by Lily White
Table of Contents
Music Index
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Sneak Peek: Treachery (Antihero Inferno, Book 1)
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Sin & Discipline: Copyright © 2019 by Lily White
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed in any printed or electronic form or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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SIN & DISCIPLINE
A student/teacher romance by Lily White
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OTHER BOOKS BY LILY WHITE
MASTERS SERIES:
Her Master’s Courtesan
(Book 1 of the Masters Series)
(Available on Smashwords and lilywhitebooks.com)
Her Master’s Teacher
(Book 2 of the Masters Series)
Her Master’s Christmas
(Novella in the Masters Series)
Her Master’s Redemption
(Book 3 of the Masters Series)
Her Master’s Reckoning
(Book 4 of the Masters Series)
STANDALONE NOVELS:
Target This
Hard Roads
Asylum
Wake to Dream
Four Crows
Crazy Madly Deeply
Rules of Engagement
Wishing Well
The Five
ILLUSIONS DUET
Illusions of Evil
(Book 1 of the Illusions Duet)
Fear the Wicked
(Book 2 of the Illusions Duet)
DARK EXCLUSIVE - Available only on LilyWhiteBooks.com:
The Director
Music Index
Mozart
16th Sonata in C Major K545
Beethoven
Piano Sonata No. 29 ‘Hammerklavier’
Sonata No.8 in C Minor ‘Pathetique’
Chopin
Nocturne op. 9 No. 2
Clementi
Sonatina in C Major op. 26 no. 1
Bach
Prelude in C Major
Debussy
Clair De Lune
Stravinsky
The Firebird (The Infernal Dance)
Scarlatti
Sonata in D Minor K141
Liszt
Sonata in B Minor S.178
Lennon
I dream of music in the way most people dream of love.
I was born to it, the tones sprinkling down like raindrops to bathe my skin in a melody of harmonious notes. Music lives inside me, breathing, beating, expanding, decorating the walls of my organs with chaotic chords and running through my veins on a frenetic pulse.
The dissonance of dark melodies dominated me long ago. Helpless, I surrendered to it. Wanton, I clambered toward it. Through my life, I’ve crawled beneath its living skin and became that which I loved.
Music has never been kind to me, yet it hasn’t been cruel. It simply stays with me as a whispering passenger, keeping me company in the moments I need it most.
Music was with me now as I climbed from my car to survey the ramshackle landscape of a memory I’d hoped to leave in the past, the crumbling buildings and trash strewn streets of inner Sheldon, one of the worst parts of town just south of St. Petersburg. It played in my head, a dirgeful melody of bitterness and regret.
The abusive Florida sun blinded my eyes before I had a chance to shield them with my hand, the double tinted sunglasses I wore doing nothing to soften the angry blaze hovering just over the horizon.
There’s nothing like the sunsets in this state as long as you keep your eyes to the sky and avoid glancing down into the direct path of it.
Blinking away the dark spots in my vision left behind from the onslaught of light, I slammed my car door, hit the button to lock it, and walked toward Jennison’s - an out of the way music store owned and operated by one of my oldest friends.
A half balled sheet of paper rolled across my boots as I crossed the uneven, pothole-ridden lot.
Glancing down, I lifted a brow at the hot pink color, the grainy black and white photo of a local garage band feeling big and bad because they’d finally scored a gig in a run down hovel bar. Kicking it away, I covered the remaining distance with a ground-eating stride, guitar strings strumming above my head as soon as I opened the caged, glass front door.
Turning, I cocked a brow at the design of the entry alarm, wondering when Dizzy had replaced the tinkling bell his father had hanging there for over twenty years.
“Lennon, holy shit, man. How long has it been?”
Dizzy ambled toward me on long, thin legs, his jeans doing their best to remain in place over his hips. Stretching out an arm, he slapped his palm against mine before we knocked knuckles, the handshake reminding me that some things never change.
“Eight years, I think. Maybe ten.” Running a hand through my dark hair, I cocked a brow. “What happened to the bell?”
He laughed, the full sound reminding just how high on life this son of a bitch had always been. It didn’t matter that he’d grown up struggling, or that he’d inherited the mess of a store his father had left behind, Dizzy was the type of person who saw vibrant color in the problems most people viewed as black and white.
“Time’s change, brother. Life is a river and I’m just rolling along with it, not giving a damn that the rocks are scraping my skin and the sun is burning my eyes.”
