Salvage (Savages and Saints Book 3)

by C. M. Seabrook

  Still, it’s a huge upgrade from my parent’s basement. Speaking of which, “What about Mom? She could—”

  “Quinn.” Kade places his forearms on the bar and gives me one of his serious looks, the one that draws a deep line between his brows. “One night, that’s all.”

  “Fine,” I say. “But I want tonight off. Jenny said she can cover for me. I need to unpack.”

  He grunts. “You’re never going to pay off those credit card bills.”

  “I’m chipping away at it. The last trip to Ireland just put me back a bit.”

  I’d gone to visit my cousin Makena, who’d been living there since she fell madly in love with Wild Irish’s insanely hot guitarist, Shane Hayes. To say I’m jealous is an understatement. But if anyone deserves a happily ever after, it’s Makena.

  “That and your Gucci addiction,” Kade teases, shaking his head. “Or is it Prada this month?”

  “Hey, I’ve been better lately.” I grin and say with as much seriousness as I can muster when talking purses and shoes, “With the help of Dr. Phil, I’m learning to control my emotional shopping habits.”

  “By replacing it with serial dating,” Abbott says behind me, chuckling.

  “I don’t serial date.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at Abbott as he takes the stool that Lola was sitting on.

  He shakes his head and snickers. “Shit, Q, you’re almost as bad as I am.”

  “Except I don’t sleep with every—” I stop myself when I see Lola crawl up on the stool next to Abbott.

  She holds out her hand and smiles. “One dollar, please.”

  “For what?” Abbott asks, his lips twisting in one of his crooked grins as he stares down at the kid. Yeah, she even has Abbott in the palm of her hands.

  “The swear jar. You said shi—”

  “Lola,” Kade warns.

  “What? He did.”

  Abbott laughs, “Jesus, it was fifty-cents last week. I think you’re scamming me.”

  “Nope. Now it’s two dollars.” She smiles sweetly. “You shouldn’t say Jesus.”

  With a sigh, Abbott pulls out his wallet and puts two bills in her hand then glares at Kade, who just chuckles and places a beer in front of him.

  “I picked up the mock-ups of the new menus for you.” Abbott reaches into his bag and pulls out a manila folder, then places it on the bar, shoving it towards Kade. “New logo looks good.”

  Kade pulls it out and gives a satisfied noise in the back of his throat before handing it to me.

  The logo is a heart with wings and a devil’s tail and horns with Savages and Saints printed in the middle.

  “Not sure why you still keep the Saint part,” I mutter, handing it back.

  “Because Savages doesn’t have the same ring to it. Plus, Zee still owns half of this place.”

  “It’s not like he’s coming back.” My voice holds more bitterness than I intended. But there’s still a broken-hearted eighteen-year-old girl inside me who resents him for leaving town the way he did. And for rejecting me.

  “Who’s Zee?” Lola bounces on her knees on the stool beside Abbott.

  “Careful,” Kade warns, grabbing her arm when she almost falls off. “He’s an old friend.”

  “Some friend,” I mutter. “He took off without even a goodbye.”

  “He was hurting,” Kade says on a sigh, always quick to defend the man.

  “So was Liam, but he didn’t cut out on the people who needed him.”

  “And who needed him?” Abbott asks, one brow raised.

  “Liam,” I say quickly. “And Kade. The business—”

  “I run the place fine on my own. And Liam knows Zee needs time—”

  “Six years?” I shake my head, knowing it’s an argument I’ll never win. Kade will defend the man with his last breath. But then my brother got the occasional call from the man. Me, I got nothing but an empty hole in my chest that would always belong to Zee.

  “This town’s better off without him anyway,” Abbott says, shrugging when Kade narrows his eyes at him.

  Kade’s jaw clenches, and I see a flash of guilt in his eyes, regret that’s always there whenever Zee’s name is mentioned, which is bullshit, because my brother’s never done anything but defend him.

  “He’s right,” I say, hearing the lie in my voice. Because there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish to see his face in person — not just pictures of him captured by a crazed fan or the paparazzi.

