Treble

by Desiree Holt, Lisabet Sarai, Lily Harlem, Elizabeth Coldwell, Wendi Zwaduk, Imari Jade

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Glock Pistol: GLOCK Gesellschaft mbH

  Jell-O: Kraft Foods, Inc.

  Super Bowl: NFL Enterprises, LLC.

  Hallmark: Hallmark Cards, Inc.

  Chapter One

  “You scared?”

  Juniper sat at his feet, silent. Jacoby gazed down at her as he petted her honey-coloured hair, comforted by the silky texture and the scent of her flowery shampoo. Clad in nothing more than the silver, rope necklace collar and black stilettos, her head bowed and her hands folded over her lap, Juniper made the perfect picture of a submissive. Her lack of response served to fulfil his unspoken demand. “You may answer, pet.”

  “Petrified.”

  The certainty and honesty in her reply resonated to his core. He’d married her. He loved her and yet, he’d always felt there was something—someone—missing. He would never leave her, had never wanted to. “Look at me, love.”

  Slowly she met his gaze. In her blue eyes, a million questions brewed. The collar glittered in the soft lamplight. He owned her heart. When they entered the bedroom, she willingly became his. Juniper should’ve been enough for him. Jacoby patted his lap. “Sit. I want to look at you while we talk.”

  Rising to her full height of five feet four inches, she stood before him. He ran the backs of his fingers over her taut nipples. When God created woman, he created perfection in the form of Juniper. She smoothed her hands over her hips, drawing his attention to the gentle swell. With curves in all the right places and an imagination nothing could snuff out, she suited him perfectly. She parted her lips and thrust her breasts towards him. The tight little buds beckoned to him, erect from desire, steel barbells glistening in the soft light. Nipple play factored into their lovemaking each time and he loved to hear her gasp and moan when he captured the dusky tips in his mouth or tugged them with the chain.

  “You want to play, pet?”

  She stared at him, unmoving.

  “Although you are right to remain silent, I wanted an answer. Tell me, should I punish you?” The faint smile on her lips also lit up her azure eyes. He nodded. “A spanking. Four strokes should work—after we talk. Sit.” He loved their play, loved her more than life, but it wasn’t the same.

  Juniper straddled his hips, cradling his denim-clad cock between her thighs. Jacoby wound his hand behind her neck, drawing her down for a kiss. The taste of her, a combination of her mint toothpaste and the salty musk of his cum on her tongue, intoxicated him. Even after three years together, she brought out his need to love and possess her. Only one other had ever brought him to the brink with little more than a kiss.

  When she backed away, the spark of desire in Juniper’s eyes dimmed. “Jacoby.”

  He should punish her for speaking out of turn and using his name. Should want to smother her with kisses until she begged for release. He couldn’t do either. The sadness in her voice combined with his inner turmoil zapped his heart.

  “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

  Jacoby bit down hard on his tongue. He could lie. Parkur Thompson walked away from him, from the both of them, more than a year prior. He’d wanted the band and the fame, not the sanctity of the music. He’d wanted just a wife, not a male lover and a wife. “I can’t be with the both of you. It’s not right.” Jacoby closed his eyes. The hurt, fresh even after the passage of time, gnawed at his soul.

  Juniper cupped his cheek, bringing him out of his silent pity party, smoothing her thumb along his jaw. “What did the letter say?”

  The letter. The damned impersonal correspondence from the record label. “You and I are to be in the Atrius Building downtown at seven p.m.”

  She tipped his chin to meet his gaze. “Think he really wants us?”

  “Fuck if I know.” Parkur’s mood swings were legendary. One moment he’d wanted the threesome—needed them to be solid for the band, the music, for him. The next minute he needed a traditional wife and children.

  Juniper snuggled against Jacoby, resting her head on his shoulder. “We made a good band. The people liked Razrs Edge when we were all together. Despite the sales for our album together, he’s probably realised the new line-up isn’t suited to our music.”

