Shatter (The Choosy Beggars Series Book 1)

by Charisse Moritz

  “This is such a bad idea,” she mutters as we shuffle down the narrow stairs.

  “The worst,” I agree. Not only are we underaged and without fake ID, but I’m not sure if Taz invited me or was just informing me of his plans, which is a really important difference. “Just act normal and we’ll get in. No problem.”

  “Getting in is what I’m most worried about. Who knows what’s going on in there? For all you know, we’re walking into a vampire orgie.”

  “You’d better hold on tight, spidermonkey.”

  She catches the Twilight quote, smiles and her nose squishes. “Think of how much gossip we’ll have for the lunch table on Monday.”

  The hardest part of getting in is digging three singles out of my wallet. I recognize the furry-looking bouncer at the door. He’s the brother of my brother’s best friend’s girlfriend, if that makes any sense, and he takes our cover charge and waves us by without question.

  The place is bigger than it seems from the outside but packed tighter than a pickle jar. Ignoring the fire code, we plunge into the crackle and hum of overworked speakers blasting old school ACDC. The bass throbs hard enough to clog my sinuses, and my feet stick to the floor.

  “Should we get a drink at the bar?” I yell in Frannie’s direction. This must somehow translate into how about we get a nipple piercing, because she actually screeches, “Eeee.”

  “Rootbeer? Sprite?” I make sure to enunciate.

  “Oh! OK, OK.” Her fingernails dig into my elbow and her eyes fly around like startled sparrows.

  The drinks are expensive, watered down and spill over my hands as I accept them from a distracted bartender. Frannie and I then fight a path toward an empty stage at the opposite end of the room. A palm skims my butt, somebody steps on my foot and an elbow spears my ribs. I kind of wish Terek was here right now, which is stupid, because if he was here, I’d be immediately dragged out.

  We wait twenty-eight minutes. I know this because I check the time every thirty seconds and start to doubt Taz is actually scheduled to play here. Beside me, Frannie bounces to the sound system. I don’t think she’s dancing. She’s in the throws of a full-body panic and keeps saying either “Dicks allowed in rear,” or “It’s so loud in here.”

  I’ve had just about enough when Shae climbs onto the stage. I’d recognize that billboard of muscles anywhere, and I swear he’s bigger than I remember. One glimpse of the skullcap, inked biceps and black t-shirt stretched thin across ten miles of chest and I go a little fan-girlie. My, my, my he’s a healthy specimen.

  “Jumping junipers,” Fannie blurts.

  “The water heater guy,” I tell her.

  “That? Him? And you didn’t invite me over? Please tell me he got wet.”

  Shae pulls a pair of sticks from his back pocket, twirls them through his fingers and settles behind the drums. Everything about him is massive, and there’s all sorts of wonderful flexing going on as he adjusts his set, ticks the cymbals and pounds the bass drum a few times.

  A minute later, a second guy hops up there with him. This one’s toting a bass guitar. He’s super tall with long legs, jeans ripped at the knees, tie-dye shirt and some sort of tattooed script all over his arms. Spiral curls in every imaginable shade, from blonde to brown to almost red tumble every which way, and he’s smiling like he knows a dirty secret. I didn’t realize guys this beautiful roamed around in real life, and no way I could fit into his pants.

  “Are you looking at what I’m looking at?” Frannie squeals in my ear, clasping her hands together in front of her chest and hopping in place. “Can I have him? Please? If I promise to feed and walk and take care of him?”

  These boys don’t even need to play. I’ve gotten my three dollars worth just watching them tune their instruments. I think they should charge more and perform shirtless. By the number of girls pressing forward, they’d make a fortune.

  Color me surprised when Taz jumps on stage, plugs in a new-looking guitar and centers himself behind the microphone. My silent shy boy is the frontman? Silky dark hair in a loose bun, plain white tee, jeans frayed at the bottom and bare feet … I’m liking this. Just the way the guitar hangs off his shoulders turns me into a dedicated groupie.

  Frannie bumps me, spills my rootbeer, laughs and says, “You’re so obvious.”

  Was I supposed to hide what Taz does to me? My heart didn’t get the memo. I look at him and want. I want to touch him, burrow right inside of him and claim him as my own. I want to know him, know everything, what his skin smells like in the morning, what he looks like brushing his teeth and the sound of his sneeze. It’s the pull of magnets and ocean tides and socks washed without fabric softener.

