Relentless Rhythm (Tempest #4)

by Michelle Mankin

  As I was ringing up the sale, I registered the full name on the receipt.

  Holy Shit. I looked back at him, suddenly putting everything together and realizing why he’d looked so familiar. He was Justin Jones, the twin brother of Avery Jones, the famous female guitarist for Brutal Strength. My favorite band in the whole world. Ever since high school. After all they were the local BC band who had made it big. But I liked them even more now that Avery had joined them. I couldn’t help but admire her. She was a guitarist in a rock band, a rarity in a profession dominated by men.

  I handed Justin the check. “Top copy’s mine,” I explained, biting my lip. I was trying to decide if I should say something while his head was bowed. When he gave me back the signed receipt, I went for it. “I love your sister.” Smooth, April. “She’s an incredible guitarist, I mean, and her lyrics are awesome. I’ve been a huge BS fan for ages, but well, since she came along, they’re even better than before.”

  He grinned. “I love her, too.” Oh my gosh. What a sweetie. “I’ll try and bring her by sometime. She likes to meet her fans. That way you can tell her yourself.”

  Oh. My. Freakin’. Gosh. “That would be fantastic,” I managed to say aloud without any high pitched fan girl squealing.

  “Consider it done.” He shifted his attention to Mel. “See you around the studio, Bluebelle.” He reached over and mussed her straight shoulder length strands.

  “Sure,” she mumbled gaze dropping to her feet, but not before I saw the flare of anger inside her kohl lined sapphire eyes. Mel got a little defensive whenever people treated her like a kid. She had a baby face that made people mistakenly assume she was a lot younger than nineteen.

  We both sighed at the same time watching him saunter away. I was the first to refocus. I slid the tray toward her. “Better get these to your buddies before they get warm.”

  “Yeah, alright. Thanks, April.” She tossed her hair out of her eyes and slid off her stool.

  “You’re welcome, Sweetie.” I watched her balance the tray over her shoulder as smoothly as anyone on the regular wait staff. She had an innate grace that complemented her beauty and a good heart, too. She often helped out whenever the bar was overrun. But no matter how many times Tan asked she always refused to join the payroll. Any free time after course studies and helping her dad with his band, went into skiing. She was obsessed with ski cross and wickedly good at the dangerous freestyle sport, always finishing high whenever she competed. She dreamed about making the national team and representing Canada on the world cup circuit, much to her overprotective father’s chagrin.

  I went back to filling drink orders periodically checking on Mel and her group, happy to see her smiling and having a good time. My shift was a little slow but I didn’t mind. Though the hours were long and I was always on my feet, I liked being behind the bar, watching, observing and listening.

  Just before two in the morning, the action dramatically fell off as it usually did around closing time, as if each of the club patrons had received a text message telling them it was time to go home, the bar seats that had been filled all evening were now nearly vacant.

  “Hey, hot thing.” A dude with harsh Slavic features clad in a garish purple plaid shirt folded his lean body into an open stool directly in front of me. He slid a twenty across the bar. “A shot of tequila.” He leaned in on his elbow and put his hand on my arm and squeezed. “And a twist of you.”

  I inwardly rolled my eyes. Like I hadn’t heard that particular one before.

  Completely ignoring the lame pickup line, I withdrew my arm, put the twenty in my half apron, set a glass on the bar mat, and upended the Jose Cuervo pouring the right amount without having to look.

  The cretin stared at my boobs the whole time, even while I counted out his change. I moved to the other end of the bar, getting my station tidied up for the night. I could feel him watching me though and I was relieved when he finally finished his shot, pocketed his change and took off.

  I hated how guys somehow thought I was free game since I was trapped behind the bar. I knew how to handle them when they stepped over the line. I could take care of myself of course, but I was glad that he’d taken his sad tired act elsewhere without me having to get ugly.

  Some of the staff started trickling by to say goodnight on their way out the back door. I had just finished my shift report when a couple of random keyboard notes broke through the silence. I glanced up. It was Mel. She was on stage which surprised me. She didn’t usually go up there unless pressed into duty with Ebbtide.

