Diminished (Winter's Wrath Book 2)

by Bianca Sommerland

  Pulse quickening, Brave eased forward, letting his tone drop to the deep growl that filled his bed almost every night. “You’re hot all scary. Tell me what you’re gonna do. I’m already hard.”

  “You would be.” Malakai shoved away, clenching his fist and staring at Brave like he was very tempted to knock him the fuck out. “We both know Tate will do what he wants. Hurt him and I’ll bury you.”

  “I make no promises.” Brave smirked, arching a brow. Which wasn’t smart because, without the compress, it started bleeding again. He sighed and grabbed the shirt as blood trailed hot over his eye. “And the girl?”

  “That you’re even asking proves you haven’t changed at all.” Malakai’s expression changed and Brave wanted to take it all back. Rather than anger, regret flashed in the man’s eyes before he walked away. Maybe he’d felt the shift in their relationship too and hoped things would get better.

  With a few words, Brave had ruined any chance that they could be friends again.

  But at least he knew exactly where things stood between them. Friendship with Malakai came with many perks, but Brave didn’t meet his standards in any sense of the word. And he didn’t need protection.

  Keep your enemies close and all that. When Malakai saw him as a rival, as a threat, Brave could just be himself. He’d tried to change and it hadn’t done any good.

  So maybe he should stop.

  Hell, even Reese wanted the old him. Being wicked and reckless worked with the fans. Fit the music. Who he was on stage was all anyone cared about.

  Who was he trying to impress anyway? He’d wanted to be better when he’d almost lost Alder, but his brother didn’t need him. Not when he had Danica and Jesse.

  If that changed he’d do what he could, but he was done turning himself inside out for people who’d paint him with the same brush no matter what he did.

  Even now he could hear Valor laughing at him for trying.

  “This lifestyle doesn’t last, bro. And everything you put into it means fuck all. Today they love you. Tomorrow you might as well be dead.” Valor’s bloodshot eyes met Brave’s. Brave had just read a review about one of their songs and he needed his big brother to tell him they had something to offer the world.

  The review had cut deep. He knew better than to read them but he couldn’t help it. He cared what people thought about the music he’d worked so hard to put out there.

  “Why bother then? People hate us!” Brave dropped the magazine on the table and slumped in the seat next to his brother, looking around at the dirty motel room where they were spending the night. He hadn’t slept in days. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a decent meal. Probably last Friday, on his nineteenth birthday. Only the guys got him so wasted he hadn’t kept much down.

  Brave sacrificed everything for the band. His relationship with his parents, his chance at a normal life. And hadn’t thought twice about putting his faith in his brother.

  But that was back when Valor’s drive went beyond satisfying his addictions. The band’s earnings on the road barely covered gas money, but their sole album sold enough to cover travel and merchandise for another month. Brave had carefully worked out the budget, but Valor had trashed it in a day. He refused to let Brave’s plans cut into their drug money.

  Feeding Valor’s vices limited the band’s opportunities.

  Still, Brave struggled to find ways for them to succeed. His cut had gone to pay for their last recording. He’d scrimped on meals to save up for more studio time. They were putting out one song every six months. Not enough to keep them relevant. He wasn’t as strung out as the rest of the guys, but a few pills kept him from getting hungry. Valor didn’t mind sharing his drugs.

  But if Brave passed out on stage again, would they leave him behind? He dropped his head to his hands. “Valor, what are we doing? We almost got signed last week, but you showed up late and—”

  “And what? Dude, don’t start with me.” Valor snorted another line, then straightened. “You want to be a good boy? Go home. You want to be part of this band, how about some fucking gratitude? That pussy you nailed last night gave it up because you’re one of us. The drugs, the reputation, the fucking sweet ass lifestyle we get to enjoy? That’s why we’re doing this.”

  “We can do more. Our music can—”

  “Can what? Make an impact? Become classic shit?” Blood trickled from Valor’s nose. He swiped it away with a laugh. “You can’t pay the bills with those dreams, kid. Wake up. That legacy you want won’t happen. But getting that next high, that hot mouth on your dick? That’s today. And tomorrow. Enjoy it before you get old and regret not living it up.”

