Yield

by Jenna Howard

  He had beaten the shit out of Anderson years ago when he had said something about Claire. Doyle had loved Claire. She had been his fiancée and his submissive. One snide comment and he had put his band mate in the floor. Anderson wasn’t a fighter. Even blitzed out of his brain, Doyle had put the beat down on him. He was bigger, stronger, and he knew how to cause pain. He enjoyed it.

  But Kate.

  That had been different. All kinds of different.

  Her building was in a newly trendy area where old warehouses were being renovated into lofts, condos and office space. Getting in was surprisingly easy. All it took was an autograph on a guy’s arm and a selfie picture that he tweeted out to the world.

  Someone needed better security.

  The large warehouse was pretty much split in half, with four lofts on one side and two levels of condos on another. He went left until he reached the last door. Knocking beneath the spy hole, he looked around. The place still had a warehouse feeling, with concrete cinder blocks making up the wall and heavy doors announcing the personal spaces. The light above the door looked like it belonged on the exterior and nothing that he had seen so far screamed Kate.

  Nothing but the face that appeared in the door cracked open.

  She looked pale, with bruising under her eyes, making the green look darker. There was something familiar on her face; he had just never seen it because of him. Usually it was her stellar father who gave her a haunted look. God damn it. He hated seeing it directed at him.

  He braced his hand on the doorframe above her head because he wanted to grab her. The frame was easier and safer. He had damaged something fragile today.

  “I broke Anderson’s jaw when he called Claire a submissive cunt. I’d love to be honorable and say it was only one hit, but I took him to the floor and tried to introduce his nose to the floor via the back of his skull. We had a show, he wound up in surgery with his jaw wired in place and a buddy of Carl’s had to fill in for the rest of the tour because Anderson got hooked on pain meds that he would blend into milkshakes laced with booze. Charlie made me pay for Anderson’s hospital bills and attend some anger management courses. Flash forward fifteen years.”

  Reaching out, he brushed her bangs out of her eyes and a tiny flinch moved through her. Fuck. You haven’t earned the right to touch her there, Kolemann. “Fifteen years later,” he said as he lowered his hand. “I’m clean, I’ve got fifteen more years of muscle and he’s rotting from the inside out. That’s not why I didn’t turn Jace’s white carpet red.”

  “Didn’t want to pay his medical bills?”

  “There are few times when life has surprised me with an upper cut. A pop to the chin that leaves you standing there, shaking your head as your ears ring. I can count them on one hand in the past fifteen years.” His thumb pointed up. “Finding Claire in bed with Jace. Seeing you in Edge,” his index finger aimed at the door followed by his middle finger, “and the cold-blooded rage I felt in Jace’s basement. I don’t like my bandmates. Maybe Max. I don’t even remotely respect them. We’re a small group of selfish assholes who lost sight of why we started this band long ago. We waste our talent and harm those we’re supposed to love the most. Why anyone buys our albums and comes to concerts is beyond me. We’re sliding into mediocrity and that fucking drives me nuts.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  Everything. He rested his head on his arm as he gazed down at her. “I wanted to end him, Katey. I talk about beating the shit out of Jace because he’s a total fuck up as a human being. I didn’t even take a swing at your father when I came home to find him nailing my wife. I walked out. I turned around and walked away. But Anderson.” He took a deep breath and held it, trying to smother that rage that built up remembering the man’s face as he talked about Kate. His Kate. His sweet girl who had just been emerging from a lifetime of hurt. “I am not exaggerating when I say I wanted to end him. I could. I grew up on the streets. I was a big, strong kid filled with a lot of anger. He grew up the spoiled, pampered son of a politician. I learned to fight in back alleys and he learned to snort shit up his nose. I lift weights and run every day, because if I don’t, I don’t have the strength and stamina to get through a show. He still puts shit up his nose. For fun I take crops, whips and straps to pretty submissives and can beat on one for a long time. For fun he puts shit up his nose.

