“Fine.”
“Bry says you made the top grades in your class again.”
I shrugged, but inside I was always pleased by Bryan’s praise. “In everything but math. I hate it.”
There was a long silent pause. Finally, I heard the shower shut off.
The one-bedroom apartments at the University House high-rise were small, even by public-housing standards. All had the same layout. The kitchen, dining, and living areas were in one room, with the bedroom and bathroom down a short hallway in the back. Bryan’s family of four was cramped inside the tight space. His sisters and mom shared the only bedroom, while he slept on the couch.
Despite being the same floor plan, Bryan’s apartment and ours couldn’t have been more different. Bryan’s mom was always adding little decorative touches like the slipcover that transformed their place from an apartment to a home. Our apartment was a disaster zone, littered with trash, dirty laundry, and our mom’s pipes and needles.
Whenever she was on a long binge, like her current one, it got even worse. Dangerous, paranoid, and unpredictable, Mom would hole up in her room for days and didn’t even bathe. It was a relief to be able to escape and come downstairs, even if it was only for a little while.
“Hey, Lace.” Bryan walked around the couch, running a brush through his wet hair. “Where’s Dizzy?”
“Should be here soon,” I said. “He’s changing clothes.”
Dizzy had a weekend job bussing tables and washing dishes at Mr. Spinelli’s Greek restaurant on the Ave. At thirteen, he was way too young to officially hold a job, but Mr. Spinelli overlooked that and paid Dizzy in cash. That money helped us purchase the basic things we needed like food, toiletries, and school supplies.
Suddenly, a loud thump came from the apartment above. Our apartment. Worried, I froze, staring at the ceiling and listening intently. Muffled yelling followed and then an ominous crash.
I jumped up, my heart racing. “I’d better check and see what’s going on.”
Hurrying to the door, I threw a quick glance at Bryan. His worried expression matched mine. He was the only one who really knew how bad things were up there.
“Lace, wait.” Mrs. Jackson’s voice followed me out into the hall, but I ignored her.
I flew up the stairwell and burst through the door of our apartment. Fear transformed into full-blown terror as I took in the scene. Two drug dealers I recognized stood at opposite sides of the living room, one near my mother, the other holding Dizzy, who was struggling to break free.
“Lace, get out of here quick!” my brother 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.
“She’s a pretty one, Mama,” the pusher with long stringy hair said to my mother.
His rancid breath nearly made me puke as he leered down at me, and I started to shake.
“Leave her alone!” Dizzy shouted while twisting violently in the arms of the large man restraining him. “She’s just a kid.”
“Sean likes ’em young,” the heavyset dealer said. His fat lips curled into a sneer.
His 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 our mother’s way. “If you want your candy, I get your daughter. That’s the deal.”
“No!” Dizzy struggled in the heavyset guy’s hold. “Let her go, you piece of shit!”
“Shut him the fuck up, Trace,” Sean said harshly.
With a sharp metallic click, Trace opened a switchblade and brought it to my brother’s throat. My eyes widened and my chest got so tight, I could barely breathe. I shook my head, but no one paid attention to me.
“You heard him, little man,” Trace said to my brother, and a volcano of ineffectual anger erupted inside Dizzy’s eyes. “Be quiet.”
I looked to my mother for help. “Please, Momma. Tell them no. Make them go away.”
Her eyes dull and lifeless, my mother stared right through me as if I didn’t even exist. Sean yanked my arm and pulled me toward the bedroom.
“No,” I shouted, 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 gripped me tighter, his fingernails digging into my arms, and more tears stung my eyes. “And stop your bawling. Tears don’t change a damn thing in this shitty world. You’re old enough to know better.”
Inside the bedroom, he kicked the door closed and had me pinned to the bed within seconds. I struggled at first, but stopped when I realized he grinned even wider at that. His body was so heavy on top of mine that I found it difficult to breathe, and when his hands slithered up under my shirt, I stopped wanting to try.
