The Complete Tempest World Box Set

by Mankin, Michelle

  A lightbulb went on in my head remembering a liner note I had once read. “The Spinmeisters’ It’s Not Easy album.”

  “Yes, Mr. Reed that is correct. Also, I will throw in an additional incentive. As you may have already heard, Brutal Strength is pulling out of their upcoming tour of the states because of a legitimate family emergency. If the songs I get from you are of the caliber I expect then I would be willing to give you their dates...as headliners.”

  My eyes widened in surprise. This was colossal. Brutal Strength was an A-list band that played only major venues. Our portion of ticket sales would be much larger than what we had received when we opened for them on the last tour. I looked at King. His brows were high, too.

  War leaned an elbow on the table and swept a gaze brimming with obvious excitement over each of us starting with Bryan. “What do you say? I’m totally in, but I don’t make unilateral decisions anymore. Up to you guys what you want to do.”

  “I’m in.” Bryan agreed.

  “Definitely,” Dizzy said.

  “For sure.” King nodded.

  “Me, too,” I told Mary.

  “Very well, then.” She pushed back from the table straightening her jacket after she stood. “I’ll need you each to sign a sub clause to your contracts that I’ll have the legal department draw up immediately.” She scooped the file from the table and tucked it under her arm. “I’ll send a car round to pick you up in three hours.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Melinda

  “Hey, Dad,” I answered my cell and bit back an irritated sigh. He had been flooding my voicemail. I had been purposefully ignoring the messages. I should have assigned my dad a distinctive ringtone ages ago.

  “Melinda T. Belle,” he began.

  Oh, crap. I tossed my ski jacket onto the bed and dropped down beside it. Why couldn’t it be Sager on the line instead? His encouraging words earlier had helped a lot. They had gotten me through a really exhausting day. I had been hoping he would ring again to check on me. I wasn’t too keen on being the one to initiate another needy sounding distress call. I didn’t like asking for help. Years of having my struggles ignored by my father had conditioned me. I preferred to flounder rather than be rejected.

  “What’s up?” I grumbled, not really relishing an answer.

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Sorry, dad. You’re gonna have to give me more to go on than that.” I had obviously done something to piss him off. In my mind the list of possibilities was endless.

  “I just got off the phone with Jeremy. He told me he had let you go because of all the sass you were throwing around with the Reginald and Stitch design team. Is that accurate?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I replied as neutrally as I could. I was tired. I had come home to find the fridge empty, and my roommate had given me grief about not doing my share of the housework. I wasn’t really in the frame of mind to be diplomatic.

  “After all the strings I had to pull to get him to take you on in the first place?”

  “I know, Dad.” My stomach churned nothing but acid roiling around in it since I hadn’t eaten anything since toast at breakfast the day before. “I appreciate that, but what you don’t know is...”

  “I don’t care about your excuses, Melinda. Excuses have been your fallback since the moment you learned to string words together. You’re as flighty as your mom was. No practical plans for the future. Head in the clouds. Always chasing after the next big thrill. I’ve had about all I can take of it. I want you home tonight…before you get yourself killed. I’m coming to get you.” I heard the jingle of keys. “I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

  “No, Daddy.” My chest squeezed so tight I could barely breathe. His were the criticisms that cut the deepest. Repeated ones. Ones with just enough truth in them to make me bleed. He loved me, I knew that, and he had good intentions, but his approval had always been conditional upon me doing what he wanted me to do. “I’m staying. I appreciate your concern, but this is something I have to do. My friends understand. Sager said…”

  “Who the hell is that?” He didn’t give me a chance to reply. “Oh yeah, the Tempest bassist. I warned you about stirring up trouble within that band. I surely hope you aren’t foolish enough to go down that same path again. You’ll find yourself on the losing side once more.”

  “No, Daddy of course not,” I mumbled.

  “Tell me you’re not sleeping with him. Guys like that will tell you whatever you want to hear. Parker. The hockey player. How many men does that make for you this month?” I closed my eyes feeling my head pound as he continued to rant. “I thought the promiscuity was just a rebellious thing for you. A phase that would pass. Like with the skiing.” A hot tear escaped but it didn’t scald me the way his words did. “When are you going to grow up?”

