"Griffin, are you there?" The familiar sound of his manager’s voice filled the car.
"Hey, Steve!" Griffin said, forcing a note of cheerfulness into his voice.
After all, he had agreed with Spike not to let Steve know that there was anything wrong.
"Don't ‘hey, Steve’ me. Where the hell are you? You haven't been answering your phone for days. In fact, I can't reach any of the guys. It's like you've all just dropped off the face of the earth."
"Something came up, that's all."
"Something can't just come up, Griffin, not when you've got the rest of the tour to finish. After all the tickets that have been sold, this isn't something you can just flake out on!" There was an edge to his voice that Griffin wasn't used to hearing, and he couldn't help but wonder if Steve knew more about the situation than he was letting on.
"I want you and the rest of the guys to come into the office. There's something we need to talk about, something important…"
"Listen, Steve, I'm not sure what you think you know, but whatever it is will just have to wait. You need to trust us. We've never skipped out on a gig and we're not going to start now, but…"
"Griffin, I'm not playing around. I mean it, you need to come in. This is not something we can allow to carry on, and…"
Griffin caught sight of Spike stepping out through the front doors of the bar, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth as he stared down at his cell phone.
"Steve, I gotta go. Try not to worry so much, it'll only make you prematurely grey." Griffin ended the call as the other man started to protest, but Griffin cut his voice off by bringing his thumb down hard on the red button.
He sat in the car and watched Spike for a minute, the concerned look on his bandmate's face turning his stomach.
Spike was supposed to be the calm one, the man with the plan, and it had been his idea that had sent Griffin back to Breaker's Point.
It had been a stupid plan.
Pulling the keys from the ignition, Griffin pushed the car door open and stepped out onto the loose gravel of the parking lot, his heavy black boots crunching over the stones as he crossed to the door.
"What took you so long? You were supposed to be here hours ago!" Spike said, taking a drag of the cigarette and speaking through the side of his lips, his voice low and irritated.
"I was held up. The traffic wasn't exactly a peach, you know, and it's a long ass drive down from Breaker's." Griffin felt himself bristle at the pissy tone Spike seemed to be taking with him.
He wasn't the one who'd had to go to his family, cap in hand, only to be humiliated when they turned him down.
Griffin couldn't shake the look of shock Riley had worn when he'd told his brother how much money he wanted to borrow from him. A quarter of a million was peanuts to a man like Riley Reynolds; it wouldn't have cost him a thought to hand out that kind of cash. It was part of the reason Griffin felt so utterly betrayed by his own family.
He knew without a doubt that if precious Stuart had asked for the money, Riley would have given it to him without a moment's hesitation. But because it had been him instead, Riley had turned him down.
It stung. The ensuing confrontation with his brothers had left a bitter taste in his mouth.
You could always go to Dyson. He's still family, after all, and he more than anyone else would understand what it felt like to be betrayed by those who were supposed to be there for you no matter what.
Griffin dismissed the thought the second it popped into his head. Asking Dyson for help was by far one of the worst things he could possibly do, even if he was Griffin’s twin. Dyson had made his choice all those years ago and Griffin wasn't in the mood to beg, although Dyson owed him big time.
"Fine, whatever, man. Did you get it?"
"I told you on the phone there was a problem with the money…"
"Christ, Griffin, I ask you to do one thing and you can't help but screw it up. These people aren't playing. They mean business, and if we don't pay them back…" Spike trailed off, his blue eyes a little too wide, his pupils a little too big.
"You're high again, aren't you? You said you were done with all of that, Spike. You made a promise to me and the guys!" Griffin sighed and pushed his hands back through his hair as he stalked into the bar, the door slamming back against the grotty wall with the force of his entrance.
He scanned the dimly lit room, his eyes picking out the rest of the band who were huddled around a small table at the back of the bar. His gaze travelled away from them before falling on the curvy beauty standing behind the bar.
Her red hair fell around her shoulders in waves, and Griffin felt a prickle of desire roll down through his body as he watched her lean across the bar, her breasts straining against the overly large check shirt she wore.
He couldn't help but grin as she lifted her gaze to his, a flash of annoyance passing behind her bright green eyes as she caught him staring at her.
Griffin sauntered towards her, relaxing into his role as sex god extraordinaire, a title he had more than earned the right to use. There wasn't a woman on earth who could resist him, and for good reason.
He caught sight of his reflection in the speckled mirror behind the bar and his smile wilted.
You look like shit! The small voice in the back of his mind loved to state the obvious, and now was no exception.
Griffin tried to shrug it off; he needed a distraction from everything that was going wrong in his life, and the stunner who was still eyeing him suspiciously was the perfect balm for his battered soul.
It wasn't something he was particularly proud of. Attempting to solve all of life's problems by screwing the brains out of whatever woman he happened to sweet talk into bed wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
Hook-ups were meaningless and they only ever seemed to be a temporary escape from the painful memories that plagued him whenever he closed his eyes. But it was better than the alternative and, although these encounters were empty, they were at least enjoyable.
"Hey, beautiful, I'm Griffin. You've probably seen me on the TV…"
"Hi, Griffin! My name is I couldn't give a damn who you are, so you can keep on walking with that sweet talker act because I ain't buying the shit you're selling."
