaning.

  “Diz!” War barked his name so suddenly, I startled. “Let’s play some fucking music.”

  “’Bout time.” My brother strummed the opening chords.

  Jaws in the crowd dropped. Eyes widened. My brother played from his soul. The music he coaxed from his instrument was as beautiful as he was.

  Accustomed to hearing him play, I smiled. The people in front of us, not so much.

  I drew in a breath, hoping to regain my equilibrium before it was time for me to sing. But the air was heavy with War’s cologne. I’d gotten only a tantalizing whiff of it earlier. I imagined it came in a dark green bottle shaped like a bomb. It certainly detonated my senses, reminding me of damp earth and thick foliage. A jungle, a canopy overhead, the broad leaves blocking all but the tiniest sliver of moonlight. And a predator, War, on an earthy floor . . . stalking me.

  Suddenly, a countermelody split the darkness, the chords blazing, parting the canopy so I could see the night sky and a brilliant shooting star. My eyes rounding, I shifted to look at Bryan, but he didn’t notice me. His eyes were closed, his brow earnestly creased as he made love to his instrument.

  My lips parted and my breath grew short. I felt it between my legs, each deep chord as if he were focusing that intensity on me.

  “It’s been seven hours . . .”

  As War sang the first words, I shifted yet again. The ground beneath me seemed to slant me in his direction. Ditto for everyone in the crowd. They leaned forward too. His singing voice was sexy and seductive, like Chris Cornell’s baritone crossed with the throaty growl of Eddie Vedder.

  War placed his hands on my shoulders, gently turning me to face him. A beat passed as he gazed at me expectantly. One of his dark brows rose.

  Shit. It was my turn.

  I turned my head toward the mic, and War released me. I began hesitantly. But I felt the energy of the crowd, harnessed it, and wrapped it around myself like a mantle. Finding my courage and my voice, I dug deep and belted out the words.

  At first, my focus was the people in front of me, but the man at my side couldn’t be ignored and came in on the next line. Draping his strong arm around me, War caught me, and not just physically. His voice and his talent captured me, and there was something else I hadn’t yet identified.

  Moving his hips in a sensual rhythm, he seemed to be reaching deep too. He took the simple words and elevated them. Squeezing his eyes shut, he went to high tenor, the ease with which he did it and the sound that emerged was like nothing I’d ever heard before.

  Opening his eyes, he found me looking at him, spellbound. He beckoned with his gaze for me to join him. I moved forward and placed my lips to the mic. It was all that separated us.

  Our voices melded together, our eyes locked, and our breaths mingled. His was warm and minty fresh, making chill bumps break out all over my skin. Dizzy and Bryan were with us. My brother held steady on rhythm. Bryan went wild like a helix on lead guitar, enhancing rather than detracting from the baseline.

  Staring in each other’s eyes, War and I finished the song, harmonizing on the final words, “To you . . .”

  The music faded, followed by a few beats of silence.

  I drew away from the mic but continued to stare into War’s rich brown eyes. His were slightly widened, as were mine. What we’d created with the four of us together went far beyond the messing around Dizzy, Bryan, and I had done as kids.

  I was impressed with myself, though I’d never voice that thought. I didn’t usually sound that good on the mic alone. Or did I?

  As I pondered it, applause broke out. A smattering at first, then a thunderous roar of unanimous approval.

  War grinned. Shifting, I caught my brother’s smile. Then I leaned forward to look at Bryan.

  He was the only one not smiling. His brow was pinched, and dark shadows obscured the light gray in his eyes.

  I knew he couldn’t disapprove of what we’d done. But it almost seemed as though us being this good together as a band worried Bryan somehow. After a beat that maybe only I measured, he shook away the shadows and gave me an affirming nod.

  “That was bitchin’, Lacey.” War put his hands on my upper arms, reclaiming my attention. “But I still won, darlin’.” His eyes flashing with coppery confidence, he drew me under his arm and put his mouth on the mic, asking the crowd to vote.

  But I knew even before they weighed in that War had won.

  CHAPTER NINE

  War

  I kept my eye on Lace while half listening to Dizzy and Bryan debate which foot pedal manufacturer was better. She was sexy as fuck and talented as hell. I’d never met a chick like her. Most were easily had and easily forgotten. But not her.

  Without a doubt, I wanted to make Lace mine but I was also intrigued. I wanted to know everything about her. Honestly, I couldn’t decide which I wanted to do more—figure her out or fuck her.

