The Complete Tempest World Box Set

by Mankin, Michelle

  The crowd roared their approval.

  Why couldn’t I get all breathless and fluttery inside for War anymore? With his studded belt, low-slung dark jeans, and crooked smile, what wasn’t there to like?

  Nothing. Only he wasn’t Bryan.

  My attention swung to his counterpart at center stage.

  Bryan’s guitar hung crotch-level low. With his light eyes half-shielded by heavy lids, his expression was sublime as he played, entirely in his element. It was a look I’d seen before in a much more intimate setting.

  My cheeks warmed at the memory.

  The sound of voices backstage drew my attention away. An intense Marcus Anthony was talking to someone I didn’t recognize, a suited executive type. The mid-thirties brunette had a curvy figure and wore a stylish Marc Jacobs charcoal-gray pinstripe suit with a really cool pair of T-strap pointy-toed pumps with four-inch spike heels.

  Her brows drew together as she asked, “Is she all right?”

  “She’ll be okay. Sam and Trevor are back with her.” Marcus gathered the ends of his shoulder-length hair into his fist. “Avery’s a professional.”

  The suit put her hand on Marcus’s arm, and his entire expression softened. A moment later, I saw why as Avery Jones appeared, went straight to him, and melted into his arms. Her eyes were red-rimmed.

  I wondered what all the drama was about, but when she looked over in my direction, I threw my hair over my shoulder dismissively. I didn’t really care what her problem was. I had more important things to worry about than that haughty bitch. She’d probably just broken a fingernail.

  Tugging at the jagged material at the end of my sleeves, I checked the rest of my outfit one more time. Strategic flesh-colored inserts covered everything important up top. My belt hung just right, low around the hips of my skintight jeans. It was all good.

  I blinked as a camera flashed next to me. Kimberly had just taken another picture of the guys. I’d wanted to strangle War when he introduced me to the Rolling Stone photographer. Like I needed any more pressure, knowing that the magazine was covering the very event where I was to make my debut.

  “Kimberly, how are you?” A handsome middle-aged man with steely blue eyes, deep dimple grooves, and close-cropped gray hair approached her and held out his hand.

  “Charles Morris,” Kimberly said. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought this was a Black Cat affair.”

  “It’s a concert, Kim.” He raised a brow. “As far as I know, those are open to the public.”

  “All right, Atlanta.” War’s voice boomed over the venue’s speaker system. “Help me welcome former Tempest songstress, Lace Lowell, to the stage.”

  I spun back around.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  My heart raced from nerves and from the line of coke War and I had done earlier.

  Holding my shoulders back, I made my way out to him, willing my hands not to tremble. War took them in his and kissed my cheek before leading me to the piano. The weight of an arena’s worth of stares draped heavily on me. For a scary moment, I thought I might puke, but luckily, it passed.

  Taking a careful sip of air, I settled onto the piano bench. As I lifted my head, my eyes met Bryan’s. His gaze was warm, and he gave me an encouraging smile.

  I can do this.

  I placed my fingers on the keys and began to play the song that I’d written for him. My voice rang out steady and sure. I sounded really good.

  Seconds later, I relaxed into the song, and by the time I reached the chorus, I could feel the electrified hush that had fallen over the arena.

  Wow. Cool.

  War was at my side as soon as I finished. “You nailed it, Lacey,” he said in my ear, right before thundering applause rained down on us.

  My face broke out into a wide smile.

  War took my hand and led me to center stage. “Miss Lace Lowell,” he repeated into the mic after the applause died down. “And Tempest.” The guys all gathered around, and the six of us took a bow together.

  “It’s a fucking rush, ain’t it, babe?” War asked as he guided me off the stage with his arm around my shoulders.

  “It’s amazing,” I said, buzzing from the adrenaline still rippling through my body. Right this moment, I felt like nothing was out of my reach.

  “Warren Jinkins,” an authoritative voice said, jarring me from my reverie.

