The Complete Tempest World Box Set

by Mankin, Michelle

  One thing I was sure of—guys just wanted a piece of me. They would say or do what they needed to until they got it, and then they were gone.

  Bryan was the first to teach me that lesson. I didn’t know how much I needed and took his approval for granted until it was withdrawn. Two years later, and my throat still clogged at the memory of his callous dismissal of what I’d thought we shared.

  What a stupid little girl I’ve been.

  Never welcome.

  Never wanted.

  My mother had been right in her assessment of me all along. I no longer fought it.

  A part of me—the part with dreams, the beautiful part—had been snuffed out by darkness. Fear had replaced hope, and apathy had replaced fear, until all that remained was this empty frame, a place card for the woman I’d once been. Still pretty to look at, but hollow inside.

  “Still want to leave?” Martin asked, grabbing my shoulders and squeezing just hard enough to hurt.

  “No.” Gritting my teeth, I looked up at him, keeping my expression as neutral as possible. I’d had to adapt quickly to survive his sadistic streak.

  “You usually change your mind after thinking it through for a moment.” He grinned darkly. He enjoyed breaking me down so he could control me, and I wasn’t the only one. Most of the time, he didn’t get physical if I didn’t show weakness. It was strength he admired, my backbone that he respected. What remained of it, anyway.

  “I’ve got some China White coming in tonight.” His coal-black eyes searched mine. “I’ll bring you a bindle.”

  “All right.” My lips curved up into a thin caricature of a smile.

  His dark grin was a travesty as well, feral and predatory. He didn’t even try to hide his disdain for me as he gave me a last glance before going out the door.

  Why should he hide it? He had me. I had nowhere else to go, and he knew that. He always seemed to know everything, just like he’d known how susceptible I’d be to him and his brand of fake charm the first night we’d hooked up together a couple of years ago.

  I’d had an idea who Martin Skellin was before that night. His reputation should have scared me away, but after being tossed aside by everyone I trusted, I hadn’t really cared what happened to me.

  But I should have.

  Because although Martin was attentive in the beginning, letting me continue my friendship with Chad and using his influence to get me a job singing at a local club, his true colors began to bleed through shortly afterward.

  Martin was into some seriously illegal shit. I woke up nights, seeing and hearing things that I wished I hadn’t. Suspicion became a reality that I tried but couldn’t ignore.

  Then Tempest hit it big, and Martin had a new terrible game to control me with. He showed me articles and pictures of the guys, enjoying pointing out what a big success they were without me. I tried pretending it didn’t matter, thinking eventually he would give up torturing me and move on to something else, something less painful, but he hadn’t.

  Instead, he homed in on my weakness. Bryan.

  An explicit YouTube video of the infamous bad-boy guitarist of Tempest became the final wrecking ball that demolished what remained of my heart.

  Not that I shouldn’t have been accustomed to Bryan being with anyone but me. But loving him, longing for him, it was all I had left to cling to.

  I gave in after watching that video, and regularly took whatever Martin offered. Why shouldn’t I? Forgotten and abandoned by those I’d loved, it was inevitable where I would end up. Better to get it over with and fast-track the trip.

  I learned to compartmentalize my life, sticking the bad stuff into a box and pretending it didn’t exist. And when the needle was under my skin, when the drugs hit my bloodstream, everything else faded away. I lost the will to care about anything. I stopped dreaming about the future and settled for shuffling like the living dead through the lucid times until the next time I could get high.

  That night, I waited up for Martin. He came back as promised, but he didn’t come alone. Strader was with him. Tall and thin with a pockmarked face, Strader embraced a brand of evil made Martin’s seem angelic.

  Slowly, I rose from the couch, pulling my robe tightly closed with one hand fisted over my chest. Outwardly, I tried to project confidence, but inside, my nerves were all over the place. It wasn’t lost on me that both men tracked my movements with an anticipatory gleam.

  This isn’t good.

  “I’ll just leave you two alone to discuss business,” I said. Keeping my chin down, I skirted the couch and hurried toward the back bedroom.

  “I’ll go with you.” Strader leered at me, practically drooling with lascivious intent.

  What? No!

  My eyes wide, I looked to Martin for help.

  “No, wait.” Martin held up his hand. “Let me talk to her first.”

  Strader looked like he was going to refuse, but then his expression changed. He gave me a lurid grin, his gaze raking me from head to toe in a way that made my flesh crawl. “Sure. But just so you know, it’s going to happen, willing or not.”

  And there it was. There was no longer any doubt what he wanted, what he’d come to get.

  Me.

  My heart beat so fast, it felt like my chest was going to explode. It was unlikely I would be able to convince Martin to change his mind. I knew he owed Strader a lot of money.

  Being under Martin’s thumb had been one thing, but becoming a disposable plaything for a man like Strader was entirely another. I’d reached the end of the road, and I refused to go further, deciding right then and there that I’d rather die than endure whatever torment Strader had planned for me.

  But I wasn’t going down easy.

