The Complete Tempest World Box Set

by Mankin, Michelle

  “Dude,” I said in a teasing tone. “Good music is good music.” I lifted a brow. “Though the key to a person’s heart is supposed to be their set list. So, what’s the deal with you and Cannibal Corpse?”

  “It’s loud. It expresses how I feel. Drowns out the other shit. Helps me forget the pain for a while.”

  “I can relate to that for sure.” I touched his arm, and he gave me a tight smile. I knew his brother’s death was the pain he alluded to. King might joke a lot, but he was far from over that loss.

  “Your dress is pretty,” he said offhandedly, as if just now noticing it.

  “Thank you.” I noted the abrupt change in subject and guessed the reason for it was to avoid any further conversation about his brother. I let him have that play without acting like I noticed, just like he’d given me a pass about the non-crying. “I made it myself.”

  “No way.” His eyes widened.

  “I like fashion.” I shrugged. “I might not be able to control much . . .” Like where I came from. Who my mother was. What people thought of me. “But I can control how I look. That’s something, right?”

  “That something’s pretty cool.”

  “Don’t be too impressed.” I gave him a small smile. “I only ripped apart and reassembled two old dresses from the consignment shop.” They’d been in poor condition, but parts of them had been salvageable. Like me, or like I hoped I was.

  I bit my lip, recalling how averse hope was toward me. That wasn’t good. I had a test tomorrow. I needed all the hope and good vibes I could get.

  King’s head suddenly snapped up. “Walk a little faster,” he said tersely, his hold around my shoulders tightening.

  “What is it?” I asked, my heartbeats quickening along with our increased pace. “What’s wrong?”

  “A patrol car just went past us and slowed down. Shit. It did a U-turn. It’s probably nothing. Don’t . . .”

  Before he could finish, the patrol car that had screeched to a stop beside us, practically blinding me with its strobing lights. I threw my arm up, shielding my eyes.

  “Down on the ground,” a man barked, the order blasting at ear-splitting volume from speakers. “Both of you, put your hands over your heads.”

  “It’ll be okay,” King said, taking a step away from me. “Do whatever they say.”

  He lowered himself to his knees on the concrete. Shaking, I followed his example and was almost immediately frisked from behind. A moment later, cuffs were roughly clapped around my wrists.

  “On your feet,” the officer behind me ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” I said obediently.

  Disoriented by the lights, though, I struggled to comply, wobbling on the high heels of my booties. Apparently, I moved too slowly because I found myself lifted in the air, yanked by my handcuffs into a standing position.

  Scared out of my wits, I breathed in harsh pants, my heart pounding like a jackhammer. My stomach rolled, and I was afraid I might be sick. Blinking rapidly, I swallowed again and again.

  As my stomach settled and my eyes adjusted, I located King. Quiet, he remained on his knees on the pavement only a few feet away, his eyes as wide as mine.

  The cop with him looked mean. His mouth a cruel gash, he pulled a baton from his tool belt and extended it. I gasped as the metal rod smacked flesh, hitting King in the midsection. King grunted but didn’t crumple, and he didn’t cry out.

  “Stop it!” I shouted. “He hasn’t done anything wrong!”

  “Quiet!” The cop harassing King whirled around and gave me a disdainful look.

  “Why are you doing this?” I cried.

  He didn’t answer my question. Looking even more pissed off, he asked, “Where were you two headed just now?”

  “My house,” I rasped, willing my heartbeats to slow. “My uncle’s house.”

  “At two in the morning?” Beneath the short brim of his cap, his eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe me.

  “Yes, sir. We’re in a band. King, I mean, Juaquin and me.”

  “A band, huh?” The cop’s gaze narrowed more. “Is that street code for some kind of gang?”

  King spoke up, his voice sounding strained. “Not in a gang.”

  The cop turned to face him. “Your brother certainly was.”

  “That was his choice, ese, not mine.”

  “His choice got my former partner shot.”