  “That’s rich coming from you,” I said bitterly. “You can barely make coffee in the morning for yourself. And if we’re tallying up lovers, how many have you had in your bed this week?”

  “That’s different.” He sputtered. “I’ve been married. I’m a grown man. I’m your father. You’re just a girl. My little girl. You don’t have the wisdom that life experience affords. You can’t possibly know what’s best for you.”

  “Maybe, but that’s my call to make though, isn’t it? I’m nineteen now. This is my life, Daddy. You have to let me live it.” The silence on his end was deafening. My heart thumped loudly inside my ears. Doubts resurfaced. I had wiped out twice on the high banks this afternoon. I had bruises on my bruises. Then this thing with Sager. The ups and downs of it. The elation when he called. The despair when he didn’t. The constant poignant ache. “If it doesn’t work out,” I began softly. “I promise I’ll come home and re-enroll just like you want me to.” He made me feel so small. It was all I could do not to buckle under his authority as if I were a little girl again.

  “I don’t know that I should give you that option. I’ve been way too lenient with you, Bluebelle. You’re trying to manipulate me just like she used to.” My mom.

  “I’m not trying to do anything.” I was glad I was alone in my bedroom and that the door was closed. I swiped away the wet from both cheeks now. The tears inevitably came when he laid into me and started comparing me to my mother. The weight of never measuring up was a heavy yoke. No mother around to soften his disapproval. Rarely any tenderness from him. Never given the confidence that I was good enough, I had easily fallen into the role of being the type of girl who never got taken home to meet her boyfriend’s parents, rather the type they pretended not to see their sons with instead. But deep down I knew it wasn’t really the guys that were the problem. It was just me.

  My phone bleeped with an incoming call on the other line. I didn’t even check to see who it was. I was eager to have an excuse to end this conversation. “I gotta go, Dad. Someone’s calling.” I hope, hope, hoped it was Sager. “I’ll talk to you later.” I clicked off without waiting for his approval.

  “Baby.” Shit. Tyler. I sighed…into the phone…where he could hear it. After the way he had talked to me the last time he didn’t deserve any better. “Listen, I don’t have long to talk. The team’s heading out. We’ve got a long string of away games, but I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I was a real ass. I don’t mean to be. I just…” his voice went so soft I could barely hear it. “I knew it wasn’t good for you, and I got defensive. I wanna see you when I get back. Make it up to you. Will you let me? Say something. Tell me we’re ok?”

  “I don’t know, Ty.” I unzipped my boots and dropped them on the floor. The resigned thuds on the carpet seemed like a sign. Hadn’t I let things go on too long with Tyler?

  “Don’t make a rash decision.” It was like he sensed the direction I was leaning, and my stomach churned at how closely his words mirrored my dad’s. “Just think about it. Ok?”

  I agreed against my better judgement, mostly because I didn’t have any strength left after my dad and everything else to get into it with him t
onight.

  After I hung up, I flicked my finger across the display screen glancing through some social media stuff. My Twitter. Facebook. Tyler’s Facebook. The Tempting Men of Tempest, Sager’s and King’s page. That one made my stomach cramp. Those two had a lot of pictures with women hanging all over them. They played the field more impressively than Tyler. Rock stars got it more often than professional hockey players apparently. I wasted fifteen minutes of my life that I could never get back looking at picture after picture of drunken revelry with lots and lots of half-clothed women, though I did notice that it was only King with them in the more recent posts. My heart pounced on that fact. It was sad the way I wanted to believe there was any possibility Sager hadn’t hooked up with anyone since he had been with me.

  Like that’s even remotely plausible, my inner voice snorted, lighting and tossing the match into the gasoline of that volatile fantasy.