I turned my head toward the door and curled up inside myself, pretending I wasn’t even there. Just as a welcome blackness was taking me away, a heavy pounding and loud voices came from outside the apartment.
“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?”
Scrambling off the bed, I nodded and went to the far corner of the room, wanting as much distance between him and me as I could possibly get. My back against the wall, I slid to the floor. I pulled my knees to my chest as he threw open the door and froze in front of a cop’s drawn gun.
“Turn around. Hands up on the wall, Evans,” the uniformed officer said. “I should have known slime balls like you and Carson would be involved in something like this.”
Behind him, another officer had already restrained Trace. My mother stood listlessly beside them, her eyes vacant, and made no effort to come to me.
“Detective Shannon. So nice to see you,” Sean said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“I suggest you exercise your right to remain silent.” Detective Shannon’s gaze swept over me as he cuffed Sean, then glanced over his shoulder. “You can come in. The girl’s in here. Looks pretty shaken up.”
Dizzy came in first, tearing up when he saw me, and Mrs. Jackson was right behind him. My brother crossed the room and knelt on the floor, reaching out for me.
“No.” Cowering, I shook my head. “Don’t touch me.”
Dizzy withdrew, looking hurt. When I noticed Bryan hovering in the doorway, watching us with a worried frown, shame burned my cheeks. I laid my head on my crossed arms and closed my eyes, trying to block everything out.
“Let me talk to her,” Mrs. Jackson said. “I think she’ll respond better to a woman right now.”
I felt the warmth from her body as she sank down beside me and gently stroked my hair.
“You did nothing wrong, Lace,” she said 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.”
After that, Dizzy and I had moved in with our uncle Bruce. He was a mean son of a bitch, but he didn’t knock us around, and at least we were off the Ave.
I didn’t see Bryan again until high school. By then, I was so full of myself, my ego had inflated 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 could make good grades, play my music, and make something out of my life.
But I was so very wrong.
CHAPTER THREE
Bryan
Present day
I paced inside the cramped backstage area, waiting for my family to arrive for the sho
w. They were coming in from Seattle to catch our second performance at Madison Square Garden.
Over in the corner, War, the lucky bastard, had his arms wrapped around Lace. She wasn’t smiling but looked rocker 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 edgier. 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 was my family? Their plane landed hours ago, and they should have been here by now. I wondered if last night’s winter storm had something to do with them being delayed.
“Bry!”
Relief rolling through me, I turned at the sound of a trio of familiar feminine voices calling my name, and had only seconds to brace myself before being enveloped in a group hug.
“Mom.” I kissed the top of her head, which 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 crappy 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 my sisters and me. I could never repay her for all she’d done for us, 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, and the one I worried about the most. Although as driven as my mom to succeed, Miriam had a talent for getting into trouble. She acted first and thought things through later . . . if at all.
Recently, it had taken quite a bit of finesse on my mom’s part to keep the school from suspending Miriam when she’d been caught on the roof having an impromptu snowball fight with her friends from the drama department. Her 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 gray-green as mine twinkled mischievously. “It’s a rock concert, not Mass.”
Before I could pursue the matter with her further, my sister Ann, a book tucked under her arm, threw one arm around me and hugged me pretty damn tight. My heart warmed, and I returned her hug with equal enthusiasm.
Ann, I didn’t worry about. She was as studious as Miriam, but had a gentle soul and a level head. I tucked a strand of her straight brown hair behind her ear, and she peered up at me over the top of her glasses.
“Still enjoying working weekends at the veterinary clinic?” I asked her.
The enthusiastic smile on her face broadened. “I have 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, and always had been. Though we’d never been able to have a real pet, she’d collected the stuffed version since she was three. She wouldn’t give any of them away, and had so many now that they filled 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 the three of them.
“We’re on in five,” King said from his side of the backstage area.