  “But why now? Because the fans hate Rhiannon and her screaming horse-shit songs?” To hide the frustration coursing through his veins, Jacoby wrapped her tight in his embrace. “We’re not here for him to use us to make money. Been there, done that, over it. I like my life, and I love you. Fuck him.”

  Juniper sat silent for a pregnant moment. She’d been a founding member of Razrs Edge right along with Parkur. Hell, she’d been involved with Parkur until Jacoby came along. Instead of reacting with jealousy, she’d welcomed him into the musical relationship. As for the physical relationship, it had taken time and tenderness to get the three of them into a groove.

  “I want to say it’s because he truly needs us. Bone-deep, can’t-live-without-us desire.” Her hand stilled over his and her voice wavered. “But this is Parkur. He’s the only one who knows what goes on in his mind.”

  Jacoby raked his fingers through his hair. “It won’t be the same.”

  “Never is.”

  As if he’d flipped the switch deep within her, Juniper stiffened. Jacoby sensed her fear. The sheer veracity of the love between the three of them wasn’t something that could last. Damned near came apart when they’d first began the tryst. Jacoby kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek against her forehead. “Ju, I feel the worry in your bones.” His heart splintered when her tears wetted his chest. “I love you, flower girl. His being around won’t change things for you and me.”

  “You still love him,” she said in a husky voice he barely recognised. “He is your soul mate. I’m a placeholder. I’ve accepted it.”

  Jacoby shifted in the recliner and cupped her chin, forcing her gaze to his. “We were meant to be three. The music, the laughter, the fucking…it all equalled our magic number.” Time to show her she meant the world to him. “Stand, pet.”

  Juniper complied and scurried off his lap. With her hands at her sides, she bowed her head. Jacoby unfolded himself from the chair and crossed the few steps to her position. “I won’t leave you, Ju. You’re mine. Always.” As he kissed her, invading her mouth with his tongue, he nudged her against the wall. He pinched her nipple, eliciting a squeak from deep in her throat. The excited sound sent pinpricks of excitement coursing through his veins. Just one good fucking against the wall to show her he loved and cared for her.

  Groaning, Juniper rocked her hips against his thigh. Cream from her pussy slicked his denim-covered crotch. Damn, she wanted him. Jacoby ground into her then reached down between them, rubbing her clit with the pad of his thumb. “Fuck, pet.” Jacoby panted and stroked his cock against her lower belly. “Need you now.”

  “Take me.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, granting him access as he lifted her from the floor. “Please fuck me, Sir.”

  Releasing her long enough to unzip and withdraw his erection, Jacoby gathered her back into his embrace and slid into her body. The walls of her pussy clenched around him, creating delicious friction. Damn, he’d never last. He built the rhythm in time with her writhing and drove into her slick channel. A melody played in his brain, the same one he heard whenever he made love to her. All he needed to make it perfect was Parkur’s steady drumbeat, his soul with them…

  Maybe one day.

  “Jac!” Juniper clung to him, her body a mass of shudders.

  Jacoby buried his face against her neck and came with one final surge, coating her womb with his seed. “Damn.”

  Lowering one leg to the floor, Juniper sagged in his arms. “I love you, Jac.”

  “Love you, flower girl.”

  * * * *

  Bass music pumped into the recording studio, drowning out the casua
l conversation. Parkur clenched and unclenched his fists. Today he’d see them again. Today he’d get answers. Today he’d leave them faster than they’d fucked him over.

  Juniper and Jacoby Binder. The people he cared for the most and the ones he hated with a vengeance. Every time he heard the Shards album, his heart ripped apart all over again. They’d written and created the music—their special triad. Fans loved the darker, romantic rock music. The soundtrack to their relationship. Each song found its way on to the playlist during the tour, reminding him of what had been and wouldn’t be again. Hearing those same words on just his own lips with Rhiannon and the replacement backing band wasn’t the same. It sucked ass. The fans knew it, he knew it. Too bad management hadn’t received the memo.

  Zero, his current backing singer and lead guitarist, plopped down next to Parkur. “They’ll be here.”

  “Not worried about it.” Liar. Parkur folded his arms to hide the nervous gesture. “Few people pass up the chance to make music with a top band. They’re no different.”