Peering at him, the corner of my lips twitched. “When did you become such a beatnik?”
Brown eyes scanning me up and down, he shook his head. “When are you going to learn how to properly match clothes? Were the lights out when you got dressed this morning? With your career, I wou
ld think you could afford electricity.”
To say my style was eccentric would be an understatement. My clothes were always a mishmash of tastes, decades, old fads and new. I never paid attention to what jeans or pants I pulled on with a Henley, button down, or band shirt. The pattern of my suspenders, when I wore them, never mattered, and nine times out of ten, the fedora on my head never quite complemented the scuffed leather of my boots.
I wasn’t trying, if that’s what some people thought, merely so negligent in giving a damn that I reached blindly into my drawers and closet to put on whatever covered all my parts.
The people who knew me were used to it. And those who wanted to be me attempted to copy it. Yet, they never pulled off the effortless look, simply because they cared.
“How many millions are you worth now and you’re still wearing a raggedy old Nirvana shirt with holes in it?” Dizzy laughed, waving a hand to tell me to follow him. “Hate to tell you this, Lennon, but the nineties called and they want their wardrobe back.”
Hopping up on a stool, he grabbed two drumsticks, crashing the tips against the snare, bass and cymbal. Ba Dum Tiss... The perfect sound effect to highlight his lame joke.
Spinning my direction, he gripped the drumsticks between two hands. “I have to admit I was surprised when you called me this morning. What brings you all the way back to Sheldon?”
“Work. What else?”
I’d never planned to return to this godforsaken place, never wanted to drive past my old house to see it condemned, never wanted to drag my gaze across dirty streets where Dizzy and I had spent a majority of our lives living like we were large even though we never had two dimes between us to rub together.
The only regret I had about not returning here was never seeing Jennison’s again. Yet, here I stood within its walls, the smell of wood varnish and musty, forgotten sheet music attacking my nose.
“You playing around here?”
“Something like that. I have a few things going on.” I didn’t want to talk about me. I was more interested in hearing what he had been up to over the last few years.
It hurt to think that for as close as we’d been growing up, we hadn’t kept in touch as much as I would have liked. That didn’t mean I wasn’t watching out for him though.
Every couple of months, I’d look over his website and buy the most expensive instruments I could find. I had them delivered to schools in the area. He never knew it was me. I’d purchased them through an LLC I’d established as a charitable organization that couldn’t be traced back to my name.
The purchases kept the store open and helped contribute to any up and coming musicians who were young and wanted to learn.
Most kids couldn’t afford instruments or music lessons in this area. Buying the instruments was my way of giving back to the community, and also my way of returning a favor to the man who’d taught me how to drag my fingers across eighty-eight keys.
“It’s all the same. I wake up, kiss my wife and head into the store to open up and watch the few talents we have living here wander in to drool over the stuff they can’t afford. I keep myself busy teaching kids. The money isn’t great, but it keeps things going.”
It killed me that Dizzy hadn’t hit the road with me the minute he’d turned eighteen. A true musician, he could play any instrument you put in his hands. He’d grown up in this store and spent his afternoons learning whatever his dad had available. Unlike me, Dizzy had obligations to family, plus a girl that had stolen his heart.
While I attended Hastings, a prestigious performing arts conservatory I wouldn’t have been able to afford without a full scholarship, Dizzy had stayed behind to get married and run the shop with his old man.
“How’s Renee doing? Have you given her a kid yet?”
His mouth opened on a burst of laughter. “Do you see a rugrat running around here blowing on horns or banging the keys or drums? Not yet. We’re still young, but she’s starting to get that look in her eye every time we pass someone with a little one. I’m sure in the next year or so she’ll be asking.”
He had a point. Dizzy wouldn’t waste any time before bringing his kids in here to learn the instruments like he had done.
At the front of the store, the guitar strummed to alert us to a customer. Dizzy leaned left to peer around a bookshelf stacked with sheet music. “Be right with you, little brother.”
The customer didn’t respond, but it was still my cue to get lost and let Dizzy tend to business. “I only popped in for a few minutes to say hello, but I’d like to take you and Renee out for dinner tonight or tomorrow. Will you be available?”
Eyes meeting mine, he blew on his fingernails and polished them on his shirt. “Depends on where you’re taking me. I don’t put out for just any fast food joint.”
Asshole...