  It was the same brunette executive I’d seen earlier with Marcus, only this time she looked pissed as she beckoned War. “Come with me.” She turned, her heels clacking on the hardwoods as she said sternly, “You too, Miss Lowell.”

  I looked at War, but he’d already moved to follow. Surprised, I scurried to his side, never having seen him so intimidated by anyone.

  We followed the exec back through the busy corridor. Her shoulders stiff, she led us to an empty dressing room and then turned to face us.

  Her light gray eyes flashed at me. “Who gave you permission to be out on that stage tonight?”

  “I did. She’s one of us,” War said. “She used to be in the band.”

  “Warren.” Mary shushed him with an abrupt hand motion and frowned. “This is not a high school talent show. Are you the one paying the nightly rent on this facility? Do you sign the paychecks for this tour?”

  His lips flat and brows drawn together, War shook his head.

  Mary stepped closer. Even though she had to peer up at him, there was no doubt in my mind that she was totally in charge. “You may think you’re some wild stallion, but the fact is that you’re not. You’re just another horse in my stable. You ever pull a stunt like that again without my prior approval, and I’ll turn you into a gelding. You get where I’m going with this?”

  War nodded again. I was surprised he didn’t say yes, ma’am.

  Then those gray eyes brimming with confidence turned back on me.

  Uh-oh. I gulped, fighting the urge to squirm under her scrutiny.

  “That said, I want to talk to Lace for a minute.”

  War moved toward me protectively.

  “Alone,” Mary said, giving him a sharp look, and he hurried out of the room like his ass was on fire.

  When War was gone, Mary took in a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You were actually quite good out there.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Why haven’t I heard of you?” Mary muttered more to herself than me.

  I shrugged.

  She frowned and typed into her phone. I heard the bloop of an outgoing text message. “You could benefit from some voice lessons, though. You’re raw, but clearly talented.” She fixed me with a level stare. “Have you ever thought about a career in the music industry?”

  The way the CEO studied me, I had a strong feeling that how I answered was really important. “I have. In fact, it’s something I’ve always dreamed of doing.”

  “Solo?” Mary’s eyes narrowed. “No band or boyfriend to back you up. Just you at center stage, win or lose. Think you could handle that?”

  I raised my chin. “Absolutely.”

  Mary’s brows rose, and she studied me for a moment more. “All right then. Beth Tate, one of my execs, is flying down tomorrow. I want to sit down and talk with you formally in Orlando.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Bryan

  I checked the apartment number against the text from War, wondering what was up with all the cloak-and-dagger shit. I knocked, and the door immediately swung open. An attractive woman with a low-cut blouse and a Bluetooth device clipped above her ear swiped her finger over an iPad.

  “Welcome, Mr. Jackson. Zenith Productions and Mr. Morris are pleased you could come. Bar’s in the corner. And if there’s anything else you feel that you need or require, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll make it happen.”

  I nodded as I scanned the swanky setup. It eclipsed the meet-and-greet affairs we’d had so far on the tour.

  The apartment was spacious and modern with dark hardwood floors, mu
ltiple seating areas, and chrome and glass fixtures. The DJ’s mix featured a heavy bass line that permeated the entire space. Guests packed the place, most dressed a hell of a lot fancier than I was in my navy button-down and jeans. I wandered in, my gaze drifting to the balcony and the intriguing view of downtown Atlanta.

  The more intriguing scenery was inside, though.

  Wearing the same sexy outfit that she’d worn onstage, Lace was perched on the edge of a wide white chaise next to War. His long legs were sprawled out in front of him. He noticed me and waved me over.

  The man they were talking to turned and offered his hand confidently. “Charles Morris. Zenith Productions.”

  I gave War a puzzled look. What was he doing here at a party thrown by another label?

  “You’re a hell of a guitar player,” Morris told me with a respectful chin dip. “I’ll tell you up front what I told War. I want you both, and Zenith will make it worth your while to break from Black Cat.”

  His gaze went back to War.