  “Ending him wouldn’t be hard. One good hit and he’s out. But it wouldn’t be one hit. It wouldn’t even have been the rage-filled beating I gave him over Claire. He wouldn’t just hurt, I’d make him beg. I’d draw it out. We both know I’m good at drawing out pain. Just thinking about it makes me want to go back and put that junkie in the ground.”

  “You didn’t say anything, Doyle. Nothing. You went to work like he said he didn’t like your shirt.”

  She was torturing the hell out of her bracelet. She hadn’t done that, he realized, since the night of the party. There had been the usual fiddling with it, but nothing like the twisting and rolling of one knot over and over again. Reaching down, he pressed his finger against hers, halting the movement because she was catching skin and turning it pink.

  He rubbed his fingertip over the small hurt she had inflicted. “I could say that he’s a lot like a wasp and that engaging with him only makes things worse, which is true.”

  “But?”

  “But mostly I was too busy trying to deal with the rage. Calm my shit before I did something I couldn’t take back. Look what I did, eh? Did something I can’t take back.” He rolled one of the knots between his fingers. The leather was smooth and worn from countless touches from her. “The irony of protecting the asshole is not lost on me. In short, I fucked up.”

  Since she hadn’t pulled her hand away, which he took as progress, Doyle touched the small bruises that were fading. He liked this bracelet, but he made a mental note on the amount of pressure to put on it.

  “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she said quietly, watching his finger touch each mark he had put there.

  “I don’t want you to.”

  Surprise made her look up. “I don’t want this to fade for either of us like these little dots are.” Breaking points needed to be remembered. “Will you show me your world, Katey Jay?”

  She blinked slowly, clearly not expecting the question. She looked over her shoulder into the space as if seeking permission. He half expected her to say no, but a tiny jerk of her head made his body relax for the first time all afternoon. When she opened the door, he felt lucky. Very lucky. This could’ve gone the other way.

  Stepping inside, the first thing he saw was the wall of guitars. The video scan didn’t quite prepare him for how many she had. “Jesus, Kate. Where did you get all of this?”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear as she followed his gaze. “Around.”

  The rest of the space was just as impressive. Two pianos picked apart faced each other as if comparing war wounds. “So, which key made my ring?”

  She ran her finger over an empty space. “D sharp.”

  “Funny girl.”

  “How did you know I gave it to you?”

  “That was Jace’s guitar. Do you know how much those go for now that he doesn’t play?”

  She nodded. He gave everything a more thorough look. Plucking up a black drum stick that he knew he had once held, he twirled it through his fingers. There weren’t just garage finds in this place. There was history. The stairs were against one wall and beneath the upper floor was the kitchen. Curiosity took him upstairs to see some lethal looking tools. There was a shit ton of expensive items in here. All it took was one asshole to figure out where she was and pick this place clean.

  He began to tap the drum stick against his thigh as he went back downstairs and finally headed to the tables. “Jesus, Katey.” Draped around a faceless head, the necklace was intricate, made up of thin metal strings that looked like they had come from one of the violins. She had somehow managed to recreate the illusion of the F-holes in the
negative while gemstone notes danced over the wires.

  He looked from the necklace to Kate, then back. Sheet music was tacked up on the wall.

  “The tough part,” she said as she reached out to adjust the impressive piece, “is making it look like the music when it lies on the body and when it lays flat. She wanted her husband to literally play the music off her. It’s taken a long time, but it’s going to open a lot of doors for me. One, the money is insane. Two, the exposure. The strings actually came from his violin and we spent a lot of time debating what gems to use.”

  “What if he hates it?”

  “He won’t.”

  The self-confidence made him study her. She hadn’t lied, he realized. This really was her world. “Who’s the client?”

  “Jens Homstead. He once played with the Royal Philharmonic. He’s now one of their conductors.”

  “How the hell did the daughter of a Canadian rocker hook up with a conductor in England?”