I nodded and turned back to my family, frowning when I caught the long look that passed between our drummer and Miriam.
What the hell?
King was totally checking her out. I was going to kill him. And fuck if Miriam wasn’t returning the favor. She was even arching her back to make her boobs look bigger.
I grabbed her arm, and Miriam hissed under her breath at me.
“Bry! You’re hurting me.”
I ignored her, guiding all three of my girls 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, her face bright with anticipation.
My smile flattened. It had been a bit of work, but I’d managed to avoid Red since she dumped me. But it would be far better to spend the evening with her than endure another night watching Lace with War.
“Sure,” I said with a sigh.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lace
I sat on top of a stack of amps, watching the Jackson family reunion. On the outside, way, way on the outside now looking in, I extinguished the desire to be included. That was never happening. My chin dropped to my chest, my long hair sliding forward to effectively conceal the longing on my face.
Stop it, Lace. That kind of family love and loyalty in all its Hallmark loveliness wasn’t for me. Once upon a time, maybe, but not anymore.
My gaze followed Bryan after his mom and sisters left, and he moved to take the stage. I hopped down from my perch and wandered closer as he and the guys got ready to perform. I’d arrived too late in New York the night before to see last night’s show.
King took off his shirt as he climbed up onto the drum riser, and my eyes widened.
When had King gotten those guns? He used to be the chubby one, but he wasn’t even remotely so now. He was as cut as an Abercrombie and Fitch model, a sexy Latino version with his square jaw, bronze skin, and closely cropped dark hair.
My gaze drifted 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 wavy 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 a 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 force myself to look away. I’d stare for hours at those mesmerizing eyes of his, if the rest of him weren’t equally as enthralling.
The deep black ink of his tattoos scrolled 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.
When War called to Bryan, he turned away, giving me a view of his backside. Even his ass was perfection. I swallowed to moisten my dry throat as Bryan sauntered in heavy biker boots to meet War at center stage.
War clapped him on the shoulder before plucking the mic out of its stand. Giving me a wink, he faced the audience and draped his hands lazily over the mic stand, waiting while a man in wire-rimmed glasses finished the band’s introduction.
His spiky black-and-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 at my brother.
I didn’t envy Dizzy his success. Not really. He deserved to be out on that stage, unencumbered by the burden of me. 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 crazy on lead guitar.
/>
My heart squeezed. I’d missed my easygoing brother so much. Maybe if Dizzy had been around, I would have had the guts to leave Martin sooner, instead of just a couple of weeks ago.
• • •
Two weeks ago
“Go ahead and leave, bitch,” Martin said to me in that same disaffected voice he always used whenever I threatened to leave. Which wasn’t often anymore.
What other choice did I have except to remain with him?
I had no money of my own, and I wasn’t welcome to return to my uncle’s house. When I’d tried to go back there the first time Martin had hit me, I’d gotten the reception I anticipated. My uncle had refused to shelter me, while making me feel like more than a failure than I already did.
“You’re just like your mother,” he’d predictably said.
Turned out, he was right.
I pressed my lips together, my vision blurring as I stared at my arms. Just looking at them made me sadder, while at the same time I longed to shoot up again to forget. 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.
And that’s what gave Martin the power he had over me.
My gaze returned to him as he slipped the Glock into his shoulder holster and pulled on a jacket. Eyes as 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 than I did that Martin didn’t have one.
His gaze was cold, emotionless, and calculating as he studied me.
A growing sense of unease flooded me, making my pulse pound and my respiration increase. There had been thinly veiled statements from him lately, pressure to do things that I’d been able to deflect so far, but I didn’t know for how much longer.
When we first met, he’d been kind at a time that I’d desperately needed kindness, and I’d believed there had been something worth having between us. But now I was just as certain it had been wishful thinking. Wishes so often deceived me. I’d been wrong about Bryan, War, and so many other things.
The Complete Tempest World Box Set Page 31