  Yes, Zee St. James has his own damn entourage of screaming girls throwing themselves all over him nightly.

  Where the hell is the fairness in that?

  Playing bass guitar for the popular grunge band AutoCorrect, the world knew his face, just not his real name. The only reason I know his secret is because of my addiction to trashy gossip magazines.

  AutoCorrect’s bass guitarist ZZ James checked into rehab.

  Two pictures were posted beneath the headline: One of him on stage with his shirt off, sweat dripping down tightly coiled abs, the other of a man I barely recognized, with dark circles under his haunted green eyes.

  That was a year ago. Since then, it was difficult to find anything online about him. And I’d checked. Whenever I felt the need for inflicting torture on myself, I just googled ZZ James.

  When I’d told Kade about Zee’s alter ego, he’d just shrugged it off, like he’d already known, which just pissed me off more.

  “The least he could do is send us concert tickets,” I’d grumbled.

  I slide off my stool now, when I see a group of four sit down at one of the patio tables outside, thankful for the diversion from anymore talk of Zee.

  Six years and the mention of his name still affects me.

  Time to move on. I always think I have, and then it hits me, hard, how much of a void he left.

  Before I head outside to wait on the new customers, I pull out my phone, and scroll through my contacts.

  I’ll admit I’ve pretty much exhausted my list of men to date in this pathetic excuse for a town. In fact, I’ve started to recycle a few of them. Mr. Sexy Arms and Chick-Flick-Guy are my usual go-to’s for when I just need a night out. But there’s no chemistry there, and the last time Chick Flick Guy tried to kiss me, I’m pretty sure we both heard crickets. He hadn’t texted since, and I was kind of glad, even if it meant no more cheap night movie dates.

  It’s not that I’m picky. Well, maybe a little. I just know what I want.

  Zee St. James, that pesky voice inside my head whispers.

  I sigh. No one will ever live up to that standard. Not even the real Zee.

  And maybe my Prince Charming doesn’t exist. Or if he does, I highly doubt he has any immediate plans of riding into Port Clover and rescuing me from this monotonous life.

  Or worse, maybe I’ve already met him, and I’ve had Zee St. James blinders on for far too long.

  I scroll through my phone, until I come to Last-Wednesday-Night-Guy.

  He was cute. Tall. Nice features. Goofy grin. Even if he has a few IQ points less than the typical guys I go out with, he’d been able to hold a conversation without mentioning his high school glory days. That was a plus. And, he’s one of Abbott’s friends, so bonus points for getting under my brother’s skin. I’d crossed him off for a second date. But after all the talk about Zee St. James, I’m not in the mood to go home after my shift.

  And if the guy’s lucky, I may just break my five-date rule tonight.

  Chapter Two

  Zee

  In the parking lot of Savages and Saints, I turn off the ignition of my bike and take my helmet off. Rubbing the back of my neck, I wince at the rundown building. It’s late, but neon lights still flash the bar’s logo, casting a gold light across the white sailboats that bob in the marina below.

  I can’t believe I’m back in this godforsaken town.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t put it off any longer. I need to face the shit show my life has become, and see if there’s any way to salvage the bridges
I’ve burned.

  Not likely.

  Not when I’m about to bring the full force of Armageddon to the people I care the most about. I’m about to turn my best friend’s life inside out, and there’s nothing I can do about it. No amount of money or fame can protect me from the damage I’m about to unleash.

  The bar is empty when I walk in. Half-finished beer bottles and baskets of fries litter some of the booths, remnants of earlier customers. The place could use a paint job and a few of the stools look like they should be replaced. But nothing has really changed. Except there’s a fucking karaoke machine on the stage where we used to have live music.

  Jesus, Kade. Wouldn’t have thought he’d sell out to the Bingo crowd. But there’s the evidence in front of me.

  I shake my head as I walk towards the stage. Polaroids are hung on the wall, attached with thumbtacks, showing memories of bands we had playing here when we first opened. There’s one of Kade, Damon and me jamming out on opening night of Savages and Saints.