  “Hey.” The low, rough nudge of his voice through the microphone pulls the crowd into quiet anticipation. We stand at the feet of a boy who was named after a guitar, yes I finally figured that out, and he owns us. “We’re Choosy Beggars. You guys ready to get dirty with me?”

  The crowd is definitely down with that plan.

  The crack of Shae’s sticks obliterates everything else and sets my heart on a faster tempo. He gives us three warnings then pounds the drums like a man possessed, creating a thunderous rhythm that rumbles beneath my feet. The bass and guitar weigh in, and we are carried off on a freight train of sound. Then Taz tips his head to the side, opens his mouth and lets out an edgy mix of growl and scream. It drags up the backs of my legs, curls around my thighs and digs a hook into my belly. I’m headed wherever he leads.

  He sings out of the right side of his mouth, face twisted into the heat of the moment. His vocal tones ride the edge of pain and anger, his fingers pure sin on the strings and his eyes are luminous. I don’t know the song, don’t catch all the lyrics and it doesn’t matter. He sends my thoughts spinning. I shiver and sweat at the same time, smile like a fool and am so awake and energized, it’s as if I’m levitating.

  I don’t know a ton about music, but I’m pulled in by what I’m hearing and catch myself dancing to it. This band is good. Better than they should be for how young they are. Practiced and talented but rough enough around the edges to keep it interesting. Taz commands the crowd to jump, make noise, bleed with him and we obey.

  Frannie pogos up and down, throwing her arms around and mouths, “Wow.”

  My thoughts exactly.

  They play a curious mix of covers, introducing songs from the Interrupters, Shakey Graves, Marilyn Manson, the Black Keys, Joywave and a band called Catfish and the Bottlemen. When they launch into a revved up version of Puddle Of Mudd’s She Hates Me, Taz glances over at the bassist and sorta smiles. Holy mother of holies. That curve of his mouth is a game changer.

  They throw in a few original songs, tunes I’ll be humming later, and after an hour, finish with a fun little number called Ditch the Bitch.

  Taz sings, “Of all my hatred, not a drop is wasted

  Fill with poison, come and taste it,

  Too thin to hold, too weak to be strong

  I tried waiting, takes too long.”

  And then they launch into the chorus, chanting, “Ditch the bitch, ditch the bitch, ditch the bitch.”

  Taz comes back with his soft growl, “No matter where I go

  No matter what I’m doin’

  It’s the rage and ruin

  That follows me down, follows me down, takes me down.”

  They drop back into the chorus, and every voice in the bar shouts, “Ditch the bitch, ditch the bitch, ditch the bitch.”

  When the lights come up, after an hour immersion into sensory overload, I blink stupidly. The crowd claps, whistles, pays homage and then splits in half. Guys head toward the bar. Girls converge on the stage like bears on a picnic basket. Sweaty and exhausted, Taz and his buddies offer a quick wave, then start packing up instruments. I’m not sure what to do.

  “C’mon,” says Frannie. “There won’t be anything left of those boys if we don’t get up there quick.”

  She makes to propel me forward, but I dig in my heels. “
Maybe we should just go home.”

  “What? Are you kidding? You got all dressed up like a cute little slut!”

  I shift from foot to foot, glance from the exit to the stage and catch Shae’s eye. He’s knelt down, rolling up a cable, but now stands to make sure I see him. Like I could miss him. He’s as hard to spot as Aqua Man hanging out with the seven dwarves.

  “Tia. Glad you made it.” Shae’s voice is huge. Every girl in the vicinity glares at me. He acts as if I was invited. Then again, this is a public place, not a birthday party for a five-year-old.

  “Thanks,” I mumble while Frannie presses both hands at the small of my back and shoves like I’m an overfilled grocery cart. “You guys are really amazing.”

  “We’re working on it.” His smile softens his harsh face, and he’s got a look it would be easy to fall right into.

  “This is Frannie.” I drag her out from behind me. We get jostled by a half dozen girls fighting for position, and these debutantes are not gentle. “Frannie, this is Shae.”

