by Brogan Riley
His Sassy Wife
by
Brogan Riley
Hope and Hell
A BWWM Romance
Copyright © 2018 by Brogan Riley
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Description
A broken guitarist.
A struggling mom of four.
Love is unpredictable.
Love is wild.
Love is beautiful.
A cobweb of secrets.
A dramatic conversation that will change their lives forever.
A lot of kids.
A BWWM Rockstar Romance. HEA. No cheating. For adult audiences only. Explicit and dark content, which some readers might find offensive. Strong language.
Please note: This book is NOT a standalone. It is recommended that you read ‘Cole: A BWWM Romance, Hope and Hell Book 1’ first.
Chapter 1
Tyce
I take a quick drag on my cigarette.
My heart is a nomad
I will never find my way back home
I’m lost… lost… lost
My heart was forged in the fire of pain
My heart was ravaged by my loss and blood
I’m lost… lost… lost
I was forgotten
My broken soul will cry in the light of a dying star…
Hell yeah, it’s one of my favorite ballads now. Those words are like a mirror of my existence, except the last line. I never cry. I’m not a pussy.
Poppy, I don’t know who you are or where you come from, but your songwriting skills are fucking impressive.
I must admit, I’ve always liked her powerful words. Her song lyrics always have a deeper meaning. Always touch your soul.
I suspect she’s a very old and very wise woman.
Hunter thought Poppy was a man, as far as I know.
Cole always counted the money and never gave a shit about Poppy’s gender or age.
The band? It feels like my past life.
I crush the cigarette butt under my heel and stand by Florence’s grave. A gust of wind smacks me like a cold hand. The leaves overhead rustle their early spring song. Then the wind stops blowing and three streaks of sunlight slice the fluffy grey sky.
“You’re sitting pretty, Florence,” I say, my voice sounding eerie in the morning quiet of the graveyard. “You’re doing better than me, believe me.”
Memories enter my head.
Florence was so mad at my older brother Cole, so unhappy with her impulsive decision at the same time. She was talking about their break-up while I was trying to drive safely to the airport. I didn’t understand the feverish stream of her words until I did.
“I knew from the very beginning,” she says. “I just knew it.” A few gasps follow her words.
“Knew what exactly?”
The rain grows in strength, flooding the windscreen. A snap of lightning crosses the menacing expanse of the night sky.
“You don’t know, Tyce?”
“I don’t know what, Florence?”
Fucking hell. This woman has always driven me mad. She’s so messy. She talks a lot, but the flow of her words never makes sense. To me at least. And I always listen to her.
Cole never listens to his bitches. He ignores women unless they have big tits and a round ass. He has respect only for Anita and, surprisingly, for Mae.
Florence talks to him a lot, but he’ll just nod and focus on his shot glass. Florence has always hated it. Her presence here in my car means that she’s done with him. She’s disorganized, but not stupid.
She takes a sharp breath. “It was so obvious, you know. I kept telling myself that it was nothing, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off her from the moment they met. He’s mad about her.”
“Who, Florence?”
“The dickstar.” She sniffles and then emits a few yelping sounds. “He’s madly in love with her.”
“With whom?”
“Ah,” she says. “You haven’t noticed. With Maesen, of course. He calls out to her when he’s asleep. He moans her name when we’re fucking. That’s fucking ridiculous, you know. That’s sad. I’m done with him. It never worked between us and never will.”
I slam on the brakes. The tires squeal. Florence squeals even louder. The car stops on the margin, an arm’s length away from a tree trunk.
“Florence, you fucking need a therapist.”
She gasps. “I need to go away. That’s what I need to do.”
There’s silence like a suffocating blanket. My heart leaps. I feel detached for a moment.
Rage fills my chest as the meaning of her words reaches the conscious part of my brain. She’s been talking about Cole and Mae. “I’ll fucking kill him,” I growl.
“Calm down, Tyce.”
“She’s my fiancée!” I yell, slamming my fists onto the steering wheel.
“She’s my daughter!” She bursts into tears. “Actually she’s not.” She chuckles through the tears.
I grab a tissue from the glove box and pass it to her. “What the fuck do you mean?”
“A long story, darling.” She blows her nose. “Please, just drive me to the airport.”
“Wait a minute. What about Maesen? Does she… I mean…what the fuck?” Something constricts my throat. I feel like I’ve lost everything.
“She does, but she doesn’t know this yet. That’s why I have to go. Do you understand?”
My whole world shatters. Florence keeps talking to me, but I can’t hear her. I unfasten the seatbelt and get off the car. I punch the tree trunk, breaking two of my fingers. I get back into the car as my blood splashes on the steering wheel. Florence curls up into the passenger seat.
I told her I could turn back. She didn’t want me to do that.
A tank truck deviated from its line and lurched over in front of us.