  “I’m sorry. But my brother isn’t me.” King’s voice cracked. “And he’s not even here anymore.”

  “Maybe their story’s legit, Smyth.” The cop holding me shifted me by the shoulders to face him and studied me.

  The bright lights continued to flash, making it difficult to focus. I was frightened, but I noted the cop with me was big like his partner, big like Randy from school. Both cops were bullies like Randy was. Only they were bullies with badges.

  “If you’re in a band,” the cop with me said, sounding suspicious, “where were you playing?”

  “Footit’s,” I said. “We play there a couple of nights a week.”

  “Rebel Heart is playing there tonight.” Still holding me by the cuffs, he shook me a bit as if to rattle the truth from me.

  “We’re the opening band. Tempest.”

  “Fuck,” Smyth muttered. “I’ve heard of that band. My niece is into them. Better release ’em.”

  “In a minute. I’m not through with this one.” Smyth hauled King over to the building beside us and shoved him into the brick wall, face first. “I’ll have you eventually,” he said, rearing back and slamming his baton into the back of King’s legs.

  “Stop it!” I shouted, watching King fall to his knees. “Stop hurting him! It’s not right. You can’t take out on him who his family is.”

  I thought of Dizzy and me, and all the guys in the band, really. King didn’t say anything, but I noticed he had his head turned now and was looking at me over his shoulder.

  “We can’t choose our family,” I cried out. “Only our amigos. Our friends.”

  “Naive little girl.” Smyth’s partner made a clucking sound under his breath. “Let’s leave ’em be.”

  He removed my cuffs, and I rubbed my wrists, staring at King as his cuffs were removed too.

  “Good evening to you both,” Smyth said sarcastically as he and his partner walked away.

  Shielding my eyes, I watched Smyth fold himself into the driver’s seat. His partner rounded the hood and climbed into the passenger seat. Their doors closed and then the flashing lights went off as the patrol car pulled away from the curb.

  Trembling, I hurried over to King. “Are you okay?” I asked, crouching down beside him and placing my hand on his shoulder.

  “Sí. Got more padding than he counted on. Pussy cop. He hit like a girl.” Disgusted, King spat on the concrete, and I noticed dark blood in it. “Help me up.”

  Working together, we got him to his feet and weaved like drunkards the remaining distance to my house. By the time we reached the driveway, I was out of breath, and froze when I realized Uncle Bruce’s car was parked in it. The engine was running and the lights were on. Both went off as the driver’s door creaked open, and my uncle climbed out.

  “That’s my uncle,” I said quickly.

  “Should I take off?” King asked.

  “Lace Lowell,” Uncle Bruce boomed. “What the fuck happened to you?” He stomped toward us, his eyes blazing as he took both of us in. “You get into a fight?”

  “The cops mistook me for someone else.” King made the explanation before I could tell him it wouldn’t matter. “But they were rough with both of us.”

  “You don’t look so good, son.” My uncle shook his head. Obviously, what condition I was in didn’t factor.

  “No, sir,” King said. “Not feeling too well either.”

  “Why don’t you come inside? You can call your parents, and we can sort this all out.”

  “Okay,” King said, then glanced at me.

  “Go ahead and wait for me by the house, son.” My unc
le pointed. “I want to have a private word with my niece.”

  King gave me an inquiring look, and I shook my head. I didn’t want him getting into trouble with my uncle. Turning away, he shuffled toward the house.

  Uncle Bruce glared at me. “You’re just like your mother,” he said, his “private word” with me starting at the same place all his lectures did.

  “I’m not,” I said, hotly denying it like I usually did.

  “Your SAT is tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes. What—”

  “Just look at you. Sabotaging your future, hanging out with the wrong crowd.”

  “King’s not the wrong crowd.” I lifted my chin. “He’s my friend.”

  “He in your band?” my uncle asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You doing drugs with him?” His eyes narrowed.

  “No. Never.”