  I checked my emails. Nothing but ads for shoes and clothes I couldn’t afford. Then I scrolled through my calendar. There wasn’t anything on it, besides skiing commitments. Disgusted with myself for stalling and hoping for that one call that obviously wasn’t coming, I tossed my phone on top of the jacket, removed the rest of my clothes and headed into the bathroom for a shower.

  Disappointed. Feeling lonely. Teetering on the edge of major depression. I ignored my inner voice that told me I was already there.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sager

  “This is absolute bullshit!” Bryan declared, tossing his backpack of clothes on top of the pile of belongings that lay on the stone entryway floor. We were at the band’s new temporary home otherwise known as Mary Timmon’s carriage house.

  “Fucking jail in the middle of nowhere is what this is.” King added.

  I nodded my agreement amid more expletives.

  “You guys, we’re wasting our time complaining.” War swept an arm wide to encompass the spartan accommodations. “We’re stuck here. Sure.” His oak hued gaze glittered determinedly beneath the rustic iron chandelier. “Sequestered like a damn jury until we can come up with an album that gets the Queen’s verdict of approval. But I gotta say I sure as shit am happy to be free of Morris and back with you guys.” Speech complete, short but sweet by War’s standards, our lead singer stepped further into the main room, and the rest of us followed. Not profound words, but they seemed appropriate given all the turmoil over leadership Tempest had been through.

  Without talking about it everyone separated and headed off in separate directions to investigate our home for the next two weeks. I set my Fender case down beside Bryan’s Les Paul and Dizzy’s sticker covered SG. Stepping further into the house I took note of the gleaming hardwoods and area rugs, high quality oriental ones in shades of red and gold. A chandelier and recessed cans illuminated the interior. There were no windows beyond the vertical paned ones that framed the door. A clean lined coffee table and two dark brown leather couches were set up in an L formation in one corner of the room. The mics, a pair of wooden stools, a shiny Steinway, and King’s drum filled up the rest of the space. I spotted a recording room sound booth through a large glass pane on the right. The exterior walls were all soundproofed I was sure.

  “Sweet set up.” War was nodding appreciatively on his way out of the recording booth. “Think you can get the hang of the board?” he asked Bryan.

  “Probably. It’s pretty similar to the ones at Black Cat. I can do a good enough job to get us the basic raw recordings Mary’s looking for.”

  “I’m gonna go check out the bed situation,” King announced.

  “No bringing chicks in,” War warned, his gaze swinging to encompass me as well. “If the rest of us are abstaining from our girlfriends for this project so are you guys.”

  King shot him the finger over his shoulder and disappeared down a dark hallway on the left. I dug my hands further into my pocket, wrapping my fingers around my cell. I wanted to talk to Mel. I had been dying to all day, but hadn’t had any privacy. I wanted to tell her about this new development for the band. I wasn’t entirely sure I would be fully compliant with the no girls thing. Surely, Mary Timmons wasn’t going to be around the whole time watching to make sure we didn’t bend the rules a bit.

  “This set up must have cost her a mint.” War shook his head in disbelief.

  “The main house isn’t too shabby, either. Looks like something out of Downton Abbey,” I pointed out. “She has a butler, too.”

  “This whole neighborhood is for the insanely rich,” Dizzy commented while rubbing a reflective finger over his brow piercing.

  “There are five small bedrooms,” King informed us when he reemerged from the back. “One for each of us.”

  “Excellent.” Bryan said.

  “Being isolated out here does suck.” War twisted his thumb ring. “But it sure beats the hell out of the tour bus.”

  “Yeah I’m glad we’re not all in one narrow space with bunks stacked to the ceiling. No offense but it gets a little creepy listening to you losers all night.” Acting like he was jerking his dick, King heavy breathed and groaned. He laughed when Bryan punched his shoulder.

  “Speaking of a tour,” I flopped down on one of the couches and stretched out my arms over the back. “What do you think about that part of the Queen’s proposal?”

  King took a seat next to me. Dizzy leaned a hip on the arm rest. Bryan and War commandeered the opposite couch.