  “Cold.” Zero shook his head and crackled the plastic cup in his thick fingers. “You do realise that you’ve become a bastard since they left.”

  “Me? I’m the picture of happiness and upward mobility.” Sort of. Parkur ground his teeth together. Happy was the last word he’d use to describe himself.

  “Upward mobility?” Zero snorted. “That’s a crock of shit.”

  “If I lie enough, it’ll be true.” God only knew, Parkur forgetting the two people who made his battered heart whole wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. “I hear they got married and settled down.” Without me.

  “And it’s burning your ass because you want to be with them.”

  “Fuck off.” Zero’s words hit way too close to home. He had no idea what had gone on. Hell, Parkur wasn’t even sure when the train had come off the rails. Not totally.

  Zero leant forwards and rested his elbows on his knees. “Look, I know things went to shit. I saw more of it firsthand than I wanted to. I didn’t believe it then, and I don’t buy it now.” He sighed. “You know me, I’m not one to peddle advice, but this time I am. Rhiannon is a bitch. She hates the music you write, and with Hank’s help has run RE into the ground. Instead of us recording more of her sad excuses for songs, why don’t we work on the stuff you wrote on the road?”

  “Hank said it sucked.” Parkur groaned. Hank Clark hated almost everything Razrs Edge released—unless the song went multi-platinum, then the tune was his favourite. “It’s too emotional and not edgy enough for RE.”

  “Where’d the emotion for the music come from? His ass? No, it came from your broken heart.”

  “Shout it to everyone.”

  “I will. They pulverised your heart and, because of it, you wrote some damned haunting music. My guess? Juniper and Jacoby will clamour to record it and beg to have you release it.”

  Parkur stared at Zero. “How are you so sure?”

  “I’m not. I want you to be happy and they made you happy. You all have something special when you’re together. It’s how it should be—her singing, you drumming, him tearing up the bass line and the rest of us in the background. I’m dying to get back to business as usual.”

  The door slammed behind them, causing Parkur to jerk in his seat. “Are we done with the touchy-feely moment, girls?”

  Parkur closed his eyes. One person grated on his nerves to the point of breaking them—Hank. The man could insult and compliment in the same sentence without blinking. Opening his eyes, Parkur folded his hands in front of his mouth to bite back a nasty response.

  Zero stood and smashed the plastic cup in one hand. “It was a great day till the worm showed. Don’t you have a contract to screw us with?”

  “You wanted a businessman, you have me.” Hank slapped Parkur with the back of his hand. “Why aren’t you warming up? We record in an hour.”

  “I’ll be ready when it’s time.” Parkur stood and nodded to the piano. “Don’t disturb me unless Ju and Jac show up. I need the right people to round out the songs.”

  “The label wants the rough cuts by the end of tomorrow. You can’t piss around.” Hank snarled and pounded his fist into the back of the office chair. “You already stepped out of their collective shadow. You don’t need those two. When will that fact get through the cement in your head?”

  Ignoring the ramblings of his manager, Parkur crossed the threshold into the actual studio. Collective shadow his ass. He’d started Razrs Edge. Him and Juniper.

  And Jacoby had made the band complete. He’d made the music complete.

  Parkur toyed with the crumpled sheet music on the stand then plopped down before the piano. He’d written Jacoby’s bass lines to mimic the deepest desires in his heart. With Juniper singing, the words would take on multiple levels of meaning. He found the notes and began a simple melody. He’d fucked up. He wasn’t sure how or when he’d lost control, but he’d driven them away. Juniper had cared about Parkur and his music enough to encourage him to record it. Jacoby had understood the inner pain and could translate it into a form the masses understood.

  And now? What did Parkur have to show for his pain?

  A fat lot of loneliness in a crowded room.

  Parkur palmed the braided silver at his throat. The collar. The fans believed it to be his symbol of resistance and rebellion. If they only knew it was his true link to Jacoby, his Sir. He hadn’t given up on the man who made his heart thunder, nor the woman who’d made him smile when the rest of the world turned away. He should want revenge, want to make them hurt. He pressed his hands together in front of his lips. Rhiannon had been a mistake from the word go. She wanted Hank and the notoriety of fronting a band.

