Lady Sings the Blues (Brimstone Lord MC Book 1)

by Sarah Zolton Arthur

  “Elise?” Maybe he should’ve been an actor instead of a bartender the way he plays the part of the concerned boyfriend so well. He takes two steps at me when I hold my hand up to stop him.

  “No, Beau. I’m fine.”

  The jerk winces. “Who told you?” There’s a hard edge to his voice now. What, he’s mad at me?

  “You’re friend, Houdini. After he called me a Hollister whore and held me down while he dry humped me from behind. So there’s that.”

  “What the fuck?” He’s squeezing his fists into white-knuckled fists.

  Apparently someone threw a wrench in his plans.

  “Yeah, you’d think that would be the low point of my day. But no—god, you had me fooled. Got your laugh, didn’t you? I spoil your fun? Found out too soon. See the way I figure, you and the rest of the town were really going to let me have it tomorrow, right? Way to put the fun in funeral.”

  “Elise. Stop. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I trusted you! You and your, ‘I know what happened,’ ha! You sure as hell do. Nice touch getting George and Margo to show up. Standing up for me with them. And Tommy and Maryanne. I can see Tommy. He was always a good friend to you. But Maryanne? Hell, I guess she always did want you. Are they even really married? Maybe you’re screwing her too.”

  “Stop.”

  “Stop? Know what, you’re right. I will stop. All this.”

  I stand from the bed, pick up my suitcase and sling my purse around my shoulders. It takes me a couple of breaths to mentally prepare, but I find the courage to walk past him out of the bedroom. Predictably he follows.

  The jerk face reaches me as I hit the front door, trapping my shoulders. “Get your hands off me now or I go to the state police and tell them you did this to me.” I threaten through gritted teeth, lightly touching my face.

  “You don’t have to do this.” He drops his hands at the same time he drops his head.

  “No. You didn’t have to do this.” Opening the door, I step outside with exactly zero ideas what I’m supposed to do next.

  He watches me. I feel him watching me walk away but don’t chance a look back until I’m down off the porch and safely a house away down the sidewalk. Just like I thought, he stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, face as hard as steel, showing no emotion.

  How could I let myself fall for his lies? I knew better. This town hates me and I walked right into it. Right into the belly of the beast.

  Five looks over my shoulder later, I find myself ducking behind a large black walnut tree in the park across from the courthouse at the rumble of bike engines taking up the entire street, riding in the direction of Mark, I mean Beau’s house. Brimstone Lords, his club’s patches visible on all their cuts.

  The sight of them heading to him has me so upset I almost blow my cover to yell at them. He wanted to embarrass me. Would I like it? No. But why did he have to break my heart? It’s five years ago all over again. I hardly had any heart left, and he destroyed it.

  My eyes. My throat. My lungs start to burn as I know I’m about to lose it. I know I’m about to lose it, and I know I don’t want to which means once the street clears, I hump it away from the park, out of the center of town keeping a low profile the three miles it takes until I find myself standing in the parking lot behind the funeral home.

  What do I have to lose? Nothing. Literally nothing left to lose for me in this town anymore. So with that thought weighing heavy and nobody around to stop me, I tug on the handle of the back metal door. It actually opens for me to walk inside. The spring on the door strains and snaps back closing me in the foyer at the mouth of a dimly lit hallway.

  Situated running perpendicular not parallel to the back door, the first room I come to has a flat stainless steel table and next to it sits an open cosmetics case. They’ll most likely bring my dad in here before his showing in the morning. Lord knows I can’t stay here.

  The next door to open smells strongly of bleach and has shelves with open bottles of various cleaners, an industrial mop bucket with a couple of mops inside it, leaning against one shelf. Since the place is closed now, I figure they’ve already cleaned for the night and drop to the floor resting my back on the wall next to the shelf, pulling my earbuds and phone from my purse.

  Listening to Vivaldi, trying to calm my nerves, I close my eyes and hope for sleep to find me. I’m tired. My body. My mind and my soul are all more tired than I think I’ve ever been in my life.