I can’t remember the collision or the explosion that must have enveloped my car. The unimaginable power of destruction swallowed the two vehicles and the surrounding trees.
I remember my impulse to save the truck driver’s life. I must have jumped out of the car just before the collision.
I remember myself shooting toward the stars. I remember the agonizing pain that burned the side of my face and ran along my spine.
I remember Florence. She leaned over me and kissed me on the forehead.
“Everything’s gonna be fine,” she said as her tears splashed against my cheek, and she started hauling me over the uneven ground.
Everything was the absolute core of darkness. Only her words were flashes of light. Tyce, it’s gonna be fine. Tyce, I have to go. Tyce, I’m so sorry. I want to be a mother to her. Tyce, I need to give it back to her. She can tame
him. Fuck, she already has. Tyce, just try to understand.
It was quiet.
It was dark until I woke up on a hospital bed two weeks later. The nurse who came to check my blood pressure called me Ethan Smith and gave me a letter. It was from Florence. I spread it open on my blanket. My dry swollen eyes scanned her messy handwriting. It told me about Florence’s devilish plan. I felt stunned at first, but then I started to really like it. I liked it even more when I saw my sweet little fiancée wrapped around my brother on the flat screen.
“My fiancée is married to my brother.” I tighten the bandana wrapped around my head and then take off my sunglasses.
The graveyard is deserted. Nobody can see my scars here. Nobody except the ghosts residing here.
“It’s hard to believe, but Mae is happy with him.”
Yep, that dick, my brother, really loves her. She loves him, too. It’s like that shit called true love. They belong to each other, and always have.
“Your secret is still safe, Florence. I just had to see her, you know. I had to make sure she’s fine. And she really is.”
Right. I’ve been talking to myself more and more recently. In ten years, I may turn into an eccentric old bastard who argues with himself for fun.
I pull back, turn around, and start walking. Passing a majestic oak, I look up at the fluffy white clouds that sail in the sky. Florence is not who I thought she was. She can disappear. She can use other people’s life problems to her advantage.
But now she’s also a bit like me. A tormented soul. A broken vase that will never hold a bunch of flowers.
Is there anyone who can glue me together?
Fuck, I don’t think so.
I’m a pile of shards. Ultimately fucking ungluable.
I walk out of the graveyard and hurry over to my bike. I run a hand over the seat, to remove two mummified leaves, and jump on it. I start the engine, immersing myself in the roar that sounds like rock music to my ears, and then I shoot forward. The ride to the bar where I’ve been working for nine months takes me five hours. As the wooden, two-storey building emerges from the mist, I ease into the cobblestoned parking lot and park between Sally’s old pick-up truck and Emily’s ancient Toyota. Sally is the owner of the bar. Emily is the waitress and she’s on a vacation at the moment.
My eyes slide over the horizon, and I freeze.
Mae said she loved me. Fuck. She loves me like a friend now. I was fucking faithful to her. I was mad about her. Now, I’m her fucking best friend.
Or maybe I was mad about the idea of marrying somebody like me. I don’t know. She was lonely. I was lonely. We were a good team.
Mae lied to me.
But she lied to herself even more. I’m happy she has the courage to follow her heart and live her life to the full.
I’m so fucking happy for my brother. He deserves Mae. Fuck, he deserves her more than I did.
I’ll drown in vodka from now on. I’ve never drunk much but things change, right?
I feel like there’s no love left inside me.
I’m a scarred monster. Everyone looks at me with dread. The alcohol supplier does. The customers do.
Sally doesn’t.
She’s old. Maybe that’s why.
Brian doesn’t. He has only one eye and it’s almost blind. That’s why.
I step onto the porch, and Sally beams at me from her antique rocking chair. “Come here, Tyce.” She waves her hand at me, rising to her feet with springy elegance.
She’s short and has a lovely mop of grey hair. Her grey eyes are full of joy and youth.
I hug her and kiss her on the cheek. It’s dry and wrinkled. It’s my dear grandma’s cheek.
Yeah, I kind of love her. She’s never asked me any questions, even though she knows who I really am. She knew the moment I stepped into her bar for the first time. I winked at her and told her to keep quiet. She winked at me, and she’s kept quiet so far. Brian doesn’t know. Neither does Emily. The customers don’t look at me, so how would they know?
I was only Ethan Smith until Florence called me and told me she was safe and happily married. I was only Ethan Smith until I decided to see Mae and ask her why.
Initially, I just needed solitude. I needed to be forgotten. I needed to be dead.
I am still dead, but my solitude seems to be unachievable.
I’m Ethan Smith here and out there. I’m Tyce only when I talk with Sally one-on-one, and only when I’m at my brother’s farmhouse. He wasn’t happy with my decisions and actions but he tried hard to understand. He’s happy I’ve made it in one piece. He’ll keep quiet. Both he and Mae are the kind of people who know that if you stir the shit, it will reek. It’s better not to do so.