  Ju and Jac soothed his wounded soul.

  “Save me,” he whispered.

  Chapter Two

  “It’s ten till seven.” Juniper wrapped her arms around Jacoby’s biceps. “Ready?” Despite the unseasonal warmth of the April evening, a chill ran through her bones. She peered up at the Atrius Building, hulking in the fading purple light. She’d recorded some great songs after nine at night—always with Jacoby and Parkur.

  Jacoby’s jaw tensed. “This is shit.”

  She glanced at the sheaf of papers in Jacoby’s hands. The songs Parkur had sent weren’t up to par. Not even close to his talent level. Did he want to continue to record crap to sell records in the pop market? Before the split, Parkur swore he’d never write what wasn’t in his heart. Songs about guns and destruction didn’t fit Parkur’s style at all. Something felt off about the meeting.

  Jacoby’s words brought her out of her musings. “Let’s go so we can get out of here. This won’t last.”

  The first floor echoed with their footsteps on the dull linoleum floors. Juniper sighed. In the eight months since the building had changed hands, the decorators had taken away every last bit of originality in the foyer. No more murals of musicians, no more folk art statues of instruments. Just bland beige walls and potted plastic palms. She wrinkled her nose. The faint scent of cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

  “Looks like no one wants to record here since Clark took over.” Jacoby pressed the buttons on the elevator pad. “He was an ass when Parkur insisted we hire him. I’ll bet things haven’t changed.”

  “Don’t hold back,” she murmured as the elevator ascended. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  “Like I’m walking into a fucking hornet’s nest. I hate Hank and want nothing to do with Parkur.” Jacoby’s words came out in a growl, making her jerk in his embrace. He rubbed the back of his hand over his stubbly chin. “I’m sorry, babe.”

  The bell dinged for the eighth floor, but Juniper halted the car with the emergency stop. “I hate Hank, too, but I’ve been thinking about this. If we go in with a combative attitude, the whole thing will go to shit. What if Parkur does want to try again? What if he’s had a light bulb go off and realises he needs us? I’d love to know why he kicked us out of the band, but we have to go about th
is with our heads on straight. Give him the rope to hang himself. If he’s going to, he will. If not, then we see where things are going.”

  Jacoby stared at her with a blank expression in his blue eyes. As the seconds ticked by, Juniper’s heart sank. She rarely talked out of turn—not out of fear, but out of respect. When she did speak up, he listened…she hoped.

  “I should write a song for you, something simple, but ball-breaking. Every time I’m close to the edge, you step in and save me.” He slapped at the button, engaging the car and kissed her hard on the lips. “How about Savin’ Me? It’s got your name all over it.”

  With another ping, the doors opened to the recording studio foyer. Juniper twined her fingers with Jacoby’s and followed him into the room. Garish posters from the various Razrs Edge tours festooned the black walls. Gold record awards lined the reception desk. It felt odd to be in their former hangout, and a sensation of stepping into Neverland coursed through her veins.

  Although no one sat behind the reception desk, conversation rumbled in the room. “Yeah, I’ll do that. After a couple smokes.” Trent ‘Zero’ Grazia ambled through the studio door. When his gaze locked with hers, the frown on his lips curled into a broad smile. His silver eyes gleamed. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. How the hell are you?”Crossing the room in three strides, Zero thrust out his hand. “I missed you. Ain’t the same with the witch at the helm.” He shook hands with Jacoby and gathered Juniper into a bear hug. “There’s room for one woman in the band. You.”

  Juniper slapped his steely shoulder. “How much do I owe you for that compliment?”

  “Free of charge.” He nodded to the recording studio. “The bass awaits and the mics are set. You two ready to hit this hard? We need someone to really understand the music, not mangle it to make it poppy.”

  A trace of a smile tugged at the corner of Jacoby’s mouth, quickly replaced by his trademark stony expression. Juniper glanced in the direction of his glare and shuddered. Hank.