  A deadly calm fell over me as Strader give Martin a tight nod, saying, “I’m going out to the car. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  As soon as the door shut after him, I turned to Martin, my chin lifted and my hands balled into fists at my sides. “I won’t go with him,” I said firmly, so proud that my voice didn’t quiver. My heart might be wrecked, but inside me were remnants of the person I’d been before.

  Martin laughed, not a trace of mercy in his eyes. “Like you have any choice.”

  What a fool I’d been to believe a man like Martin Skellin had ever cared for me.

  “Come here.” He reached for me.

  “No.” I croaked out the word, even though fear had sucked the air from my lungs. Shaking my head vigorously, I took a step back.

  That was a mistake.

  “You strung-out bitch.” Martin’s eyes flared. He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me so hard, my teeth clacked together and my thoughts became rattled. “You’ll do whatever I say.”

  “No.” My eyes burned, but I didn’t cry and I didn’t back down.

  That’s when he lost it.

  I didn’t even see the blow coming, but the force of the impact knocked me back on my heels. I tasted coppery blood in my mouth, and my vision wavered.

  Through it, I could see him glaring at me. I glared back, never hating anyone more than I did him in that moment. I went after him, pounding my fists ineffectually against his solid chest.

  Martin easily knocked my hands away and smacked my face again with his open hand.

  I backed away, covering my burning cheek with my hand. He’d hit me before, but never so hard, and he’d never looked at me with such malice. The entire left side of my face felt like it was ablaze.

  Frantic, I retreated, looking around the room for something to defend myself with.

  Then he rocked me with another blow, his fist like a brick as it blasted into the side of my skull. I reeled into a side table, knocking it over, and everything went black for a moment. When I blinked away the haze, I found myself on the floor with Martin looming over me.

  “Okay,” I mumbled. “I’ll go. I’ll go.”

  Those lips I’d once thought handsome widened into a smile as dark as death. “Knew you’d see things my way.”

 
He extended his hand to help me up. I offered him my left, but the fingers of my right hand closed tightly around the base of the broken lamp beside me. It was self-defense, me or him.

  As he leaned down, I swung the lamp at his head with all I had in me, and brass met bone with a sickening crack. He lurched face-first onto the carpet and didn’t get back up.

  Seeing Martin’s chest moving, I knew he was breathing so I didn’t stop to check on him. I fled down the hall and out into the night with just the clothes on my back and an engagement ring to pawn.

  • • •

  Present day

  Shaken by the memory, I shoved my trembling hands into my jeans pockets and stuffed those dark thoughts back into the box. Leaning back against a column, I forced myself to refocus on Tempest’s performance.

  The guys were well into their set now, polished and confident. Sadly, there was no awkward empty space where I’d once stood.

  Not needed.

  Not wanted.

  As that disheartening reality sank in, my gaze stalled dispassionately on War. His brown hair looked almost black, wet and plastered to his head. Grinning, he threw the tail end of his long lavender scarf behind his sweaty back as he strutted confidently across the width of the stage.

  He’d made it so easy to resume our old relationship. I didn’t know why he wanted me back, but he did, and I was grateful. He seemed to want to pretend that the past two years—with the RCA deal for Tempest, and my time with Martin—had never happened.

  That was fine by me. We were on the same page in that regard, though our reasons were undoubtedly different.

  With Bryan, on the other hand, I was afraid there was never going to be a way back to the close friendship we’d had before. We’d never talked about the night we spent together, but it was always there, an awkward and unbridgeable gap between us.

  My gaze followed Bryan as he prowled dangerously around the stage with his guitar, by far the sexiest guy I’d ever seen.

  As his fingers flew over his Les Paul, his lids lowered, and his face became an intense mask of concentration. His instrument screamed like a complex climax above the rhythm of the current song. My blood heated at the memory of those nimble fingers and the effortless way he’d employed them to play my body with strikingly similar results.

  Long after the music ended, my gaze lingered on Bryan and the puzzle he represented. The handsome, playful, tender boy I remembered was still there, but he seemed older, changed somehow. I wondered at the faint lines around his mouth and the guardedness in his manner that seemed more permanent than before.

  Apparently, the past two years had put some hard mileage on all of us.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bryan

  “Where have you been all day?” Dizzy asked, every spike of his black-and-platinum hair gelled into place when I arrived for sound check the next afternoon in Boston.

  “Working out in the hotel exercise room.” I set my iPhone in the dock and began tuning my guitar.

  “Long workout.” Dizzy’s barbell piercing rose as he lifted his brow. “Did your mom and the girls go back to Seattle last night?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  I hated saying good-bye to my family, but I also hated dealing with Lace and War playing house within the tight confines of the bus. It was seriously pushing the limit of what I could take. I tried not to, but imagining what they did in that back bedroom with the door closed made me almost physically ill.

  Wanting but never having her was just as bad as it had ever been. I didn’t know how I was going to get a handle on it.

  “You must’ve hit the weights really early. You were gone before I got up.” Eyes the same whiskey color as his sister’s narrowed suspiciously.

  “So what if I was.” I slanted a brow. I’d been at it for hours, but it hadn’t been nearly long enough.

  “Trying to avoid War and my sister, huh?”

  My head snapped up.