  Uncle Bruce asked that question a lot, but never believed my answer. I didn’t really know why he bothered to ask. Long ago, he’d formed an opinion about me based on my genetics, just like that cop had with King.

  My uncle was never going to change his mind about me, and I was done trying to correct him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Lace

  “You look terrible.” Chad frowned at me the following morning when he arrived to give me a ride to take the test with him. He took one look at me and opened his arms. “Need a hug?”

  “Yeah.” Nodding, I walked straight to him, and his strong arms closed around me. I laid my cheek on his solid chest, engulfed by his warmth. But I wasn’t soothed, nor was I turned on by him. Though his response to me was undeniable, he straight-up acknowledged it rather than dismiss it.

  “Don’t read anything into it, Lowell. You are beautiful and I care about you a lot, but I get a boner when the wind blows a certain way.” His arms tightened around me. “I got your text when I woke up this morning. I know you’re hurting. Just let me hold you.”

  “It was terrible,” I whispered, the pain still raw.

  “I’ll bet it was.” He stroked my hair with his large hand. “War just cut you off. No further word? No text or call this morning to walk it back?”

  “No.” And I didn’t expect there to be. This was War. The band’s song “My Way or the Highway” was his modus operandi. His name was his battle cry.

  “You should have called me last night. I would’ve come right over.”

  “You needed your rest.” I straightened, putting an inch of space between us, then two. I noted Chad was wearing a polo. He was so not rock ’n’ roll, just an all-around nice guy.

  Why couldn’t I fall for one of those?

  I glanced up at him. “King’s parents didn’t pick him up until after three, and afterward, my uncle laid into me for my choices some more. Then Diz came home, and he got blasted too.”

  “Your uncle’s a sorry bastard,” Chad said, his hazel eyes warm with empathy and his expression sad.

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “I made allowances before because he took us in when we had nowhere else to go. But he’s never going to change. He’s just a stranger to me from now on. I’m through trying to win him over.”

  “Understandable.” Chad’s gaze searched mine. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

  “Nope.” I grimaced. “But I drank two cups of coffee this morning.”

  “So you’re tired and wired.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. We can work with that.” He gave me his nice-guy smile.

  It made me feel better, but it didn’t cure what ailed me.

  My life was in the crapper. I was sad, mad, hurt, and worried as hell about the test, but I had a friend. One I could count on. A good friend was more reliable than hope.

  “We’d better get going.” Chad stepped back and gestured to the old rusted-out pickup he’d parked in the driveway. He’d purchased it with his own money, saving for it since he was little. “Your chariot awaits.”

  Nodding, I followed him and he opened the passenger door. It creaked in protest. He joked about it needing to be oiled, like he always did. Then he closed my door and rounded the hood.

  Inside the cab, he set the radio dial on a country-rock station. On any other day, I’d have teased him about his taste in music, which was so different from mine. But today I stayed within the boundaries of my own thoughts. I stared out the window, trying to remember math formulas.

  Too soon, the drive was over, and we arrived at the middle school.

  Once inside the building, we separated. Chad squeezed my hand before he went to check in, since he was taking the SAT too. We entered the cafeteria shoulder to shoulder, and he gave me an encouraging smile. Then he took a seat at his designated table, and I found my seat at another table.

  “Good luck.” I mouthed the words across the distance separating us.

  When the proctor told us to begin, I tore open my booklet, using the pointed end of my number-two pencil. Then the real torture began. The words on the examination and the bubbles on the Scantron answer form blurred before my weary eyes. The math section was impossible, and the reading and writing section was only slightly better.

  I developed a terrible headache during the last forty-five minutes, and my bladder ached, about to burst from all the coffee I’d consumed.

  When time was called, I trudged to the front along with everyone else and turned in my materials. Then I rushed out of the cafeteria, found a restroom, and took care of business. When I returned to the foyer, Chad was leaning against a trophy case, waiting for me. He took one look at my face and knew how the test had gone for me.