  Vivaldi surprisingly does calm me enough to fall asleep despite laying on the cold, hard concrete or knowing I’m surrounded by dead bodies.

  Though I don’t know how long I’d been out for, I find consciousness again at the sound of a woman crying. Each eye pops open independently, foggy and full of crust. I’ve woken with a kink in my back, in my neck and a severe headache.

  No one sees me peek out of the closet or move down the hallway to where the crying grows loudest right outside one of the salons. When I poke my head inside, it’s Hadley I see crying over my father’s body. Her tears, her pain—it’s all real.

  Seriously, I never thought I’d ever do this but I go to her, taking her in my arms and just hold on while she grieves the loss of her love.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

  “He’s my dad.” I shrug. “I never hated you, Hadley. I know how much you love him. We never had to be enemies, even when he chose his love for you over me. We never had to be enemies.”

  She stares as if I’d grown two more heads.

  “I’m not staying for the funeral,” I tell her. “You don’t need to deal with the town drama today. So if you don’t mind, I’ll talk to my dad and be on my way.”

  “I’ll leave you then.” She moves to the doorway of the salon.

  “Thank you. And Hadley…” She looks at me like it’s the first time she’s seeing me. “Thank you, you know, for taking care of him.”

  She blinks, walking then out the door without saying anything in response, leaving me to stand with my dead father.

  “Hey dad,” I say to him, reaching out my hand, but stop short dropping it to my side because I can’t get myself to touch him. He looks like he’s sleeping. Clean shaven. Just like the last time I’d seen him five years ago. Though slightly older. We look alike. The same sandy blond hair as my natural color. The same eyes I can’t see because his lids are sealed. God, damn it. How did we get here?

  I have to grip the side of the coffin to stabilize myself, and take in a few shuddering breaths to clear my head. I have things to say, and he’s going to hear me out. Even if he can’t actually hear. “I don’t understand why it had to be her or me. You knew why I couldn’t come back here. I just don’t understand why you couldn’t come to me, not once in five years. I lost you the same day I lost Logan and Beau. But I always thought that as long as you were healthy, I wouldn’t be alone in the world.

  “Never thought I’d lose you in such a freak accident. Made a fool of myself with the town again. Beau this time. So yeah, I really am alone in the world.” Finally tears fall freely for my father, but crying gets you nowhere. “Oh, and now I hate chocolate, too.”

  Scrubbing my hands down my face, I collect myself. “Love you anyway, dad. Always will.” Even though it creeps me out, I complete the reach inside the casket patting his arm before going, wheeling my bag behind me. Because I know if I didn’t I’d regret it for the rest of my life.

  When I slip outside the backdoor, Hadley leans against the side of the building smoking, sucking back long nervous drags until she sees me and drops the cigarette, snuffing it out with her toe.

  “If you ever need anything, call me, okay Hadley? And I mean it.”

  She smiles, but it’s weak, and nods. “How will you get home? Heard about your car.”

  “I’ll walk until I reach a Greyhound.”

  “It’s too far.”

  “I’ll be fine. You take care now.”


  But before I can get two steps, Mr. Delavigne stops me. “That was very sweet of you. Jimmy, my custodian, will drive you to the bus station.”

  It was very nice not to mention super helpful of Mr. Delavigne to have Jimmy drive me to the bus station since the closest stop was the next county over. We saw some of the Brimstone Lords out riding, and I couldn’t help wonder if Beau had them out looking for me since the best part of his revenge plot had been spoiled. They didn’t see me because who would think to look for me in a funeral home van?

  Since I’m on my way home now via bus, I’ll have to figure out another car. Perfect. Another thing to worry about. But ain’t that just my luck? I’d only finished paying that one off two months ago. I guess dropping another twenty grand on a new set of wheels is a small price to pay for not having to see Beau Hollister or his club ever again.