  She shrugged. “Luck.”

  “Kate. Luck is finding five bucks on the ground. This is impressive, girl. This is truly impressive.” On the other table there was a sketchpad with a spider web. Something about it was familiar. Instead of asking, he turned and braced his hands on the drawing table’s edge. “Look at what you’ve done.” She shrugged, but he saw her small, pleased smile even as she blushed.

  Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and walked over to the twin bed that was where a kitchen table should be. A place to crash if she was up late working. He barely fit, especially when he drew her down so she was snuggled up against him. Tucking one arm behind his head, he gazed at her workshop.

  There was a slight tension to her that hadn’t been there for a while. He had done that. “Breathe,” he told her as he gazed at her wall of stringed instruments in various states of dissection. “Let’s just lie here and gaze at your world. For the record, you’re not a fuck toy. A fuck toy is what I happily use on you. Claire was right.” Glancing at her, he saw her head rested on his chest as she too looked at what she was creating.

  Kate lifted her head, her forehead crinkling as she frowned. “About what?”

  “You’re stronger than you know you are. You’re doing this all on your own and you let me in to see it.”

  “I already showed you it.”

  “No. You gave me a peek.” Impulsively, he kissed the tip of her nose. A tiny smile escaped from her before she lowered her head. He didn’t know what he said, but he felt the muscles relax. “Wanna see mine?”

  What the hell? What? He tried to process what had come out of his month. His world was on a small Gulf island where his girls randomly popped by whenever they wanted. It was not a place he invited a lot of people. Just his friends, no bands, no subbies from the club, nobody casual.

  But hadn’t he just realized that she wasn’t somebody casual? That she wasn’t just a girl from the club?

  “Yes,” Kate answered quietly. “I’d love to.”

  This time he was the one to relax.

  ****

  Kate - 2003

  There was going to be another party. A big one. Twisting her knot, she watched as the catering team set up. A deejay was taking up a wall in the living room while all kinds of lights were put in place. She watched it all unfold. It was Jace’s birthday and he was thirty. Unlike at Christmas, there was no camera crew recording all of this. She had left his present in his office because she hadn’t seen him for a few days. That everything was going on was the only hint that something was happening here.

  It was hard to get a present for a man who could buy anything in the world. She was twelve so it wasn’t like she could find a drug dealer to get him drugs, which he would probably appreciate more than the vintage poster she had found of one of his favorite musicians.

  The shine of Jace Jennings had faded a long time ago. The dream of a father had turned to ashes but there was still that one percent chance of hope. Hope that he’d suddenly realize that he had this daughter and she wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen to him. Hope that one day he’d remember her birthday. Hope that he’d just see her.

  That one percent was killing her.

  The nanny was gone, replaced by some model who didn’t look that much older than Kate. Sometimes she envied Shaelynn and Sandy, the former nanny. At least they got their one percent smashed to dust and were able to leave. She lived here and that one percent refused to die.

  A bartender was setting up right in front of the front doors. There were even waitresses in skimpy uniforms who would be serving drinks. Probably sex.

  Unlike the New Year’s Eve party, Kate wasn’t going to go looking for Jace. The presents from the man had escalated so now that every time she came home from school, there was a present waiting for her. Her room was no longer safe to her. Nightmares had her sleeping under her bed and if anyone noticed how perfectly her bed was made the next day, no one cared.

  She felt lost and alone in this house. She had tried to talk to Jace a couple of times, but it never went well. She was terrified he would be here tonight and so she needed a better hiding place than her bedroom, because he could get in there. Someplace no one was allowed to go. But she needed to go now before it was too late. She had a key. She needed some food so she raided the pantry and ran downstairs. Sneaking the key from Jace’s keys had been the most terrifying moment of her life. A stranger she didn’t know scurried by, readying the basement. The bar down here was fully stocked and two bartenders were getting everything organized.

  Her stomach hurt as she waited. She darted to the door, slipped the key in and snuck into the room.