Griffin grinned a little wider as he slid onto one of the tattered barstools. Anticipation curled in the pit of his stomach. It was always nice to meet a challenge and, from the looks of the woman who stood glaring at him from the other side of the bar, she would be worth the effort.
"Do you greet all your customers with such award-winning charm?"
Her expression darkened and Griffin couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to suck her cherry ripe bottom lip between his teeth as he kissed the hostility out of her.
"Only the ones I know are assholes," she quipped before beginning to turn her back on him.
"I'll have a double whiskey," he said, halting her in her tracks before she had the chance to stalk away.
Griffin smiled, watching her shoulders sag before she reached up to the shelves above her head and grabbed a shot glass. She slammed it on the counter in front of him and took a bottle of cheap-looking whiskey from beneath the bar.
"Got anything that won't rot my stomach?" Griffin asked, wrinkling his nose, his taste buds withering in anticipation of what was coming.
The red head flashed him an unfriendly grin as she half filled the glass and pushed it towards him.
"Nope, I'm afraid on this side of town this is as good as it gets."
He was well aware that she was lying, but Griffin also knew when he was beat and so he scooped up the glass and knocked the contents back in one foul mouthful.
He fought to keep his expression from twisting in disgust, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing just how brutal it had been. But he realized he'd failed the moment her smile widened and she topped off his glass before walking away, the sound of her laughter burning in his ears.
* * *
"She'
s nothing more than a frigid bitch. I wouldn't bother with her if I were you," Spike said as he climbed onto the barstool next to Griffin.
"Piss off, Spike. When I want to learn how to become a junkie, I'll give you a call."
"Oh, come on, don't give me that holier than thou crap, Griffin, it really doesn't suit you. We've all made mistakes; it's the stress of the situation, which, thanks to you, is a shit storm we're buried in up to our necks. I just needed a little help clearing my head."
"Don't blame this on me. I was trying to pull us out of the mire and get us back on our feet. How was I supposed to know this would happen?" Griffin’s grip tightened on the tumbler in front of him.
Spike's words bit home. It was Griffin's fault; he'd caused the mess, and it was his job to drag them back out of it. But it didn't make any sense and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wrap his head around how it had all gone down the drain so quickly. The money should have lasted longer, should have stretched further…
"Come on, you know what these guys are like. They’re nice when you're asking for the money but the friendliness disappears just as soon as they have you right where they want you."
"But the money shouldn't be gone. I made sure we had enough to see us through this tour and then some. I don't understand how it could have just been frittered away."
Spike shrugged and reached over, his hand grabbing the tumbler of whiskey from Griffin. He downed it in one go, his face twisting, and a shudder rippled through his skinny frame as he dropped the glass back onto the bar.
"I don't know what happened to it. Maybe Steve screwed up? He hasn't ever been the best manager in the world, so maybe it's time for a change?"
Griffin stared down at his hands, his fingers sliding over the calluses caused by years of playing guitar. Spike was probably right, but that didn't change the fact that they were in trouble up to their necks. Griffin had no idea how to fix it.
"Cami, get your dumpy ass over here and pour me another drink," Spike shouted down towards the bartender.
Griffin watched as his cruel barb hit home and the pretty bartender's shoulders tensed in response. But she kept her back to him, ignoring his shouts that were gradually becoming more and more aggressive.
"Shut up, Spike, you're making a fool out of yourself," Griffin said, gritting the words out from between his clenched teeth.
Spike's mistreatment of women had always made him uncomfortable. Griffin knew he was no angel but he actually liked women, loved the feel of their bodies, the taste of their lips, the sound of their laughter when they were truly happy. The one thing on this earth that he enjoyed most was a genuine smile, but since making it big with his band Black Special, Griffin had found it practically impossible to find a woman who could look past his celebrity status. Because of that, every smile he was privy to was tainted and lacked the genuine emotion he sought.
Unlike Spike, whose sole mission on earth seemed to be aimed at making women as miserable as he pretended to be. Griffin had often wondered if Spike was, in fact, a misogynist and, if he was, then what had driven him to such an extreme?
"I'm making a fool of myself? I'm not the lazy whore behind the bar pretending not to hear her thirsty customers calling her name."
Griffin started to turn in Spike's direction, a smart response on the tip of his tongue, but it was already too late. His mouth dropped open as Spike hopped over the bar and started pulling bottles out from underneath the counter.
"I knew there had to be something better back here than the piss water she's been serving us," Spike said, bending down to pull out another bottle.
"What the hell are you doing?" The shout from Cami drew Griffin's attention, and he couldn't help but admire her as she strode across the floor towards Spike.
She reached him quickly, just as he had cracked open a bottle of vodka and was taking a long swig from it, and grabbed the bottle from his hands. Alcohol poured down the front of his shirt and Griffin fought to keep the smile from his face.
"I've tolerated you in here all day, but this is too much. I want you all out," Cami said, her voice firm as she started to put away the bottles again.
"We're not going anywhere. We like it in here, and if you want us gone then you know what you need to do. You can call the cops." There was a grim smile on Spike’s face as he reached out to take back the bottle.