  And I hate that I can’t stop thinking about him. Attacked because of him. My heart broken because of him. I’m the laughing stock of Thornbriar and had to avoid my own father’s funeral because of him. Yet the way he held me. Like no time had passed. Like he was still my Beau.

  Get it out of your head, Elise. He was using you.

  Logically I know he was. But when does the heart ever concern itself with logic?

  10.

  Mark/Beau

  “Calm down, brother.” Chaos orders me as I take another swing at the wall, ploughing my fist through the drywall. The third hole I’ve made in the last five minutes.

  “She won’t answer her phone. No one could find her yesterday after she left the house. It’s like she’s fallen off the face of the fuckin’ earth, and you want me to calm down? Elise is gone. What if the Horde have her? She told me that son of a bitch Houdini attacked her. He’s dead. They’re all dead.”

  Bloodhound and Carver each grab a side forcing me into a chair.

  This time Duke gets in my face. “I understand your motives, but you brought this on yourself by not telling her the truth sooner.”

  “Don’t think I know that? It don’t matter, none of it matters if they have her. I’ll die before I let a Horde touch what’s finally mine. My Elise. After all these years.”

  “Which is why we already got Sneak on it shadowing Rage.” Rage, the piece of shit president of the Horde, spends more time gettin’ off and gettin’ high than governing his club. I can’t understand a MC prez loosin’ control of his men that way. You ain’t got respect, you might as well put a bullet in your own brain, because you’d be of that much use to the club.

  “It’s Houdini who’d have her.”

  “If he does, you think the head Horde won’t know? Sneak gets wind of anything, we’ll set Bloodhound on the scent. We’ll find her. I promise, we’ll find her.”

  I drop my head to my hands, elbows to knees, on the verge of breaking down completely. Something I’ve never done before. Not in front of my brothers, at least, when Duke drops a photograph of Dawna on my lap.

  I pick it up, staring at the face who comforted me like a mother when I couldn’t turn to my own any longer. She wasn’t even a full decade older than me, but she lived and breathed maternal instincts. We were the children—the family she knew she’d never have.

  “I ain’t good with this soft shit,” Duke says. “But do you really think she’s worth this reaction?”

  “You of all people gonna ask me that?” With the glare I level on him, if my eyes could shoot lasers, he’d be a pile of ash at my feet.

  “Seriously? We’re gonna compare old ladies here?” Duke pulls a pack of Reds from the front chest pocket of his cut. He puts a cigarette between his lips and hands one off to me before lighting up. “Fill me in,” he continues. “’Cuz I ain’t seen her do much more than cause trouble.”

  In the picture still grasped reverently between my fingers Dawna’s laughing, hair rustling lightly from a breeze. Her eyes have that familiar twinkle in them, the one she had, even on her deathbed for Duke.

  I clear my throat. “This shit’s all my fault. I never gave her the chance to prove herself. But you don’t know the kind of woman she is.”

  “Sure you do?” he asks. “Doc was a good man, and I suppose did the best he could, but maybe this is a sign to walk away.”

  “You didn’t know her back then, and you sure as hell ain’t been alone with us. Heard the things she’s said to me. Dawna was class all the way. Hard and soft exactly when she needed to be. That’s my Elise. We spent ten minutes out here while she tortured herself with how to apologize to y’all. I didn’t force her to come, she asked to come. She was worried about how her reaction would affect the respect I’ve built with the brothers.

  “After only three days, she was willin’ to give us a real shot. Even knowin’ she’d have to spend time in a town that hates her.” I shake my head slowly, and light up the cigarette Duke gave me. “Sound like a woman not worth my time? I should just walk away from?”

  “We’ll find her.” That’s all he says as he pats my shoulder a couple times then turns to leave the room.

  “I need to ride,” I tell Chaos, Bloodhound and Carver. Aside from Duke and Tommy, these are the closest men in the world to me. Brothers among brothers.

  “Anywhere in particular, or we just riding?”

  “Just me today.”