  Shit, we were young and so damn full of ourselves, thinking nothing could hurt us. We were flying higher than a kite and not just on the adrenaline of our youth. Drugs, alcohol, women, we had them in excess.

  I grunt and shake my head, my gaze wandering across the wall, a grin tugging at my lips when I see a picture of the crew by the pool, in the Savage’s backyard.

  I remove the tack and study the picture. It’s yellowed and faded, and the edges roll. Kade, Damon and Jasper flexing their muscles; Abbott and my brother Liam making goofy faces; me, looking like the weight of the world is on my shoulders; and Quinn, who couldn’t have been more than thirteen, dark eyes glancing up at me like I was some kind of god.

  I hadn’t been blind. I’d known she worshipped me like I’d hung the fucking sun and moon in the sky. I shouldn’t have been surprised when she’d kissed me in that damn office that night. But I had been. Or I’d been to drunk and high to pay attention to the warning signs.

  That had been my excuse the next day when I woke up with a massive hangover, realizing what I’d done. Because I’d kissed her back. Briefly. I’d wanted more. Wanted everything those innocent eyes offered.

  Kade would have had my fucking balls if he knew I’d even contemplated it for a second. All the Savages would. Not that I’d blame them. I was just as protective of her as they were. It was the only thing that had stopped me from consuming her whole.

  I roll my neck and try not to replay the night in my head, like I have a thousand times before. I can still taste her lips, feel her soft body tremble against mine.

  “Hey,” a female voice calls out behind me, startling me back to reality. “Sorry, we’re closed.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I shove the picture in my back pocket and turn to the pretty redhead that’s looking at me with pursed lips.

  I’m about to tell her that she should have locked the doors but clamp my mouth over the comment. I’m not the boss. Not anymore. Even though I technically still own half the place. And this isn’t New York. Nothing bad happens in Port Clover.

  Not unless I’m involved.

  “Kade here?” I ask, glancing around.

  She tilts her head at me, and I see her eyes roam appreciatively over my body, her expression turning from annoyance to interest. “He went home a couple hours ago.”

  Home. So he isn’t living upstairs anymore. Figures. A bar isn’t exactly an ideal place to live while raising a kid. A kid I just recently found out about. I’ve had short conversations with Liam and Kade over the years, but they never mentioned the girl, or I’d been too wasted to remember.

  “You look familiar.” She leans forward, giving me a perfect view of her cleavage, and licks her cherry red lips. Her voice is huskier when she asks, “You from around here?”

  “Does anyone actually admit that?” I deadpan.

  She chuckles, her gaze once again drifting down my body, then says, “Want a drink?”

  “Thought you were closed.”

  She winks and pulls a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, then pours two shots. “What the boss doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”

  I grunt, and almost tell her I am the boss. But I hold off, not wanting to announce my arrival until I talk with Kade, knowing there’s a half dozen people in this town who will want to take a swing at me when they realize I’m back. And not without merit.

  “No. I’m good.” Been clean for over a year now. Longest fucking year of my life, but I did it. But being clean doesn’t mean my problems went away, it only made me sober enough to see them more clearly. That’s been the hardest part. Realizing what an asshole I’ve been. The damage I’ve done.

  “You sure?” The redhead gives a disappointed pout. “I’ll be finished here in fifteen minutes.”

  In the past, I’d probably taken her up on her offer. But it’s not just alcohol I’ve been abstaining from.

  Keeping my dick in my pants hasn’t been easy, but it’s been a necessary infliction. Because I’ve come to the conclusion that every bad decision I’ve ever made involved three things — booze and chicks and drugs.

  I head outside, not knowing what the hell I’m going to do now. Hadn’t thought out the details when I’d hopped on my bike and rode straight through from Illinois.

  The nearest motel that might be open this time of year, is a twenty-minute drive south of town. As much as I came here to make amends, I doubt any of my friends would appreciate me showing up on their doorsteps at this time of night.

  I glance up at the small window on the second story of Savages and Saints. If Kade isn’t using the apartment, I doubt he’d mind me staying there tonight.

  Hell, I still own the place. It’s not like I’m freeloading.