  She tapped on the mic. “Diz, c’mon. You promised.”

  I hadn’t realized Mr. Hawt was still around. He usually left a lot earlier. He was near one of the pillars on the far side of the dance floor. He was leaning into it, his forearm above the bleached head of one of the new waitresses. They seemed to be deep in a private conversation. The prince had another willing consort. She gave him a flirty smile.

  Effing unbelievable.

  He’d been with a different blonde just a couple of hours prior. One with loads of red lipstick and tons of exposed cleavage. He’d disappeared in the back with her and then returned alone barely fifteen-wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am-minutes later, looking smug and satisfied.

  How many times a night did that guy need to get laid?

  “Hold on, Bluebelle,” he said in his velvety voice lifting a finger in the air. Mel frowned while Dizzy and the waitress exchanged cell information. I shook my head. I’d been working at the Mine a long time, long enough to have seen my share of serious operators, but I’d never seen anyone as singly focused as he was. The guy was a player in a league all by himself.

  Wearing a lopsided grin, apparently having gotten exactly what he wanted, he made his way to the stage with his easy strut.

  I didn’t know what was going on between him and my way too impressionable for her own good friend, but it frustrated me that I couldn’t do anything to prevent it.

  I sighed and went back to weighing bottles and calculating the tips that I split with the wait staff and my bar back. I needed to stop worrying, close out, and get home. When I finished and logged out, I heard the keyboard opening to “Purple Rain” and knew it was Mel and that she had been the one to choose that particular song. She adored eighties music. Madonna. Boy George. Talking Heads. But Prince was her absolute all-time favorite.

  Dizzy was standing beside her on the stage, her father’s electric guitar slung low in front of his pelvis. He’d removed his black jacket. The grey fabric of a Black Cat tee was molded to his pecs. His weight was balanced back on a booted heel, his fingers strummed the strings, and he rolled his jean clad hips side to side in a blatantly sensual rhythm that made even an experienced married woman like me blush.

  Mel didn’t stand a chance in hell with a guy like him.

  When she started to sing, his half lidded languorous expression transformed into one of surprised wonder. Apparently he hadn’t heard her sing solo before. She had a sultry voice you wouldn’t expect given her higher pitched speaking one. This song was a perfect showcase for her.

  But the drama unfolding upon that stage was too difficult for me to watch. Wearing her heart on her sleeve, my starry eyed friend gazed at the certified man whore through her thick lashes. She was attempting to seduce the King of the Seducers. I couldn’t just stand by. I had to do something to stop it. I jogged to the end of the bar and lifted the swing gate. I was so intent on my mission that I didn’t pay attention to the path in front of me and ran smack into someone.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized automatically before realizing it was Mr. Eurotrash from earlier. He looked down at me, his eyes narrowing and his lips forming a hyena grin. Before I had time to put distance between us, he had both of his hands on me. His meaty fingers dug deep into the exposed sensitive flesh right above my elbows.

  Every single muscle in my five foot eight frame went on high alert. Fear made my throat dry, but I swallowed to moisten it. “Get your hands off me, creep.”


  His expression darkening, he shoved me backward.

  My shoulders hit the wall. The sudden impact caused me to bite my tongue. I tasted the tang of my own blood. But fear overrode the sharp flash of pain. I squirmed in his grip trying to break free while inwardly chastising myself for my lack of situational awareness. I usually stayed safe behind the bar until I was sure all the customers had left. Now I was trapped in a dark corner with a psycho and no one in the immediate vicinity to help me.

  I started to panic, struggling in earnest, my heart racing so fast the individual beats were tripping over each together. I kicked at his shin, but there wasn’t enough space between us for that to be effective.

  He didn’t like it though. “You bitch!” He released my arms but only so he could slam his forearm into my windpipe. Hard.