  Okay, not true. I wanted to fuck her first, then talk to her, but I didn’t think that order was going to work with her.

  “We rocked it,” Dizzy said, and with the technological bullshit discussion over, I refocused on the conversation. “Everyone said so.”

  “Everyone meaning the thirty or so people who came for the free beer?” Bryan asked.

  “Yeah.” Grinning, Dizzy nodded.

  “Not sure that’s a big enough sampling to go on,” Bryan said as his gaze shifted to Lace.

  Her head turned as if he’d called her. Their gazes clashed like cymbals, then ricocheted apart. Lace ducked her chin and fiddled with her keyboards. Bryan took a step back, shoved his hand in the front pocket of his jeans, and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

  “We’re on the right track,” I said. It was time for me to take control of the situation with the band we were on the cusp of becoming, and of Lace, who I’d have sooner, rather than later. In that order of importance. “Tonight was a good start, but two guitars, a keyboard, and a lead singer doesn’t make a rock band. We need a drummer and a bassist. Then we need to practice, write our own music, and get some gigs.”

  “Hell yeah.” Dizzy held up his fist, and I bumped it. “Fuck.” He made a face. “Your rings, man.”

  “What about them?” I raised a brow.

  He shrugged. “Nothing. Only, damn, you have a shit-ton of them. So, what’s your solution to the personnel problem? Do you play any instruments?”

  “No, I don’t. My voice is my instrument. I don’t need to do shit else. Lacey,” I called, glancing at her. “You got anything to add to this discussion?”

  “Oh.” Her blond brows rose. “Am I actually going to be included in this conversation?”

  “Yeah.” I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile at her attitude. “Did you see some other bitch singing besides you tonight?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not a bitch, Warren.”

  War, I thought, correcting her silently. Soon, she and I were getting that straight, among other things.

  “You wanna be in this band or not?” I asked her pointedly, making her believe her participation wasn’t mandatory.

  “I’m in.” She stood and skirted her keyboard.

  I shifted as she approached, making room for her in our group of three. I didn’t overanalyze, but I got a bigger kick out of having her stand beside me than I had reestablishing my rule at school.

  “The acoustics are good in the garage.” I slid my arm around Lace’s slender shoulders. “Can we practice here?” I asked Dizzy.

  “Warren.” She glared at me and tried to shrug free, but I tightened my hold. I noticed Bryan frown.

  “We can after five on weekdays, when my uncle’s not
home,” Dizzy said.

  “We’re not allowed to have friends over when he’s home,” Lace said. “He barely tolerates Diz and me as it is.”

  “Five on weekdays is fine.” I could feel the sudden tension in her and totally related to it. My old lady wasn’t happy about me having friends over when she was around either.

  “Five’s too early.” Lace shook her head. “I have to study.”

  “Babe.” I caught her eyes and gave her a firm look. “Studying’s a waste of time. You won’t need school once we hit it big.”

  “That’s the time. Take it or leave it.” Her chin lifted to a stubborn angle. “Unless you want to practice somewhere else.”

  “All right.” I squeezed her shoulder. Actually, I was cool with the time. I had my mandated lessons with the choir teacher and my once-a-month probation appointment to consider. “Six on weekdays. Here. It’s settled.”

  “Except we’re short a drummer and a bassist,” Bryan said.

  “Yeah, you’re right. We just need to ask around. Shouldn’t be that hard to fill those noncritical positions.” I shifted to face Lace, placing my hands on her shoulders. “Now there’s that matter of a favor someone owes me.”

  A blush hit her cheeks as I swept my thumbs over the tempting silky skin the scoop neckline of her sweater revealed. I wasn’t a big fan of her choice of clothing, though I was going to love removing it.

  “Not having sex with you, War.” She shrugged off my hands.

  “Good guess.” My lips curved. “And you said my name the way I want you to.”

  “Shit.” Realizing her error, she frowned.

  “You will have sex with me.”

  “War.” Dizzy’s tone had an edge, nearly as sharp as his glare.

  “I have this.” Lace said to her brother, then narrowed her eyes on me. “You’re really something. You know that?”

  “Chicks say that all the time,” I said with a shrug and a smirk.

  She shook her head in disbelief. “They must have low expectations.”

  “They do until after I give them a taste of me.”

  Her lips quirked.