  Brave stared at his brother, who already looked old. ‘Living it up’ had his eyes sunken in, his skin a sickly yellow and his long hair thin and greasy. Only twenty-four, but their father could pass as younger than him.

  He used to admire his big brother, but there wasn’t much to look up to anymore.

  The band meant too much for Brave to give up now, though. Jaw clenched, he met Valor’s unfocused eyes. “I’m grateful, but you’re not gonna have the money for all the shit you love so much if this keeps up.”

  “So what do you suggest? I’m all ears.”

  “We double our shows. Get a few new songs out.” Brave’s excitement grew as Valor nodded and motioned for him to go on. The man was actually listening. “If we practice more our sound will improve and we’ll get new fans. I could work out a schedule and—”

  “Fucking ambitious, aren’t you?” Valor looked down at the white streaked mirror on the table. His eyes suddenly went wild. “What the fuck? Did you take my dust, man?”

  “No, you finished it. You know I wouldn’t—” Brave’s blood ran cold as his brother’s hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard. “I wouldn’t, Valor. I swear I wouldn’t.”

  “Not gonna try to save me, little brother?” Valor bent over him, tightening his grip even more. He let out a thin laugh as Brave clawed at his hands. “Because that would be stupid.”

  “I know.” Brave’s eyes teared. Red spotted his vision. “Please stop—”

  The band came in, shouting as they wrestled Valor off him. Skull helped Brave out of the motel room, cursing Valor under his breath.

  His brother’s cutting laughter followed him long after the door slammed between them.

  “He thinks he’s better than me. Thinks he’s better than us all.”

  Pressing hard on his eye, Brave forced his mind back to the present. A present where he was so fucking lost. He’d proven he was better than Valor. Hell, not long after his brother attacked him, Brave stopped doing hard drugs. He’d practiced all the time, even though the rest of the band ditched him to party more often than not. Skull found him a vocal coach, stuck close when Valor was fucked up, and became his biggest supporter for years after.

  Live On Satan’s Time never got big, but they’d gained a decent following. Had a good run before Valor died.

  And now Brave had Winter’s Wrath fulfilling all his dreams. His hard work meant something. Fine, he and the guys weren’t buddies, but they shared one goal. Were all willing to work hard to accomplish it.

  Beyond that, nothing else mattered.

  The door opened and Tate came into the rehearsal room, carrying a big white box. Not the one from the van. “Sorry it took so long. The van was gone, but I hunted down the owner of this place and he gave me this.”

  “That was cool of you, Tate. Thanks.” Brave dropped the shirt. “I’m good, though.”

  Tate frowned at him as the cut proved him a liar and started bleeding again. Only a little, but enough to need patching up. “Sure you are. Shit, you probably need stitches. I ain’t no doctor. Where’s Malakai?”

  “He’s not a doctor either.”

  “No, but he’s smarter than me. He could figure out how to fix you.”

  He could try. Brave shook his head. “I can do it myself if you don’t want to.”

  “I want to, I’m just not g
ood at anyth—”

  “Stop talking shit about my favorite drummer.” Brave’s grinned as Tate ducked his head. Was hard not to love the kid. And, unlike the rest of the band, Tate didn’t need more than a little encouragement now and then.

  That I can do.

  “Check if there’s tape or something in there. Should work.”

  “Okay…” Tate opened the med kit on the floor, rifling through it until he found a small box of Second Skin. He held it up. “This good?”

  “Perfect.” Brave held still as Tate moved close, gently applying the clear bandage, legs framing one of Brave’s, practically in his lap. His thigh brushing Brave’s cock was a nice distraction from the throb of pain in his face.

  That part of his body showing interest was bad news.

  He tried to shift back.

  “Hold still.” Tate murmured, pressing against him a little more. “Just need to smooth it out a bit.”