  “Didn’t go well, huh?” he asked.

  “I didn’t even finish the math section.”

  “Oh, Lace.” His expression turned sad for the second time that morning.

  “I know. I’m screwed.”

  Even friendship couldn’t make this fail better, and then it got worse. Outside, it was raining. A steady mist just heavy enough to be annoying, and it blocked out the sun.

  “Lace,” a familiar voice called as I struggled to get the hood on my slicker up.

  “Bryan.” My eyes widened as I watched him approach. “What do you want?” I frowned, though of course he looked delicious in a black leather jacket, black tee, and jeans, with the mist glistening like magical dust in his brown hair.

  “How’d the test go?” His brows drew together as Chad moved beside me, placing his hand on my shoulder.

  I reached for and squeezed my current friend’s fingers before refocusing on my former childhood one.

  “Terrible,” I said bitterly. “It went terrible. But you didn’t come here for that. You came because War told you to. Right?”

  “War didn’t have anything to do with it. I’m here for you,” he said, glancing at Chad before refocusing on me. “Can you and I go somewhere to talk? Just the two of us.”

  My heart wanted to leap out of my chest and cling to his. How many times had I dreamed of him saying something like this? But dreams were more of a shot in the dark for me than hope, and I didn’t trust Bryan’s motives anymore, knowing full well his current friendship with War superseded our past one.

  “If you need to say something,” I said, lifting my chin, blinking as a fat droplet smacked me on my nose, “just go ahead and say it right here.”

  “All right.” Bryan’s eyes narrowed, as gray like the impenetrable clouds above us, and as green as the wet grass on the lawn. “In the dressing room. The question you asked me. I didn’t tell you the truth. I have wondered about it.”

  His gaze dipped to my mouth, and my lips tingled. I suddenly felt every dewy drop of rain.

  “I’ve wondered about it a lot,” he said softly. “I wondered about it so much last night that I couldn’t sleep. But I’ve got no right to wonder. I think you know that.”

  “Um . . .” My mind blanked, and my legs trembled as the solid ground seemed to shift beneath me.

  “Should I go and leave you two alone?” Chad asked.

  �
��That would be great,” Bryan said, but he didn’t take his eyes off me. His gaze unwavering, he asked me again, “Now will you go somewhere so we can talk?”

  Nodding, I whispered, “Yes.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Lace

  It felt weird, forbidden almost, sitting across from Bryan inside a diner I’d never been in before, just the two of us. The waitress brought us coffee and took our order. When she left, we went completely silent, avoiding direct eye contact. Apparently, it felt a little awkward to Bryan too.

  While I folded and refolded an empty sugar packet, Bryan stretched his sculpted, tatted arms over the back of the vinyl seat on his side of the booth and turned his head to stare out the window. I stared at him.

  “I hope you know I tried to talk some sense into him last night,” he said softly to the window before turning his head to look at me.

  “War, you mean,” I said, thunderstruck by the unguardedness within his eyes.

  Lowering his arms, Bryan nodded, and glossy layers of his hair drifted down to shadow his serious brow.

  “I didn’t expect you to intervene for me.” I shook myself out of the alternate reality I’d stalled in since he’d admitted to thinking about kissing me.

  “You’re both my friends. I had to.” Shifting in his seat, he looked uncomfortable.

  “War is your friend. I’m not sure what I am to you anymore.” Tired, I gave him my feelings unfiltered when I probably should have continued suppressing them.

  Bryan winced. “Have I botched it up between us that badly?”

  “I don’t know.” I tried to put myself in his shoes, but I didn’t have a similar frame of reference. I only had two best friends that I’d ever felt free to be totally unguarded with—my brother, and at one time, the handsome guy sitting across the table from me. “Why don’t you tell me how you think things are between us?”

  “I’m not sure.” Bryan’s gaze sharpened. “But I know you’re the only person I ever felt like I could really talk to.”