  “C’mon on up.” Shae offers his giant paw. I don’t know how to accept or decline without making it awkward, so I let him grab my hand and pull me onto the stage with all the grace of a waterlogged seal. My only consolation is the flop and flail of Frannie’s ascent. By the time she makes it to her feet, she’s spitting hair out of her mouth, holding one of her shoes and her other hand is somehow curled deep into the waistband of Shae’s jeans.

  He gently but firmly sets her away, hikes his pants back up and gives a nod to the bassist wandering over. “This is Mutt,” he introduces.

  Oh my krispy kreme. Up close, the dude’s even more potent. His eyes are honest-to-God turquoise, set off by curly lashes, and his level of zen has me convinced he’s stoned out of his ever loving gourd.

  “Tia. Frannie.” Shae points us out.

  Mutt, which is a really weird name for a guy who looks like that, makes purposeful eye contact with each of us. Might as well stab me with a fork. I turn into overcooked pasta, all gooey, and I’d definitely stick to him if he touched me. Frannie giggle-snorts and in a hasty rush of embarrassment wiggles weirdly and shouts way too loud, “Oh! Wow! Hey! Hi! You!”

  Someone please shoot her with a tranquilizer dart.

  The bassist is totally cool with it, probably because the entire female population spontaneously ovulates in his presence. And here comes a mensa candidate in half of a shirt and leopard print mini skirt to prove my point. Waving a Sharpie, the girl presses her boobs against the edge of the stage and chants, “Mutt! Mutt!”

  His smile is pure predator. This boy, with his angel’s face is dangerous. He squats, offers his arm, and she scribbles on his skin. He’s not tattooed. He’s wearing a full sleeve of girls’ names and numbers. I remind myself to have a long talk with my sisters about self-respect.

  “Call me!” Sharpie girl insists, bouncing like a contestant on The Price Is Right. She’s certain she’s got the winning number, even while he steals her marker and holds it out to Frannie.

  “How about it?” he purrs at her. One corner of his mouth tilts up, creates a dimple, and I wonder if he’s ever suffered an unsure moment in his whole life, because oh my goldie locks, he is sex porridge.

  My clueless friend actually spins around, looks right, left and then points to herself. “Me? Oh! Well um, yes, sure. This is fun. How nice.” Stained a sweet shade of pink, Frannie the wild woman carefully prints her name and digits on his bicep. Dollars to donuts, she just gave him Trish’s number.

  “Your turn.” He waggles the Sharpie at me.

  “Mutt,” Shae growls.

  “What?” Mutt is nothing but innocence and addictive pheromones. He smiles just enough to let us know he’s delighted by being naughty. I’d like to meet his mother, just to verify he wasn’t created in a lab.

  “This is Tia,” Shae says slowly. “I told you about her.”

  “Minivan girl?”

  Oh how lovely. I have a nickname.

  “I was hoping to say a quick hi to Taz?” I speak up. Peeking around Shae, I catch a glimpse of him. He’s just a boy with sweaty hair, sitting on an amplifier, elbows on knees, head in hands. The spark of attraction was there before he ever stood on stage, but I suddenly understand the spell of the rockstar. He’s a living piece of magic, the embodiment of hypnotizing notes, and I crave more. I am a little embarrassed and afraid of the force of my emotions. He could crush me without even trying. As a hopeless romantic, I am forced into the role of risk taker.

  Shae shifts to block my view. “Our boy crashes after a set. He made a lotta noise and now he’s getting his quiet back. We leave him be.”

  “Oh, OK. That’s alright. Maybe you could just tell him I was here. Frannie and I need to get going anyway.”

  “Trust me, he spotted ya,” Shae tells me, as Mutt comes back with, “What’s the hurry?”

  “No hurry,” Frannie blurts, the traitor, and I go, “Um” and tug at the hem of my skirt.

  “Maybe you could ah, get a drink or ...uh, help Mutt carry some cables out to the van?” Now Shae tips his head at the bassist, who is way too stoned to catch onto whatever message is being sent. Why is Shae giving me busy work?

  Frannie scowls, folds her arms and plants her feet. We’re on the same page. Something’s stinky in Denmark, and a teeny voice in my head begs me to turn around and walk away. Nope. I sidestep for a clear sightline and find Taz on his feet, facing me. Everything I need to know is right there in those crystal clear blue eyes. They are a hard shove.