She swatted his hand away with a dishrag and bent to put the bottles back beneath the counter.
Griffin saw it coming; the look on Spike's face changed his smile disappearing as he made a grab at her.
"Look out!" Griffin shouted, but his voice was lost in the sound of bottles crashing to the floor as Spike grabbed Cami by the neck and slammed her into the shelves standing behind the bar.
Griffin hopped over the counter and dived towards Spike as the other man raised his fist with the intention of slamming it into the cute bartender's face.
Griffin wrapped his arms around his bandmate's torso, dragging him backwards and away from the stunned woman he'd just attacked. He watched her drop to her knees when Spike released her, her legs buckling beneath her as she crumpled onto the glass-covered floor.
Griffin had a moment to wonder how badly she was hurt before Spike spun around in his arms and drove his fist up into Griffin's jaw.
Pain bloomed in his face, his head snapping back with the force of the blow. It never ceased to amaze him just how strong Spike truly was. He looked weedy and weak, but Griffin knew he was actually wiry and fast.
Spike was on him before he even had the opportunity to properly react, his blows raining down on Griffin’s body as he fought to push him off.
Balling his hands into fists, Griffin lashed out, his punch catching Spike squarely in the face. Blood exploded from the cut that appeared between Spike’s eyebrows and the telltale crunch of bone told Griffin that he'd broken the other man's nose.
Spike growled and made a dive towards Griffin, blood dripping down the front of his face. Griffin caught Spike as he barrelled into his chest, the momentum carrying them both to the ground, the blow temporarily knocking the air out of Griffin's lungs.
Chapter 2
Cami's body erupted in fiery pain that spread out from the place of impact in her back to the rest of her body. Her head spun as she dropped to the floor.
The glinting shards of glass bit into her legs and hands and the alcohol that covered the floor stung against the tiny cuts in her skin as it soaked into her clothes.
A grunt of pain from the other side of the bar brought her back to her senses, and Cami found herself fighting a little harder to clear the fog of pain that threatened to descend over her mind. She'd suffered far worse in the past and survived; a few cuts and scrapes now weren’t going to keep her down.
She pushed herself to her feet, wincing as she tried to shake the worst of the glass from her clothes. The guy who'd attacked her slammed into the smooth-talking charmer, the two of them colliding with the floor as they continued to fight.
Why? Why did this always happen when she was alone in the bar? Fights never broke out when Fintan was working there with her. Although, if Cami was being honest, she knew exactly why fights never broke out when Fintan was the bartender. There was something about the six foot eight bruiser that sent the troublemakers scurrying for the hills but, despite his appearance, Cami knew he was all bark and no bite.
Hobbling to the end of the bar, Cami dragged open a small concealed drawer, the sawn off shotgun that sat inside making her stomach flip uncomfortably.
It wouldn't be the first time she'd handled a weapon, but it was certainly the last thing she wanted to do. Gripping it tightly in her hands, she hefted it out of the drawer and made her way around the edge of the counter to where the two men continued to struggle on the floor.
The asshole that had attacked her landed a nasty blow to the ribs of the guy who'd dragged him away. Cami raised the shotgun to her shoulder.
The rest of the bar's occupants fell silent as the telltale sou
nd of the gun's hammer being cocked filled the air.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just pull the trigger." She fought to keep her voice level, but she could hear a slight tremor within it that disappointed her. After everything she'd been through, why did her resolution to defend herself by any means necessary still fill her with anxiety and fear?
The sweet talker spotted her first, his green eyes widening in fear as they came to rest on the shotgun she was aiming in his direction.
The other man spun around, his mouth dropping open when he saw the loaded gun pointing his way.
She watched as both men backed up, the sweet talker raising his hands in surrender as he carefully studied her every movement. But Cami knew she didn't really have to worry about him. He was a little irritating with his sickly-sweet charming comments, but she knew he meant her no harm.
The other one, however, was a different animal altogether. Cami had seen the look in his eyes when she'd taken away the bottle of vodka, the hatred that had twisted his features seconds before he'd slammed her into the wall.
She didn't know him; just like everyone else, she'd seen him on the TV a few times, but as far as she was aware she'd never done anything to make him hate her. There was only one other guy who'd ever looked at her like that, and Cami hadn't hung around long enough to find out just how deeply his hatred had run.
"I wouldn't point that thing at me unless you know how to use it," the asshole said, his shoulders relaxing as he started to lower his hands.
Cami resettled the gun and sighted down the short barrel, letting all of her dislike for him pour into a cold smile that twisted her lips. He faltered, something akin to fear flickering in his eyes for a second as he moistened his lips nervously with his tongue.
"I know how to use it, so get the hell out of the bar before I show you exactly what I want to do with it."
His eyes darted from side to side as though assessing his options before he finally seemed to relent, surrender flooding through his eyes as Cami watched.
He pushed himself to his feet, his hands still raised in the air. The look he gave her as he headed for the door was far from friendly, but Cami didn't care. The only thing that really mattered was that he was gone.
Breaker's Point Bad Boy Billionaires Boxset Page 35