  “I’ll let you fill Mr. Jackson in on the finer details. I’ll give you another call in a couple of days.” He shook War’s hand, then mine, and kissed Lace’s cheek. “I’ve got other business to attend to, but we’ll talk soon.”

  Once Morris had faded back into the crowd, I turned to War. “What the hell kind of game are you playing? You know we have an exclusive contract with Black Cat.”

  War’s eyebrows went up. “No deal’s ironclad. I’m just exploring all my options. There are always buyout clauses, and Morris says he’s willing to pay them to get us out. Tempest is a major deal now, Bullet. Rolling Stone may do a feature on us. We have a top-ten hit, but Black Cat’s still treating us like we’re second tier. We should be headlining our own tour, man. Fuck, we don’t even have a music video yet.”

  I considered that for a moment. “What do the other guys think?”

  War polished off his drink and handed the tumbler casually to Lace. “Could you get me a refill, babe?”

  Lace’s eyes narrowed, but she did as he asked.

  “The other guys aren’t included in this deal,” War said in a low, confidential tone when she’d gone. “This offer is just for you and me.”

  “What the fuck?” My heart thumped hard against my ribs.

  War looked so nonchalant sitting there planning a deal that would leave the rest of the guys in the group behind. This wasn’t taking care of your friends. It made me wonder how well I’d ever really known him.

  “Bullet, wake up.” War stood, and the toes of his boots touched mine. He swayed, his pupils mere pinpoints. He was wasted again. “This is just business. Zenith’s offering ten times what Black Cat’s paying. You and I write most of the songs anyway. Face it, the other guys are replaceable.”

  “Bullshit.” I leaned in, my hands balling into fists. “This is bullshit, War. You’re forgetting that Dizzy was the one who came up with the riff on ‘We’re Through.’ That riff makes the song what it is. Not to mention that he’s a solid rhythm guitarist. Sager and King pull their weight too. They lay the foundation that gives you the freedom to do the improvising you like to do. Tempest works the way it is. The five of us work . . . you said so yourself just the other day. What the hell’s going on with you?”

  War finally had the decency to look uncomfortable. My gaze slid to Lace, who was watching us from the bar, her pretty mouth pinched into a worried frown.

  “What about her, War? What’s Lace gonna say when she finds out you’re going to stab her brother in the back?” Glaring at him, I dug my hands deep into my pockets and cursed my bad luck that I found no cigarettes. I needed a smoke in a bad way right now.

  “She’s getting her own contract with Zenith out of this.” War shrugged. “She’ll come around about the rest eventually.”

  “You’re fucking deluding yourself if you think that’s gonna happen.”

  War straightened to his full height. He was leaner but a half inch taller than me, something we used to joke about, but I didn’t feel like joking now. “She’ll understand I did what I had to do.”

  “What’s going on?” Lace returned with War’s drink and glanced between the two of us.

  “Nothing, Lacey. Just guy talk. Right, Bullet?”

  I didn’t answer. I stared at War for a long time, feeling completely sucker punched by his actions. My best friend seemed to have suddenly morphed into someone completely different.

  Or maybe the problem was me. Maybe I’d turned a blind eye to the subtle changes in him over the past two years. Fame was a rabid bitch that had bitten War. I wondered how long it would be before he decided I was expendable too.

  My gaze tipped to Lace. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, but you were really great tonight. You were meant to be up on that stage.”

  “Thank you,” she said, looking embarrassed.

  “I’d better get going.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s late. I wanna hit the gym early in the morning.” I hit her with a meaningful look.

  She dipped her head. Message received.

  “I’m heading back to the hotel.” My gaze slid back to War. “I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Lace

  Stunned, I stared down at War as he knelt on one knee on the carpet in our hotel room, an open velvet ring box in his hand. I couldn’t believe he’d just proposed to me.

  “Lace,” he said. His brown eyes were warm, but he cocked his head to the side, seeming surprised that I hadn’t tackled him in enthusiastic acceptance.