  Chaos stabs me in the face with one of his infamous Chaos looks. “Fuck that. State you’re in, you’re liable to lay your bike down. You go, I go.”

  “What about Doc’s funeral?”

  “We’ll pay our respects when you’re ready. We’ve got men already over there making sure Elise hasn’t shown up.”

  “She won’t.”

  “Probably not. But we got it covered anyway. And we have two prospects on Hadley’s house just in case. So again, we riding anywhere in particular or just riding?”

  “Just ridin’.”

  “Then lead the way, brother.”

  11.

  Elise

  It’s been two weeks. Two long, lonely weeks since I arrived home from Kentucky. I’d spent the first week constantly looking over my shoulder, worrying myself sick Beau would show up. But those fears quickly abated as I realized the likelihood of him finding me in a city the size of Chicago was next to nil. Especially considering I work from home, so no employer to track, and I sublet my apartment from my landlord whose mother died last year.

  Situated halfway between Lake Michigan and Wrigley field, the building sits smack in the middle of a prime real estate market. I got lucky. The apartment stays in her name, so he can keep on claiming those social security checks each month. A small cut to his buddy for falsifying documents and voila! I get rent control for keeping my mouth shut. Bureaucracy at its finest. It’s not my problem if he’s not smart enough to realize that he’d make a killing selling the property. So much more than he collects in those checks every month.

  We’d only spent a few days together, but my time with Maryanne showed me just how much I’d missed having girlfriends to gab with. What kind of self-respecting woman goes five years without a good-natured gossip fest?

  Really, the only woman I know is Livvy. And I haven’t even seen her in person before. She works with me at the phone sex line, and we found out we were both in the same online finance class at DePaul. She’d asked me several times to meet up for a drink, but I’ve just been so closed off to people for so long and what kind of conversation do you have with a woman you’ve had a phone sex threesome with? I’ve sucked her virtual nipple into my mouth. And those threesomes are strictly off the cuff. So what if she thinks I really flow that way and that’s the reason she wants to meet?

  A person’s into what they’re into. I’m not judging, but that’s not my scene. At all. Although I did find it exciting when Mark—I mean Beau—slapped my bottom during sex. That I liked. I can’t think about that, though. The numerous things I liked sexually or otherwise with that man.

  What’s Livvy’s number? Scrolling through my contacts, I hit the call button before chickening out. She pick
s up on the third ring.

  “Elise?” I forgot she’d said she programmed my number in her phone. “This is a surprise. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Now I really feel like a heel for not being nicer. Her concern sounds like all she wanted was to be my friend, nothing concerning hookups. I’m an idiot. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out finally.”

  “I’d love that. What are you doing tonight? There’s this new club, Scepter, if you’re into that scene. Or there’s this old bar—a real hole in the wall—my brother and I used to hang out in before he moved away. Moe’s. It’s a dump but the booze is cheap, the people are friendly and they let you get up and sing karaoke if you know the words because it’s not a karaoke bar.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I tell her, trying real hard for her to pick up on my enthusiasm without sounding too enthused. It’s a delicate balance.

  “Give me an hour. Will that work?” Livvy asks.

  “Sure. But um—how will I know you?”

  “I’ll be the one with the strawberry blonde hair and a bright yellow tube top,” she says.

  She gives me the address before we hang up, and I jump into the shower with a smile on my face. The first smile I’ve smiled in two weeks.

  Smokey eyes lined in black kohl, thick volumizing mascara. I let my long golden blonde locks fall wild in loose waves down my back. Why am I putting all this effort in when I’m just going out for drinks with a girlfriend? Maybe I’m hoping as I slide my black tank top on under the cut up to hell black cotton and lace T-shirt which hangs off one shoulder, and the miniest denim miniskirt I’ve ever worn in my life—a recent retail therapy purchase to help me forget Beau, which ironically looks more biker chick than anything I own—with a slit up each thigh and my black booties, that maybe I’ll meet someone who can help me forget about Beau Hollister, at least for the night.