Exquisitely Broken (A Sin City Tale Book 1)

by M. Jay Granberry

  There are a couple of hundred people here easy. I hear her name repeated through clusters of groups as I make my way to the front door.

  A big guy wearing a black T-shirt with security written in white block letters across the chest glowers at me as I approach.

  “There’s a line.”

  “I see that, but Sin said I’d be on the list.”

  “You and everybody else here,” he grunts, dismissing me as someone from inside the bar hands him a clipboard with a typed list of names. He turns back to the crowd and bumps into me. The wrinkles on his forehead sink into a deep V as he eyes me.

  “Please check the list. My name is Jacob Johnson.”

  He doesn’t move for a long moment. I’m not sure if he’s going to kick my ass or refuse to let me in just to be a dick. But after a stare off, his eyes drop to the paper.

  “You got ID?”

  I quickly pull the wallet out of my pocket and let one side drop open to show my driver’s license. His eyes bounce between the list and my picture a couple of times before he wraps a neon pink band around my wrist and steps to the side letting me in the door.

  It takes a couple of seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. There were only a couple of people sitting at the bar, but guys in black shirts seemed to be everywhere. One is fiddling with buttons at the soundboard. A couple guys were taping down extension cords and rotating speakers on the raised stage.

  I immediately spot Sin center stage, arm draped over the mic stand, and her head hanging low looking at the ground. Her typically natural ringlets are braided into two long French braids that reach the middle of her back. She has on another crop top, this time it’s a picture of the Rolling Stones lips with the tongue hanging out. The top stops just under her bra and low-slung tight jeans hug her waist, showing off her curves and exposing just enough skin to whet the appetite.

  I walk to the edge of the stage and stop in front of her. Her eyes meet mine, a smile splits her face, and those fucking dimples that I love dent her cheeks.

  “You made it.”

  “I told you I would.”

  A brief frown flits across her features like she’s not used to men following through on their word, but it’s quickly tucked away, replaced by a grin. Sin drops down to a squat in front of me, bringing us eye to eye.

  “I’m happy you did.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Absolutely.” She leans forward placing both hands on my shoulders and a chaste kiss against my mouth. When she tries to pull back, I tighten my hold on the back of her neck and give her a kiss, a real one. A kiss with a sliding tongue and the sting of teeth. One that should only happen behind closed doors with naked bodies. One that has her sighing into my mouth and bunching the fabric of my shirt between her fingers.

  God, this girl. I want her. In every way. In all the ways. She’s invaded every corner of my life, and I can’t get enough.

  With a groan, Sin pulls her lips away from mine. Her fingers come up to rest on her kiss-swollen lips.

  “What are you doing to me, Jake?”

  “Whatever you give me a chance to do, Sin.”

  “Sin, you ready to do this?” A male voice asks from somewhere at the back of the stage. I can’t see the guy from this angle, but some primitive part of my brain immediately bristles at the familiarity in his tone.

  Sin brushes another kiss against my mouth before she pushes off my shoulders to stand.

  “Yep. But come over here right quick. I want you to meet someone.”

  I size up the guy as he makes his way to the edge of the stage. He’s the guy on the motorcycle from the other night. His tall frame is lean. Bright blue eyes dominate his face, and his shoulder-length blond hair floats as he walks. If we lived in California, I’d call him a surfer, but since we’re in Las Vegas, I guess skater is more appropriate.

  He stops next to Sin absently picking up the tip of her braid and twirling the end with his fingertips.

  What in the fuck? Did he really just push up on my girl right in front of me? He is acting way too familiar.

  “Adam, I’ve told you about Jake. And, Jake, this is Adam. Best friend, bandmate, lead guitarist, and songwriter extraordinaire.”

  He jumps down from the stage, landing with a thud in front of me, and extends his hand. I grip his hand a little tighter than necessary.