  “Wish I could.” Dizzy shrugged out of his black leather jacket and lowered his head over his Ibanez RG, completely oblivious to my telling response. “When I left, they were already arguing at the top of their lungs. It was just like old times.”

  “She tell you anything about what happened with Martin?”

  “No.” Dizzy ran his tongue over the silver loop in his lip. “She doesn’t do heart-to-heart chats with me anymore. Besides, that always used to be your territory.”

  I grunted noncommittally. Those heart-to-hearts ended abruptly two years ago. “I’d like to kill that son of a bitch Martin for what he did to her.” I stomped down on my pedalboard so violently that it bounced off the black hardwood surface.

  “Me too, man. I wish she would’ve steered clear of him in the first place. But the way I hear it, the dude’s days are numbered, anyway. Word is he’s gotten himself into a real tight spot. Owes a lot of money to higher-ups and doesn’t have the funds to cover it.”

  Before I could pump him for more information, the sound of War’s raised voice reached us.

  “What’d I tell you?” Dizzy’s chin lifted as War and Lace came into view. “They’re still going at it.”

  Lace looked beautiful with her hair pulled back from her face in a messy bun, loose tendrils curling around her neck, but her blond brows were drawn together.

  “No, Warren Andrew Jinkins. I don’t want to. I haven’t sung anything in over a year.” Her sexy lips pressed flat into a tight line. “Not in public, anyway, and your label sure as hell won’t like it if I get up onstage during your set.”

  “Come on, Lacey. Just do a number here at sound check.” War blocked her path, his tone coaxing. “I wanna hear that sexy voice of yours over the speakers.”

  Shaking her head, she stepped around him and dropped into an abandoned folding chair, then threw her coat on the floor.

  His hands on his hips, War continued to glare daggers in her direction as King and Sager came strolling in side by side. They were the same height, though King weighed about twenty pounds more than Sager now, all of it muscle. He’d taken to drinking protein shakes and lifting weights with a religious fervor since his dad’s heart attack.

  King had his cell held out in front of Sager, the screen turned sideways. Sager bent his head to watch, his brown eyes hidden beneath unruly strands of inky hair. The bassist snickered at whatever King was showing him. Probably some College Humor Production, King’s current favorite. Whenever he found something funny, he couldn’t wait to share it with Sager and then the rest of us.

  Smiling big, Sager clapped King on the shoulder before they separated to set up.

  “War, come on, dude, let’s get started,” I said, pulling his attention away from Lace. “We gotta get outta here by one, so they can change the setup for Brutal Strength.”

  “All right,” War muttered after throwing one more loaded glower at Lace. “We’re not through discussing this.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She shot him the finger, and I hid my smile.

  “You guys haven’t changed a bit. Two of the most stubborn people I know,” Dizzy said. “Can’t you compromise?”

  “Not when I’m right and she’s wrong,” War said with his usual arrogance, grabbing the center mic and turning to look back at me. “Let’s do ‘Truth.’” He dipped his chin. “Hit it, Bullet.”

  I fingered the three-string riff repeatedly to set the pace for the frenetic opening. Hips swaying back and forth to the beat, War began the opening lyrics at the same time as King came crashing in with the drums, Dizzy with the rhythm, and Sager with his steady bass line.

  I moved to stand between Sager and Dizzy, all three of us leaning back as a choreographed unit, our instruments held at pelvic level as we jammed away together.

  Since you were born, you wanted life a certain way

  Not quite buying all the lies that you’ve been told

  But some things shouldn’t ever see the light of day

  ‘Cause before you know, your innocence is sold

  I’m the tru
th

  You say you wanted some

  Well, brother, here I come

  You ain’t gonna like me

  I’m the truth

  I’ll flip you upside down

  And burn you to the ground

  Now how do you like me?

  With trembling hands, you open up that second box

  But the truth never really wanted you at all

  And now you wish you’d never tried to pick her locks

  ‘Cause what you found just led you to a fall

  I’m the truth

  You say you wanted some

  Well, brother, here I come

  You ain’t gonna like me

  I’m the truth

  I’ll flip you upside down

  And burn you to the ground

  Now how do you like me?

  I’m staring right through you

  Just like I never even knew you

  But now I think you realize

  You’ve seen me with your own two eyes

  I’m the truth

  I’m lying underneath

  I’ll kick you in the teeth

  Let’s see if you like me

  I’m the truth

  I’ll rip your world to shreds

  Until all hope is dead

  Now how do you like me?

  Except for a couple of interjected echoes by me during the chorus, “Truth” was a vocal showpiece for our lead singer from beginning to end.

  “Holy shit!” Lace exclaimed after War let out the last primal yell. “Why didn’t you guys do that one in New York? It sounds even better live than it does on the recording.”

  She stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her black tunic top, and walked over to me, gesturing at my Les Paul. “How the hell do you do that?”

  Sager chuckled. “Bullet’s pretty fast with his fingers.”

  “Ah, so that’s how you got the nickname.” Lace smiled. “Faster than a bullet on the frets, huh?”

  “Uh, sort of.” King shoved Sager. “Even faster to get a woman off. One time, he even—”