  “I think it’s cool.” War leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees. “If it actually happens. Sign the contracts. Ride to the first stop on the company jet. Walk out on stage in Marcus Anthony’s place as the headliner. Only then will I know it’s real.”

  “You heard anything from Red?” War turned to Bryan. He and Brutal Strength’s guitarist had gotten pretty close on the last tour much to Marcus’ chagrin. “About them canceling their dates?” he clarified.

  “Avery doesn’t confide much in me anymore. I only know what you know, that her dad’s in bad shape. I could call her, though.”

  “Do it.” War dipped his chin. “If we put in all the work cranking out these new tunes, I want us to get the reward at the end.” He stood and pretended to dust off the legs of his jeans. “I’m gonna grab my stuff and pick out a room. We’ll meet back here to get to work after the pizza’s delivered. We might be stuck in fancy as fuck land but at least we don’t have to eat caviar or escargot.” He snagged one of the bags from the entryway but stopped at the mouth of the hall. “I’m picking one of the rooms and putting out a verbal ‘do not disturb sign’. I’ve got a date with my woman. Promised Shaina some dirty phone sex before I left.”

  • • •

  “Bossy puta has it coming.” From his position on the couch beside me, King texted another message. His fingers were a blur. He typed as fast as he drummed. Texting Shaina and our lead singer nonstop to torture War was pure genius. His comical faces and running commentary over the past thirty minutes had me doubled over. My sides ached from laughing so hard.

  “King, you fucker!” One of the doors popped open and slammed into the wall. War appeared, marched straight to his torturer and lifted him off the couch by the front of the t-shirt.

  “Oh, hola pendejo,” King commented drolly, spreading his arms wide and feigning an innocent expression no one would buy. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “You know you did, asshole.” War rolled his eyes, released him and took a step back.

  “Little hard up now, are you?” King queried with raised brows.

  “Nothing little about it,” Wars retorted lips twitching.

  “I bet your mamacita looks hot naked, huh?”

  “You have no idea.” War ran an unsteady hand through his hair. “I said send a couple of pictures. She sent me a two minute video. I forget sometimes that she’s an actress.” His voice sounded strained. Moving stiffly, he settled into a seat beside King. “You’re a funny guy, hombre. But if you come between me and my alone time with my woman again I’m afraid I’m going t
o have to kill you.”

  I smiled.

  King grinned.

  War groaned.

  “Food here yet?” Bryan asked as he and Dizzy wandered out from the back. Bryan looked wide awake, but Dizzy’s spiked hair was smashed on one side. Apparently someone had crashed.

  “I’m fucking starved,” our rhythm guy said on a yawn.

  “Yeah, me, too.” Bryan tucked his cell into his pocket. “Lace and Bridget are at Rodney’s. I love that place. I’d go for the clam chowder alone, but the oysters.” He sighed. “My stomach’s been grumbling for the past hour.”

  There was a knock on the outside door.

  “Excellent.” Bryan moved to open it. The stack of pizza boxes that the butler carried quickly exchanged hands.

  “The refrigerator is fully stocked with beer, sodas and bottled water,” Stan informed us from the front stoop. He seemed a little nervous about coming in. “The cabinet beside it contains disposable plates, napkins and utensils. If there is anything else you gentlemen require you need only to ask.”

  “Tequila shot glasses and limes,” King shouted. “I’m feeling a game of poker coming on.”

  “Yes, well, be that as it may. Ms. Timmons has advised me to inform you that hard liquor and drugs will not be tolerated on the premises.”

  “She did what?” King complained his eyes widening.

  Looking nervous, the butler withdrew a piece of paper. “She said that if you presented any difficulties I was to remind you of the debt the band has incurred. The bus, the barware, the…”

  “Ok, ok, pendejo. She already told us all that. We get the idea.”

  “Yeah, we got it.” War’s eyes flared. “Tell her not to worry, none of those things will be an issue.”

  King started to protest, but War shook his head. “We can do this,” he said firmly to our drummer before turning back to the butler. “You’re dismissed or whatever. When you report back to the Queen tell her we’ll comply with her directives.”