  Shit. Brave wet his lips with his tongue, doing his best to ignore his swelling cock. It hadn’t gotten any action in a while. And clearly hadn’t forgotten how good Tate’s tight, hot, willing body felt.

  But Brave had fucked Tate when he’d been on a downward spiral. When he stopped giving a shit about everything and everyone. They hadn’t even discussed that day since. Not alone anyway.

  When he’d bared his damn soul to the band about Valor, about how messed up he was and what he was willing to do to fix shit, Tate had brought up them having sex once. Brave brushed the incident off as a one-time mistake.

  Because using Tate had been a really bad idea. He’d wanted to hurt Jesse. Hurt Malakai. Not for any reason that made any damn sense, but what’s done was done.

  The way Tate moved his thigh against Brave’s erection, he clearly didn’t feel the same. The contact wasn’t accidental. The kid wasn’t good at being sneaky.

  “I think you’re done, Tate.” Brave took a firm grip on Tate’s arms when he wiggled even closer. “Stop.”

  “You sure?” Tate flashed him a wicked grin and glanced down at the outline of Brave’s dick in his tight jeans. “No one’s coming back up here.”

  “I’m sure.” Brave pushed to his feet, setting Tate away from him. “Why you starting this shit again? You know it ain’t happening.”

  Tate’s grin faded. “Oh… I didn’t know you didn’t want me anymore.”

  Damn it, now I feel like an asshole. “Tate, you’re fucking hot. Anyone would want you. And the right person will—”

  “Shit, I’m not in love with you or anything.” Tate raked his fingers through the long spill of golden-brown hair at the top of his head, letting it fall over the shaved part and forward to cover one eye. “I’m not looking for ‘the right person’. Just figured we could have some fun.”

  “You can have fun with any groupie. Find a cute girl. Or guy.” Why the hell were they even having this conversation? Tate knew how things were with the band. “I go near you and people get pissed.”

  “No one needs to know.”

  “The answer is no, kid. Sorry.”

  “S’all good.” Tate shrugged and backed away from him. “But I saw how you looked at the new girl. You think the guys will be pissed if you mess with me? They’ll go mental if you touch her.”

  “I wasn’t planning to.” And he really wasn’t. He was no good for her. Or Tate.

  Or anyone.

  “Okay. Understood.” Tate continued to the door. “But just so you know, the offer’s on the table.”

  Long after the drummer was gone, Brave simply stood there, staring at the closed door. And picturing the one Tate had left wide open.

  He should slam it shut. Forget about it.

  The band was his priority. The one time he’d let his focus slip, he’d almost lost everything. He couldn’t risk going there again.

  But he couldn’t deny Tate’s offer was tempting.

  “No one needs to know.”

  He’d been good for so long. Sure, he still fucked the odd groupie, but he was tired of the same old routine. Picking some random guy or girl for a quickie. Fuck, the last few times he didn’t even get off. It was nothing but another performance. Another service to the fans.

  For once he wanted pleasure that wasn’t tied to who he had to be every minute of every day. He didn’t know who he was beyond the band. He didn’t have time to figure that out.

  But some time with someone who didn’t give a shit what his name was? Hell, even if they were using him, it would be a nice change.

  Tate could give him that. No questions. No expectations.

  For some fucked up reason, he remembered Malakai, leaning over him, whispering in his ear. That hard body that could hurt him bad. How fucked up was he that the idea turned him on?

  If he was getting hard thinking about Malakai, one thing was very clear.

  He needed to get laid. The way he used to.

  No limits.

  No holds barred.

  And no fucking regrets.

  Chapter Seven

  This world was so messed up. One day, only a small portion spent with the band, and Shiori had to admit she was in way over her head. The information coming at her, from how to deal with the opening bands, to after parties and groupies and what was okay to do in the bus bathroom made her head hurt. The roadies were like family, but she shouldn’t be alone with them. The guys in the band would respect her, but she had to watch what she said.

  Shiori loved Danica. And Jesse was great. Being around Alder was still a little weird, but she liked him. He looked tired all the time, didn’t talk much, but he was polite and treated both Jesse and Danica like they were his everything.