Through laughter, he reached out to slap my hand. “Of course, Lennon, you name the place and time and I’ll make sure Renee and I are there.”
His customer rounded the bookshelf, a young kid that didn’t look older than thirteen. Lifting his brown gaze my direction, he paused for a second, searching my face with the haze of recognition.
“Are you-“ Pausing to take in my clothes, the kid shook his head, his loose, black beanie sliding over the back of his neck. “You’re Lennon Carter, aren’t you?”
“Yes, he is,” Dizzy answered for me. “Lennon and I grew up together.”
Surprised that the kid knew me, I shook his hand, noting the threadbare shirt he wore and the jeans that had to be two sizes too big on him. “You know me?”
“Know you?” His lips pulled into a wide smile, pink staining his cafe au lait complexion. “Man, I don’t just know you. I idolize you. Well...”
Stepping back he gave me another thorough once over. “Not your clothes, you can keep those, but your music? Hell yes. Those songs you wrote for Hollister were epic, and to think you can just bounce between what you do with bands and playing in the freaking symphony?”
Shaking his head again, the kid stared at me wide eyed. “I want to be you when I grow up.”
Dizzy threw an arm over the kid’s shoulders. “Lennon, this is one of my students, Kyle Hart. You should hear him on the keys. If he keeps practicing, he might just give you a run for your money later on.”
A smile creased my lips, my heart thumping to see so much enthusiasm for music in a kid who was undoubtedly growing up hard. It’s difficult to appreciate art when you’re wondering where you’ll get your next meal. I should know; I’d been there.
“Tell you what, Kyle, I’ll be in town for the summer. If it’s all right with you, I’ll get together with Dizzy and schedule a time to come in and listen to you play. Sound good?”
Kyle practically froze in place, his mouth gaping as if he wanted to speak but the words weren’t coming to him. Dizzy gave the kid a good shake, laughing when he didn’t move.
“Yeah, Lennon, you should go. I think you just gave my star student a stroke.”
One nod of my head before I slapped Dizzy on the shoulder and headed toward the door.
“I’ll call you.”
The guitar strummed above me as I stepped out into the deepening twilight, the bright warmth of the sun being swallowed by the rise of purple night.
Halfway to my car in what I thought was an empty lot, my head spun right when a kid ran past me, bumping my hip as he passed.
The kid raised a hand in apology, but tucked it back into the pocket of his black jacket, a hood pulled up to conceal his face.
Two things stood out to me immediately: Number one, it was early June, the temperature a balmy ninety degrees, meaning there was no need for a damn jacket. Number two, an empty parking lot wasn’t exactly the kind of place where two people could collide as if by mistake.
Hand reaching for my back pocket, I discovered it was empty. The little punk had stolen my fucking wallet.
“Hey!”
The second I called out to him, he took off at a dead run. Not even twenty-four
hours back home and already I had to teach some stupid kid a lesson.
Adrenaline flooded me, an unwelcome rush that I hadn’t wanted this early on in my visit to Sheldon. A heavy thud against pavement, the beat of my thick soles was faster than the crunch of his tennis shoes. If I didn’t catch him around this next corner, he’d be lost to a maze of alleyways, never to be seen again.
It wasn’t that I cared much about the wallet. The money wasn’t important, the credit cards could be turned off, but there was a note inside there I couldn’t live without. Losing the last memory I had of my sister would destroy me. She was everything to me, a bright smile gone that I could never replace.
The thought angered me more and granted me a burst of speed. A few inches closer and I could reach out to grab him.
“Stop, you son of a-“
Lunging for him, my fingertips skimmed the cotton jacket, but he had another burst of speed as well, placing more distance between us. He was small, several inches shorter than me at least, yet he moved with finesse, dodging obstacles easily as we rounded another corner into the alley.
Shadows swallowed us, but I wouldn’t let it stop me. I wasn’t a small guy, not like this asshole. However, getting jumped by friends waiting in the wings was a distinct possibility in Sheldon. If I didn’t stop him through this last narrow path, my wallet and the note inside it were as good as gone.
A few more inches and my hand locked on his jacket. Pulling him back, I knocked him off balance, my wallet still stubbornly clenched in his hand.
The kid fell to the ground, landing on his back with a gust of air bursting from his lips. Straddling him, my knees jammed into his thin thighs. I locked one hand over his throat to keep him from sitting up and grabbed his wrist to bang his hand against the ground until he released what was rightfully mine.