  After the bomb I plan on dropping in his lap, I’ll be throwing a huge check at his ass to help clean up the mess I’m going to make. Enough to repair this shithole and turn it into what we dreamed about when we were younger.

  Grabbing my bag from the back of my bike, I go around the back of the building and climb the wooden stairs. I reach above the door frame to the loose panel, lift it, and pull the spare key out, then spin it around in my fingers, wondering if Kade even knew it was still up there.

  When I unlock the door, it hits me that someone else might be staying here now.

  “Hello?” I give a loud knock, calling out into the darkness.

  Nothing. I flick on the lights. Boxes line the walls, and the old couch and forty-inch flat screen Kade and I purchased together almost a decade ago are the only furniture in the place. Safe to say, no one’s living here.

  More boxes are stacked on top of each other in my old bedroom, and the bed set I’d left is gone. Walls that had once been a dull beige have been painted bright pink. Butterfly and flower stickers on the closet door evidence that a kid had lived here.

  My throat constricts. I missed so damn much.

  I lean on the doorframe and wonder how things would have been different if I hadn’t been a coward and run the second things got hard. If I hadn’t wasted five years of my life drowning in the bottom of a whiskey bottle. And another year fighting my way back to the surface. If I would have owned up to my mistakes in the beginning.

  Doubt any of them will ever forgive me. I rub the back of my neck and sigh. Don’t deserve their forgiveness. I know that. But after the revelation that was tossed at me recently, I know I have to face my past. And my family.

  Kade...Liam...Quinn. Shit, I can still see the hurt in her eyes when I’d pushed her away.

  She was everything I wasn’t. Good. Sweet. Pure. Full of hope. And I would have destroyed her like everything else I touch.

  My phone buzzes with a text message, and I sigh when I see my manager’s name. The band is going on tour again soon, and they want to sign me again for another three months. I haven’t committed yet, and my manager is getting antsy.

  I shove my phone back in my pocket and shut the bedroom lights off.

  Kade’s old bedroom is cracked open slightly,
and I pray to God that he left at least one mattress in this shitty apartment, because the lumpy old couch, while better than sleeping on the curb outside, isn’t looking enticing.

  I groan in appreciation when I open the door wider and see a bed. Keeping the lights off, I kick off my shoes and lay down. The mattress squeaks with my weight, and a faint scent of women's perfume wraps around me, or maybe it’s just in my head.

  Eight hours straight on my bike and weeks of insomnia, exhaustion weighs heavy on me. Maybe that’s why I ignore the sense that something is off. I’m too tired to care and isn’t long before I’m pulled into the clutches of sleep, where the nightmares that never cease to plague me, release the demons in my mind.

  This time when they come, it’s Quinn’s face I see, her voice I hear, calling to me, warning me away from the ledge of despair. But it’s too late. I always fall, bringing everyone I care about down with me.

  Chapter Three

  Quinn

  It’s official. The men of Port Clover are as boring and pathetic as this little town.

  Sitting in Mr. Last-Wednesday-Night’s blue sedan, which I’m pretty sure he borrowed from his parents, I can’t believe I’m contemplating breaking my five date rule. Not because the guy sitting next to me is anything special, but because I realize it’s been months since I’ve had sex. Closer to a year if I’m honest with myself.

  Unlike Abbott, my serial dating doesn’t result in nightly blow jobs and sexcapades that would make an Irish sailor blush. No, my dates end like this. Sitting awkwardly in a car, waiting for the guy to make the next move.

  Plus, the two glasses of red wine I had at dinner are still running through my veins lowering my inhibitions — and my standards.

  The guy is cute, I’ll give him that. Dark blond hair that’s shaved on the sides and longer on the top, dimples in both cheeks, clean shaven, without an inch of ink on any of the exposed muscles that he indiscreetly flexes whenever my gaze drifts to his arms and chest. He’s got the whole good-boy charm going on.

  But tonight, I’m not looking for nice.

  “You want to come up for...uh...coffee?” I groan inwardly as soon as the words come out. God, Quinn, can you be more of a cliche?