  He’s not alone. Sasha Taber has her hands on him. And stupid me, I wait for him to step away and cross over to me. He doesn’t. His fingers hook in her belt loops. He tugs, her hips press and his head dips toward her. My mistake. Those aren’t magic butterflies fluttering around in my belly, it’s a toxic rot eating away at my internal organs.

  I don’t need this burned into my retinas. I manage a goodbye to Shae and Mutt, making a point to ignore the drummer swearing under his breath and the bassist making excuses for his douchebag singer. I welcome Frannie’s protective arm around my shoulders, trip over the broken chunks of my heart and whisper, “Get me out of here.”

  On the verge of an ugly cry and unwilling to have witnesses, I walk out of the Crypt and don’t look back.

  CHAPTER 49

  TAZ:

  After twenty minutes of standing on Tia’s porch, staring at her front door, I’m no closer to knocking. I hang my head, grip the back of my neck with both hands and shiver. It’s after one o’clock in the morning and colder than a witch’s tit out here.

  I just need another second.

  Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I shake out my hyperactive fingers and try to work up to it. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.

  Just another second.

  I start counting backward from five hundred, but the door suddenly rips open. Tia glares at me, eyes on fire, dressed like a spankbank fantasy in short, tight everything, with blonde hair all long and smooth. I can’t even swallow.

  Her hands settle on her hips. “Are you just gonna stand there all night? Are you here for a reason? How am I supposed to go to bed, get any sleep, with you lurking on my front porch?” She is a machine gun. She spits questions so fast I don’t have time to duck or answer before she swings around, stalks off and leaves me on the threshold.

  I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

  “Oh my friggin God!” comes her raised voice from the kitchen. So I shut the door behind me and follow after her.

  I’ve barely caught up when she drops a handful of quarters on the table, points at me and says, “Sit.”

  She’s bossing me again. Since I’m prepared to beg, I’m also willing to sit, roll over and perform whatever tricks get me forgiven. I park my ass in a chair. She slides in across from me, takes a deep breath, and the sob hiding behind it punches a hole right through my gut. I did that. I wish she’d just hit me. I’d rather she smack the shit outta me than have to see, hear and talk about the damage I cau
sed.

  “I know we’re just friends. I’ve got no claim on you, and maybe I’m supposed to pretend it’s all fine, doesn’t bother me, but my life is already complicated enough. I don’t have the energy to play games. What you did tonight was bullshit.” She picks up a quarter and drops it in a large glass jar half filled with spare change. “I made the effort to go to the Crypt and see you play, which was amazing by the way, and you deliberately behaved like an ass weasel.” She makes another deposit to the jar. “A total fucking ass weasel.” Plunk, plunk. “Are we in agreement?”

  Shae called me way worse on the way over here, and Mutt threatened to take her from me. He could. Girls don’t say no to him. We call it getting “Mutted” and the thought sticks a knife in my toaster.

  “Well?” she prompts. “This is your moment, Taz. Your last chance to step up and prove I wasn’t mistaken about you.”

  I’m trying. I’m fucken trying, but she’s got way too many words and they fall out of her mouth so fast it’s like catching water from a faucet. I pull my bottom lip under my teeth and will myself to say something, anything, hopefully the words she deserves, but she beats me to it.

  “I think you should leave.”

  That hurts even more than I thought it would. I sigh and slouch forward, prop my elbows on the table and rub my fingers over the scars I wear like a year round Halloween mask. Other people get to hide their tragedies. Mine are right up front. I snag and drag attention with every step, but this girl is a species I’ve never encountered before. I don’t have a clue what she’s even asking me for or why, but I want to give it to her.

  “You need to go, Taz.”

  Looking up, I get a better look at her. Her eyes are red-rimmed from crying. In what world does a girl like this cry over a cockroach like me? “I’m sorry,” I try.

  “Not good enough.”

  “I know.” Nothing about me is good enough.

  I am the guy who managed to steal the smile off her lips. I’ve been trying to push her away since the first day of school, and now I’m worried I’ve finally succeeded. I’m losing her. Right now. At this very minute. And I can’t imagine not having her to look forward to. She’s all I’ve got, and she’s like this bright, shiny gold coin I didn’t earn but might somehow get to keep, if I could figure out how.