  “Hi, bandmate Adam. I’m Jake, the boyfriend.” I put base into the last word, letting him know he’s trying to skate with a broken wheel. Adam’s eyes roll harder than a moody teen.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “What?” I growl, fighting the urge to crush his hand, yank him in close, and dare him to repeat it.

  “Adam, play nice,” Sin chides. “Jake’s a good guy. You’ll see.”

  He winks at Sin before looking me up and down and definitely finding me lacking. “Not holding my breath over here.”

  Suffocate bitch. “Nice to meet you too.”

  Adam drops my hand and pulls himself back onto the stage. “Wrap it up, Sin. We gotta start in two.” He gently yanks the tip of her braid as he walks past and picks up a guitar, settling the strap over his shoulder. He fingers a couple of chords and the sound reverberates loudly through the speakers.

  “See you on the other side,” Sin yells to me above the sound of Adam skillfully fingering the guitar.

  NOW

  Sinclair

  I watch Jeanine walk into the dressing room backstage. I hate to admit it, but she has been a godsend the last couple of weeks. The boys and I all agreed years ago that we didn’t want to be beholden to a label because it comes with too many strings and not enough benefits. Record labels are notorious for exploiting new artists. As independent artists, we have creative control and freedom. And more importantly we receive all the profits.

  Where we fall short is distribution. We have no problem competing with major labels where our production and writing is concerned. But we need help getting our music to the one market they still have cornered, radio. When we signed with WBB, the independent arm of Hartter Music Group. It gave us access to label resources without having to commit to a traditional contract.

  In today’s era of 360 deals, where record labels claim the actual artist as intellectual property and not just what they produce, we own our name, image, and all branding associated with the band. We pay the label a fixed amount to get our songs radio promotion and play.

  The downside of being independent and not having the big contract is that we’re independent. We have to hire our own people. Our last manager, Rich, was awesome but he left after the last leg of our tour. We thought we’d have time to replace him and fill some of the other holes on the administrative side of Sin City, since we’ll be in one spot for an entire year, but then I messed up and slapped someone in a room full of people.

  Once Jeanine and I came to an understanding, things have been good. I might hate to admit it, but I need her. It took a little time to embrace her straight-black-coffee style, but now that we’re on the same page, it’s been cool, almost surprisingly so.

  “Good evening, Ms. James. Are you ready to schmooze with the who’s who of Las Vegas?” Jeanine asks, her fingers flying across her phone screen. Her signature red glasses standout brightly against her pale skin.

  “Yes,” I answer with a roll of my eyes because we’re doing this whether I want to or not. We’ve been prepping for over a week. I know all the names and most of the professions of the VIPs.

  Jeanine finally looks up from her phone and blinks at me several times, almost confused. Her eyes sweep over my red leather pants and Swarovski crystal encrusted top that shows more than it covers but creates a rainbow effect when I walk that gives me Diana Ross post Supremes vibes. I finished the outfit off with sparkling red shoes, red lips, and pulled my natural curls apart, making my hair big and fabulous. Like I said, Diana Ross vibes.

  “I see you took my advice and wore something other than a concert T-shirt. You clean up well, Ms. James.”

  �
��A girl can try,” I say, checking my reflection in the mirror one more time as I fiddle with my top.

  Jeanine’s gaze flicks up to mine in the mirror. “You should do so more often. Right now, you look like the girl on the magazine covers. They will all buy what you’re selling when you look like that.”

  “That’s the goal, right?”

  “Indeed, Ms. James. So, quick rundown. Mr. Johnson will be in attendance as will his family. Should I worry about any further assaults?” Her eyes drill mine in the mirror.

  “Not unless provoked?” I press the tips of my fingers together, popping the knuckles on several digits.

  Agitation at the idea of coming face-to-face with the two female Johnsons makes me grind my molars. Danielle Johnson didn’t like me on sight. I was the girl with the wrong last name and from the other side of the mountain that had no pedigree or money. All she saw was me trying to corrupt her son. He was the one corrupting me, by the way, but that’s neither here nor there.