  “Yes.” I nodded instead, giving him a tremulous smile as I held out my hand.

  War slid the pear-shaped diamond ring on my finger, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me long and hard.

  Being engaged to War would give me the security and respectability I craved. I knew he loved me, and I knew him. He wasn’t Martin. There wouldn’t be any surprises. War wasn’t cruel, not completely. Those were the things I told myself quickly and in rapid succession.

  Why then did I feel so unsettled and unsure?

  He’d completely caught me off guard. I hadn’t been expecting anything like this. That was part of it, for sure. There hadn’t been any hints leading up to this.

  And he’d been acting a little weird, distracted and checking his cell a lot since Bryan left the Morris party. I didn’t know what was up with War. I couldn’t read him like I’d once been able to.

  Why did I have this niggling suspicion that the Morris deal had something to do with the timing of his proposal?

  War pulled back from me and favored me with a wide smile. “We should celebrate.”

  He moved to the safe and pulled out a leather pouch. He dumped the contents on the desk, placing a brown blob on a small piece of tinfoil. Holding a lighter underneath the foil, he heated it up.

  Glancing at me, he asked, “You sure you don’t want at least a little hit tonight?”

  I shook my head, though my mouth went dry with longing as the heroin liquefied and I inhaled the familiar fumes. My hands shook as I turned away. “No. I’m okay.”

  I stood with my back to him and looked out the window. The lights of downtown Atlanta were softened by the coming dawn, but there wasn’t anything soft about my heart. It was pounding its way out of my chest with desire for that little hit that I’d refused.

  Behind me, I heard each of War’s practiced movements. I knew without looking when he reached the point of drawing up the seductive liquid to a syringe. My resolve rapidly dissolving, I turned around.

  “Change your mind?” War’s eyes met mine.

  I nodded. What did it matter, anyway? I closed my eyes as if that would keep me from knowing what I’d become. Feeling worthless, I crossed to him and held out my arm.

  He lifted my chin, his gaze moving across my face. “It’s just a tiny dose. I’ve been lowering the amount each time, just like you wanted.”

  War tied off the tourniquet, his eyes already heavy lidded as he bent over my arm. He’d a
lready had his dose.

  Anticipation swirled in my belly as I watched the needle enter my skin. The effect was almost immediate. My brain detached from the world around me as the warm euphoric haze descended. I didn’t even notice when War removed the needle.

  • • •

  When I woke up later, I was curled up on my side. War was sprawled out on his stomach in a pair of black boxers on the bed beside me.

  I glanced at the bedside clock. Seven a.m. The dose must have been really small. I’d only been out a few hours, but War was snoring, indifferent to the world around him. He didn’t even stir when I slipped out of bed.

  In the bathroom, I stripped out of my clothes and looked at myself in the mirror. I’d lost twenty pounds over the past year. Food, fashion, passion, music . . . all were losing their appeal. Everything in my life now took second place to my desire to get high.

  Disgusted with myself, I turned from the harsh truth that stared back at me from the mirror.

  A junkie. As bad as my mother had ever been.

  My life that once had so much potential was circling the drain.

  If only I’d refused that first hit when Martin offered, maybe things would have turned out differently. But I’d been too weak. It had been so much easier to give in to the belief that I was as worthless as my mother had always made me feel, than to fight the battle for my self-respect.

  I showered and dressed, pausing for a moment to glance down at the sparkling gem on my left hand. I’d made my decision, hadn’t I? Yet after only a cursory glance at War, I found myself tiptoeing quietly out of the hotel room and heading downstairs for my rendezvous with Bryan.

  On the elevator ride down to the workout room, I used a rubber band to secure my hair into a sloppy bun, but avoided looking at my guilty reflection in the mirrored wall. When the door finally opened, I let out a heavy sigh.

  Avery.

  Great. She was the last person I wanted to see right now. And besides, what the hell was she doing down here on the workout level with Bryan, anyway?