  This was the one room Jace had forbade her to go into. Not even with him. This was sacred. Once she had the door locked and the key in her pocket, she turned on the light and stared at this sanctuary for her father.

  Guitars hung on the wall, along with framed gold and platinum albums. Wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans, she walked along the wall, looking at the history of Cyanide. Album covers, pictures of Jace with other stars. Her A computer was set up and there was even a microphone. Jace’s music room.

  She moved the stool in front of a picture of Jace when he was young, opened her bag of chips and nibbled, gazing at him. She wished he loved her. She wished he liked her. Because she had all this love inside her for him and he didn’t want it. Like Mom.

  Kate couldn’t hear anything through the walls. She napped on the leather couch, she touched the guitars, she even stole a guitar pick that sat forgotten on a table. She curled up on the couch and fell asleep, wishing that her life was different. Just a bit different. Not a lot. Because she wasn’t living in a trailer where there was a chill through the window above where she slept, she didn’t have to worry about food. She just wished that Jace loved her.

  One percent. It was killer.

  When she woke up, her watch said it was five and she tidied up, erasing her presence. She snuck out and saw the bartenders were gone, though some people were still here, passed out in various states of undress. The house looked like a tornado had ripped through it. Bottles and glasses were everywhere, someone’s shoes. A bra was dangling from the round lights that hung down the stairs. There was even a woman, naked on the stairs, her bare bum sticking up as she snored.

  On her toes, Kate went up to her bedroom and was relieved to see it was still locked. Once she was in her room, she leaned against the door. Safe. Now she just had to get Jace’s key back to him. Shoving the garbage from her snacks into the garbage can in the bathroom, Kate turned.

  “Hello, Pretty little No One.”

  Chapter 13

  Kate tucked her hair behind her ear as she gazed around. The house was a lifestyle away from both Jace’s over the top house and the penthouse. It was a simple two-storey built for a guy who liked open space. The main floor was open with the deck facing the water. Kate looked at him and then at the living room. He folded his arms over his chest and watched her explore. Her fingers brushed over the fireplace made of river rock.
There was no glossy black marble like in Jace’s, no stark modern lines like the penthouse.

  “It’s so…” She pushed open the sliding door to the deck and rested her forearms on the railing. He followed her out. A dog could be heard barking and a girl’s laughter drifted through the trees. The view, though. The Strait of Georgia was right there, his grass bleeding into a rocky beach. One of the things she loved about living in Vancouver was the water. She loved the clear, vastness of it. Trees formed a protective barrier around his house. “Oh, this is pretty.”

  A small A-frame house was tucked in the corner, the log cabin exterior matching his house. It seemed to blend in with the nature around it so you didn’t notice it, unless you were carefully studying every inch of his world.

  He braced his hands on the pine railing on either side of her, his body heat welcome against her back. The nerves that had been eating her alive faded away, as if they had nothing against the sheer dominating power that was Doyle Kole. They had been quiet on the ferry ride over, taking her car because his stayed on the mainland so he had something to drive. It was currently parked at the loft.

  Never in her wildest dreams would she think that this was where he lived, and yet looking at it now, she realized this was him. Strong lines, everything open.

  “Let me show you my home.” He took her hand and led the way inside. A round table with four chairs was in the small nook where she had exited. The kitchen was massive. An abandoned coffee mug sat on the island. Everything was wood, giving his house a warmth to it that was absent in both the penthouse and Jace’s house. This, she realized, was a home. There was a difference.

  He took her upstairs, the dark cherry-colored hardwood floor cool beneath her socks. Again, it was open from the main floor and up so you could stand anywhere on the stairs and see into the living room. Pictures decorated the wall. Pictures of Doyle with the girls, school pictures, one of the girls playing the guitar while another played with a dog, baby pictures, even a picture of his ex-wife in a wedding dress as another man kissed her. “You have a picture of her marrying someone else?”