  A hot explosion erupted inside my throat, gagging me, a sensation not completely unfamiliar. Tears filled my eyes. Drowning in a wave of helplessness, I stared into his rabid gaze. He put both his hands around my windpipe and squeezed. I couldn’t breathe. I clawed at his arms, my motions desperate, and my body weak without oxygen. My eyes felt like they were bugging out of their sockets. I watched his face coming closer, but in my mind it changed into someone else’s, someone familiar, as everything dissolved in a red tinged haze.

  When I saw what was happening, I descended upon him like a man possessed, vaulting tables and jumping chairs in my hurry to rescue her.

  Wrapping my arm around the dickwad’s neck, I squeezed tight, bicep and tricep muscles screaming as I hauled him off her. He flopped around trying to get traction with his feet, and I must say it pleased me to hear him wheeze as he struggled to breathe the same way she had been only moments earlier.

  April coughed, and I noticed that the jade color of her eyes seemed to lack their usual animated fire. Long shapely legs gave way beneath her. She slid to the floor, her Diamond Mine tee with the cut off sleeves pulling free from the wide belt looped through her jeans exposing a tantalizing patch of bare midriff.

  But I was more concerned with her vacant expression. She was probably going into shock. I’d seen the same thing once as a kid when a drug dealer had jumped my sister Lace. Vivid red marks on her neck and arms stood out against her creamy skin offering grim evidence of the violence done to her. The mad rush of angry adrenaline inside of me spiked even higher. I briefly released the scum sucking bottom dweller’s neck, just long enough to slam my hands against his chest, shoving him backward.

  “This is none of your business,” the asshole croaked.

  “You made it my business the minute you laid your filthy hands on her,” I clarified. My brows twisted together, my eyes burning cauldrons of rage beneath them. Fucker needed to feel some major pain. He needed it right now, and I was just the guy to serve it up to him. Full out. No holds barred. The way we did it in Southside.

  He didn’t recognize the warning signs. He lifted his chin defiantly straightening his plaid shirt. At the same time I noticed Mel drop beside April gently consoling her. “Bitch and I were just getting to know each other a little better.” He turned his head to glare at April. It didn’t even register with her. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them. “She’s just a bartender.” Bastard kept digging his grave deeper when he should’ve shut the hell up. “Everyone knows they’re always open to a little action on the side.”

  That fucking did it. No use wasting any more words on him. I rammed my fist into his abdomen, flesh caving beneath the blow and expelling the poisonous breath from his lungs. He doubled over, but I didn’t give him a chance to recover. He didn’t deserve one.

  A loud crack split the air as my uppercut connected with the hard bone of his jaw. I hoped I’d broken it. Fire blazed along my knuckles. I ignored the pain. It was inconsequential. What mattered, what made my lips curl with satisfaction was his limp body hitting the floor like a felled tree. Fingers clenched into fists, chest heaving, I glared down at his worthless laid out ass. When he didn’t move, I kicked the sole of his shoe feeling the burn of disappointment when he moaned but stayed put.

  I had zero tolerance for his kind of shit.

  Tan suddenly materialized. Having run all the way down the stairs from his office, he was as out of breath as I was. His ruddy face flushed nearly purple, his eyes flamed bright as he took in the scene and added it all up. “Nice work, Lowell.” He gave me a dark but approving grin.

  I lifted my chin to acknowledge him, gingerly rubbing my sore knuckles.

  “I’ll take over from here.” He put his cell to his ear. “Jack, get to the downstairs bar pronto.” He called in one of the bouncers.

  “That’s fine, but only if you make sure he never comes near her or the Mine ever again,” I growled the words sounding like a Neanderthal, but that’s the way I felt. The adrenaline pumping through my veins made me feel more beast than man at the moment.

  “Oh, he won’t. I guarantee it.” Tan’s expression was fierce. Everyone knew he considered his staff his family. “He’ll rue the day he ever stepped foot in the Mine.”

  The feral look in his eyes was enough to convince me. Good. Asshole on the floor deserved whatever Tan and Jack had planned for later. I pulled in a deep breath striving for calm as I turned my attention back to her.