  Jessica Johnson was always a sweetheart. I loved that kid. Like seriously loved her. She was sweet and funny and so much like Jake it was comical at times. But his mother? Jesus, that woman and I in the same room was a recipe for disaster. Truly and horribly awful.

  “Hardy har har, Ms. James. All the major players in Las Vegas will be here tonight. We cannot afford any missteps. You’re our prize, and we need you make them all covet you. Understand?”

  “Jeanine, we’ve gone through this multiple times in the last couple of weeks. I get it.” I can’t stop the agitation from bleeding into my voice.

  “Aren’t rock stars notorious partiers? Shouldn’t this be your element?” Jeanine asks, noticing my tension.

  “Your sarcasm is like a balm. Right here.” I tap my hand over my heart. This is all part of the gig. I’m dressed. I’m going. When we get there, I plaster on the big smile, but in my dressing room, I’ll pass on the false niceties.

  She types several keys on her phone, but a slight smile drifts across her face.

  Adam walks in holding his little sister’s hand. She’s one of the main reasons we decided to move back to Vegas. Adam and I grew up in the system. There was nothing nice about it. It chews kids up and spits them out.

  So, when Adam got the call about six months back that his mom had relapsed and OD’d, leaving a three-year-old sister he didn’t know that he had, he did what he always does. He stepped in to fix it. He’s been jumping through hoops and rearranging his life to accommodate her. From what Adam has said, this is the third time in three years Child Protective Services had his sister in state custody, but they’re dragging their feet and making it difficult for him to formally take custody of her.

  Tori twists away from Adam and barrels across the room toward me, colliding with my legs.

  “Shin!” she yells.

  “Hey there, puddin’ pop.” She crawls up my legs until she’s nestled in my arms under my chin.

  Adam looks relieved to have a reprieve. I think stepping into this whole thing with his sister has been harder than he thought it’d be. When you grow up the way we did, family is a makeshift group of people connected by time and circumstance, not an obligation tied to blood and lineage. Don’t get me wrong, he cares for his sister, but it’s just not the cakewalk he thought it would be.

  “Addy says we’re going to a party tonight.”

  “I think it’s a grown-up party. Little girls named Tori would be bored.” A deep frown moves across her face, and her little shoulders scrunch up around her ears before dropping back down.

  “Why come?” she wails in a high-pitched scream and I panic. I look at Adam over her head, and he shrugs like me trying to soothe a frazzled baby is just another Saturday night. I jostle Tori in my arms, making a shushing noise as I wipe tears off her cheeks.

  “This is the sweetest thing ever,” Jeanine quips, her dryness and sarcasm amped up for full effect. “But you were expected upstairs over twenty minutes ago.”

  I set Tori on her feet and she slips her hand in mine, pulling me over to Adam. “What’s wrong, pretty girl?” He bends down to her level.

  “Tori, got a little upset when I told her tonight’s party isn’t really appropriate for a three-year-old.”

  Adam looks up at me before looking back at Tori. “We talked about this earlier. I only have you on weekends. I’m not going to miss a second of that time on something as silly as a grown-up party.”

  “A grown-up party that started several minutes ago.” Jeanine throws in walking toward the door.

  We follow Jeanine through the tunnels that run backstage to an elevator. We are surrounded by four security guards, two out front and two pulling up the rear. Jeanine holds up a keycard to open the secure door, and we all enter the car. She presses the buttons for the Skybox Lounge and rattles off a list of attendees, the dos and don’ts of a VIP event, and all the other things she’s repeated multiple times over the last couple of weeks. I nod, half listening, and stare at the red numbers in the display box, my thoughts racing.

  Dan is already there, and Miles is likely wherever his wife is now. I love Kisha, I really do, but girlfriend does not wear pregnancy well. With Adam out of commission and Jake and his family all in attendance I have a growing sense of unease. It’s churning under my skin like the waves of the ocean before a storm.