“I want you to meet our new bartender,” Sally says.
“You can’t afford a bartender, Sally.”
Sally frowns. “I can’t afford to not help a woman in need of help.”
I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right. Your bar, your rules.”
Somebody clears their throat. I raise my eyes and they meet the brown mystery of an African-American woman’s gaze. Fuck me, she’s really pretty.
A thorn of beautiful pain pierces my heart.
The woman is gorgeous, a tall, dark-skinned goddess. I imagine Nefertiti would have looked like her. Her legs seem to be endless.
She looks young. I’d say she’s twenty-seven years old at most, but wisdom radiates from her gaze and mingles with the vibrant aura of her being.
She sweeps her long black hair down her back and my glance travels to her cleavage. A tendril of her hair slithers down the crevice between her full breasts that almost pour out of her black wrapped top. My dick twitches in my pants.
“Like what you see?” the woman says in a sultry voice.
Fuck me. She really is a goddess of temptation.
“Yeah, really nice tits,” I say as I nod several times and my hand travels to the back of my head.
Chapter 2
Rhue
His comment causes heat to surge through my veins. Should I be offended?
I should, but I’m not.
He’s very handsome, tall, and well built. He looks like a born biker with his ripped jeans and black boots. The black leather jacket hugging his broad chest and the bandana around his neck give him an aura of menace. He’s dangerously beautiful and that’s why I’m not offended.
He looks very young. I’d say he’s twenty-five years old at most.
Right. He’s too young. I’m not interested in young men. Like ever.
Yet I blush like a teen.
My eyes flick over his face once again. A thick scar stretches from his temple to the angle of his jaw and a thinner one crosses his other cheek. I know this kind of scars. I have kids and one of them put a hand into the fire burning in the fireplace. I was at work then. My husband got drunk and fell asleep. Colleen has had a thick scar on her hand since then. I’ve been a stay-at-home mom since then.
The man’s scars are burns from a fire and they’re quite fresh.
He has short blond hair and the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen. The color of his irises brings images of rainforest to my head. They’re like the depths of dark fierceness; they’re all brooding intensity. Framed by asymmetric eyebrows, his eyes lure me with the grey flecks of mystery.
A grin crosses his unshaven face. “I’m Ethan.” He holds out his hand.
“Rhue.” I slide my hand into his big one. “Nice to meet you.”
“Rhue?”
“Rhue.”
Oh yeah, my dad has always had a fertile imagination and a weird sense of humor. It was even greater when I was born. He’d travelled a lot before he met my momma. My full name is Roux-Romhilde Dillard—my dad’s way to eternalize his passion for sightseeing.
Grrr. My full name is so eccentric. Rhue sounds much better and my dad likes it, too.
Ethan smirks.
God, his touch is so hot and strong.
So… soothing.
Our gazes collide. Pain pricks my heart.
I wish I were younger.
I wish I were slimmer.
No, stop it. You’re old. You’re a mom. You should be thinking about rocking chairs and mothballs.
My employer looks at me like she can read my thoughts. Maybe she can. She looks like an owner of a big cauldron and books on witchcraft. She shakes her head and sighs.
She has a lovely sense of humor, but her eyes seem to have the eerie power of penetrating one’s soul.
Well, I love books about witches.
Maybe I am an old witch? It’s just that I have no magic. If I had, I’d move back in time.
I should have never married my husband.
Fuck no.
Charlie gave me three wonderful kids. He was a mistake but my kids weren’t.
It’s just that this young god standing in front of me is my every dream.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Ethan asks.
His words tear me out of my bubble of thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
God, his voice is like the intense taste of whiskey sprinkled with the wildness of the ocean.
A pleasant sensation pulls my glance down to my hand. Yes, Ethan is still holding my hand in his. I raise my head. Oh my God. His eyes are on my breasts again and he’s not even trying to hide it.
A thought whisks through my head. I’m an attractive woman to him. But that’s kind of inappropriate. He’s at least ten years younger than me.
Shyness fills my veins as a delicate veil of yearning envelops my heart. I haven’t felt like a woman for ages.
“My boobs are thirty-six years old,” I say, “and they’ve been very extensively wrecked by my children.”
“They don’t look wrecked at all.” He flashes me a cocky grin.
“Listen,” I say, yanking my hand out of his.
I need more space. I need to gather up courage. I need to do something crazy in life.
“I’m not interested, don’t worry,” he says as his fierce eyes fix onto mine. “But you gave the view, so I took the view.” He smirks, putting his hand on the back of his neck.
I feel like he has slapped me. “I’m not interested either.”
It’s a lie.
I wanted to invite him over to my place for a cup of coffee. I wanted to chat to him. I wanted…