  Her eyes were closed, her chin up, her head tilted back against the wall. Disheveled and bruised, she looked completely victimized. Thin black bra straps contrasted with the handprints on her upper arms. Her brown hair was mussed, one of her barrettes was missing, and the long strands of her ponytail hung forward over one shoulder. I could tell her eyes were moving frenetically behind her lids. She was trying to block it all out, pretend it never happened. Trust me, that never works. Seeing her this way just pissed me off all over again.

  “April,” Mel called to her softly while fixing the bartender’s straps. “It’s over. Open your eyes. Look at me, honey.” She pried her friend’s tightly clasped hands apart so she could hold them. The band on the bartender’s fourth finger flashed as it caught the light. Her eyes fluttered open, the sheen of vulnerability in the jade depths reminding me of the first time I ever saw her.

  I’d never forget it, though I’d never mentioned it. Not to anyone.

  My mind flashed back to another time and another place.

  I’d seen her standing in front of the reception area, the light behind framing her form in an otherworldly glow. She’d been scanning the main room, seeming familiar with her surroundings while at the same time disturbed by them.

  She wasn’t the most beautiful chick I’d ever seen, but she was definitely striking, and I’d been immediately intrigued, especially when her almond shaped eyes had lingered on the forgettable blonde. The one I’d just had, the one who’d been playing with me only because she wanted to make the man she was currently talking to jealous.

  April’s slender shoulders had fallen, and her chin had dropped to her chest. Whatever she had seen had obviously upset her. I hadn’t a clue what, but before she turned away, just for a moment, I caught a glimpse of something that had seemed eerily familiar. A flicker of what I saw as I stared into her face right now.

  Hidden strength coupled with desperate resignation.

  Then, unlike now, I’d been the only one to see what she’d been so determined to conceal. Those qualities she seemed to prefer no one see were the very things that drew me to her. I’d been disappointed when she had taken off before I had been able to approach her. I’d wandered into the Mine some time later that evening and been surprised and pleased when I’d spotted her working behind the bar without even a trace of her earlier distress, serving and bantering with the bar’s customers jammed three rows deep in front of her.

  I didn’t believe in fate or any hokey shit like that but I knew she was someone I couldn’t ignore. I felt compelled to learn her secrets. So I watched and discretely observed, anonymously admiring each new facet of her as it was revealed.

  “It’s ok.” Mel spoke the words to April, b
ut her concerned eyes were locked on mine, and her expression wasn’t hard to decipher. Bluebelle had a glowing personality, but right now she was a supernova of anger. She didn’t like seeing her confident friend looking so raw and broken, either. She brought April’s head down to her shoulder and started to stroke her hair.

  I knew exactly how Mel felt. A bone deep paralysis gripped me, a potent aftereffect of adrenaline and emotion. I had felt it before when that child molesting drug dealing bastard had almost raped Lace. “I’ll get her a bottled water,” I mumbled needing something to do, sliding smoothly through the bar opening, going straight to the under counter fridge, my hand trembling as I withdrew one.

  Yeah, well, that couldn’t be helped. What’s done was done. She was safe now, but this whole deal had been too damn close.

  I let out a ragged breath and slammed a lid on the what ifs. The two women were both on their feet when I returned. Mel had her arm threaded around April’s slender waist, and it pleased me to see that April’s beautiful eyes were back on line registering what was going on around her.

  “You ok?” I asked softly offering her the water.

  “Yeah.” She took it from me, avoiding my touch and dropping her gaze. “But I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t…” She trailed off, noticeably embarrassed. “Thank you,” she said after a moment lifting her head and peering up at me through thick lashes. My heart soared as if her gratitude was priceless while the rest of me responded to her gaze as though she’d physically touched me. She never had, but I’d imagined it plenty, which was something of an anomaly with me.

  A man could fall into those pools and drown. He could be inspired to capture the essence of her classic understated beauty with a pencil or pen if he were a talented artist like Sager. But I couldn’t touch her any more than I could draw her. It simply wasn’t possible. “Don’t thank me.” My response was brusquer than I intended. “Anyone would’ve reacted the same way.”