  The doors slide open and the party is in full swing. Jeanine exits the elevator first. The loud music immediately assaults my ears. Bodies are swaying, lights are flashing, and ceiling to floor windows provide a breathtaking view of the Strip. Seating clusters of white sofas dot the room. It’s way more nightclub than cocktail party. Not sure why I expected a much tamer affair. This is Vegas. It’s how people here get down.

  Tori drops my hand and cringes back into the elevator. Her sweet little face disappears behind Adam. He turns to me, wary. He wants to get in there, join the party, support the band. But he can’t this time, and it’s eating him up.

  I step back into the elevator. The doors close and I see Tory’s little face peek up at me from behind Adam.

  “Addy, can we please go home?” she whispers, her little voice barely audible above the party on the other side of the door. Adam runs a hand down her tight curls and nods, although she can’t see him.

  “I got this,” I say with a reassuring smile. “Take her home. This is no place for a kid anyway and it’s getting late.”

  “Sin…” He rakes his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends. “I’d never leave you hanging if I didn’t—” He cuts himself off again.

  “I’m a big girl, Adam, I swear. I got this. Trust me?”

  “Always,” he answers immediately without pretense.

  “Take this little one home, and I’ll swing by tomorrow. We’ll take her swimming or something. Kay?”

  “You sure, Sin?”

  “Absolutely. Get out of here.” I press the button on the elevator to open the door and walk out. I turn to look back at Adam and Tori and lift my hand in a silent good-bye. The doors close and Jeanine moves to my side. For the first time in our brief acquaintance, she doesn’t have her phone out, or her attention divided doing a million different things.

  “I assume Mr. Beckham opted to retire?” Her gaze shifts around the room before returning to mine.

  “Yes, this isn’t the best scene for Tori.”

  “Indeed, Ms. James. Indeed. Follow me.”

  I follow behind her as she navigates the room, stopping here and there to speak to this businessperson or that city council member. I lose track of the names and titles as she parades me around the room like a show pony.

  We round another tallboy table, she pats a woman on her back to get her attention, and I come face-to-face with the Jessica Johnson. Jake’s little sister isn’t the gangly high school student I remember.

  She’s still tall but there is nothing awkward about the young woman in front of me. Her frizzy curls have been smoothed straight, and her smile is metal free. After all this time she still exudes l
ight and positive vibes. I’m genuinely happy to see her again.

  “Miss Johnson, may I introduce you to—” Jessica pushes past in her excitement.

  “Oh my God, Sin! Jake told me you’d be here.” She grabs me in a tight hug and then pulls back, looking me over with hazel eyes identical to her brothers. “You look gorgeous. But you’ve always been gorgeous even before you were rich and dressed by designers.”

  “I’m not rich, Jessica.” She probably has more money in her trust fund than I have after working my ass off for the last ten years.

  She rolls her eyes at me, shaking her head. “Jake is going to die when he sees you dressed like this.” At her words I feels a spark of something. It’s not interest, but a purely female desire to be coveted by the man that didn’t want me. “Why has it been years since I’ve seen you? Just because you broke up with Jake didn’t mean you had to break up with me,” she says, looking genuinely wounded.

  “I-I,” I stammer a few syllables before she moves onto the next thing. Jessica is a whirlwind. She tends to suck in everything and everyone around her.

  “He told me how bad it was. I totally see why you needed a clean break, but it’s been so long and you two were so good together. Did you have to slap him the other day?”

  There you have it. I might have been the big sister she always wanted but I don’t hold a candle to her actual brother. Jake had her loyalty at birth. No way to compete with that.

  “Once again we all have the unfortunate pleasure of dealing with your tactless and uncouth actions impacting our family.” That sweetly accented voice does little to cover the venom of the words. My spine stiffens as Danielle Johnson wedges her small frame between Jess and me. I don’t think she’s aged a day in four years. She’s beautifully cultured and well-spoken, but as beautiful as she is on the outside, she’s as ugly on the inside. You know how they say that the devil wears the most beautiful faces? Enter Danielle Johnson.