  But after a couple hours with the three of them, she needed a break. She felt like a third—fourth?—wheel, and she couldn’t add anything to Danica’s sporadic rants about Sophie taking over her life, or how out of line Reese apparently was.

  The band had decided to leave tomorrow, so Danica was staying at the hotel for another night. She’d convinced Alder and Jesse to join her. And, of course, Shiori should as well.

  No ‘of course’ about it. Shiori cleared her throat.

  “Please don’t be mad, but I need to stay on the bus.” Shiori looked down at her half-eaten plate of grilled chicken and vegetables. Danica had found them a quiet little restaurant in downtown Detroit. Had been really nice when Shiori asked what would be okay to eat.

  Now that she was a contracted model, Shiori figured she should be more careful with her diet. She had no idea how she’d manage that on the road, but Danica promised to teach her.

  Awesome. Danica would be with her for the beginning of the tour. Maybe longer.

  But Shiori needed to figure out how to manage on her own. Just in case Danica did decide to take the opportunities Sophie had set up for her. She also sensed that the trio needed some time alone.

  Danica frowned and set her fork on the plate she’d barely touched. “I’m not mad, but… Sweetie, today was rough. Why not give yourself more time?”

  “If I stay tonight and it’s horrible, I can still go back to the hotel. Or decide this lifestyle isn’t for me and go home.” Shiori took a deep breath. “Tomorrow we’ll be on the road. I need to see if I can do this while I still have a way out.”

  “You’ll always have a way out.” Jesse cut a piece of steak, eyeing Alder and Danica’s full plates and shaking his head. “But I get it. Time to take off the training wheels.”

  “Exactly.” Damn, she was happy Jesse was here. He had a way of keeping things simple. And when he worded things just right, neither Danica or Alder tended to argue with him.

  But this time, Alder decided to speak up. “You punched Brave. Are you sure you’re ready to face him alone?”

  Can’t we forget I did that? Shiori had tried really hard to. No one had mentioned the altercation since, which gave her some hope. If she let herself think about it, she’d start packing her bags.

  Fine, Brave had goaded her. Reese had pretty much demanded she hit him. In
that moment she’d been so angry she’d reacted, not holding back. Something in her snapped and she’d checked out for a bit after. She remembered Danica leading her away. Remembered washing her hands in the bathroom. Seeing blood in the water. One of the rings Danica leant her had wicked little spikes on it. She’d hurt him.

  Part of her wanted to apologize.

  Another part wondered if he deserved it.

  Which was cruel. Not like her at all.

  She poked at her food with her fork, completely miserable. Given half the chance she would have faced him already. Forgetting what had happened would make her life easier. Facing him—and the rest of the band—with Danica backing her up even more so.

  But she wouldn’t gain their respect hiding behind Danica. She’d meant what she’d said to the other woman. Either she figured out if she could do this now or she might as well go home.

  What else can I say to make them understand?

  Jesse stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. “She won’t be alone. I’ll bring her back to the bus. Make sure she’s okay and ask Malakai to keep an eye on her.”

  Alder’s brow furrowed. “Malakai?”

  Jesse inclined his head. “Yeah. Didn’t you hear? She gave Tate candy when he was messed up. Malakai is her biggest fan.”

  He is? Shiori scrambled to pull on her own jacket, not sure what to make of how quickly Alder and Danica dropped the subject. Shortly after they were saying goodnight, grabbing a cab back to the hotel while she and Jesse took another to the bus.

  Before Jesse could get out of the cab, Shiori put her hand on his arm. “I don’t want you to come in.”

  “Why?” Jesse didn’t seem upset. Or even overly concerned.

  She took a deep breath. “I appreciate everything Danica’s done. Everything she will do while we’re on tour. But she can’t fight all my battles for me. She can’t force Reese, or the band, or the fans to like me. I have to do that on my own.”

  “And we’ve kinda taken over.” Jesse sighed, gesturing for the cabbie to wait a minute. “I get what you’re saying, but would it hurt to have Malakai nearby?”