Exquisitely Broken (A Sin City Tale Book 1)

by M. Jay Granberry

  We had a kick-ass show tonight. Wall-to-wall people came to see us, which is happening more and more. Finally! We’re seeing a shift in the crowds. More people showing up to see us. Sporting our shirts and leaving after our set.

  Tonight we got on stage late because of issues with the venue. And because of issues with the headliner we were able to perform every song on our set list, as openers we warm the crowd up for the main act, which is typically four to five songs.

  After several trips between the venue and the bus we’re finally loaded and ready to go.

  “Is that everything?” I ask, peering into the cargo space, trying to take inventory, and making sure all the instruments are present, or at the very least, a case or account for each piece.

  “I think so. Let me do one last sweep of the stage, and then we can go, ’kay?” Adam says over his shoulder walking away before I can answer him. I watch his retreating back for a solid minute before I pull the phone out of my back pocket.

  My fingers curl around the edges and squeeze as I fight the urge to throw the damn thing as far as I can. I frown at the stupid blank screen. Pissed off because once again I don’t have any missed calls or text messages. It shouldn’t be surprising because lately Jake is cagey and distant.

  He’s stuck in Vegas, interning for his family’s casino while he finishes up his MBA. He hates that I’m gone. I hate that I’m gone but this is the industry.

  Music is hard. Way harder than I thought it’d be but that moment when I connect with one person, just one, in an audience of hundreds, the long nights, the hours of driving and lugging my instruments on and off stage, are worth it. I love what I do. I love my man, rock meet hard place.

  This tour extended twice. What started out as a monthlong tour stretched to six months. We’ve crisscrossed the country, seven maybe eight times. I don’t know anymore, but I’ve only made it home sporadically, a half a week here and a day or two there.

  Things are finally winding down though. Three more weeks, that’s it. Twenty-one days and I’m home. The distance and time won’t matter then. At least I hope it won’t.

  I’m getting whiplash from dealing with his mood swings. Some days he’s sweeter than molasses, his voice rougher than gravel as he whispers how much he misses me. How he can’t wait for me to get home and all the nasty things he’ll do to me when I get there. Other days I go without a word or a text. When I finally get him, he’s speaking in monotone and rushing me off the phone. And I get this feeling of dread. Like he’s over it. Me, us, the traveling, everything. I keep it buried deep, but I question if he’s cheating on me. If in my absence I’ve been replaced.

  I scroll through the list of names on my phone and stop on the entry with a small picture of us from a couple of years ago. I don’t remember where we were or what we were doing, but we just look so happy. I like Jake and Sinclair circa 2008. The eighteen-year-olds that didn’t have time to fight because we were too busy making love and having fun.

  This new version of us is… I don’t recognize it. We’re so far removed from the people we were. Every day Jake shoulders more and more responsibly. Taking on the pressure of being the golden child. The one expected to do great things, to elevate his family to the next level, and God, he’s trying. We’re both trying

  Is it too much to ask to hear his voice? That’s it. I just want to hear his voice, change clothes, and sleep, in that order but after five rings, the call goes to voice mail. I sigh, disconnecting and sending him a text.

  Me: Hey, babe. I tried to call, but u must be busy or asleep. How u doin? Miss u like crazy. See u sooner rather than later!! heart you.

  As a second thought, I snap a picture and send that as well. I stare at the phone willing the damn thing to ring, but when it doesn’t, I swallow the bitter taste of disappointment and tuck the thing back into my pocket.

  Damn! Damn! Damn!

  I promised to call earlier but then the show started late, and we stayed on stage longer. So now, I’m uber late, and once again I’m the jerk. The one that called too late, the one that’s never home.

  I drop my head in defeat, letting it hang on my neck. I just keep messing things up and sooner or later he’s going to get sick of my shit.

  A small voice whispers, “He already is.” I rub my palm across my forehead in frustration.

  “Sinclair! I love you!” someone screams, and the sound is jarring like a gunshot in the silence. I whip my head up, looking for the person attached to that shriek.

  I don’t have to look far. A couple of yards from me, a man barrels forward and for such big guy he’s hauling ass. His pale skin even paler under the floodlights that surround the venue parking. His hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in weeks and hangs in clumps around his face.

  Both Dan and Miles move quick. Dan wraps an arm around my waist and hustles me up the stairs of the tour bus. While Miles, our resident hothead, pushes the guy back with a forceful shove that swiftly escalates into a scuffle.

  I watch from the window as three burly security guards run from the building and pull both men apart. Miles is still yelling as one guard forcibly moves him to the side while the other two pull both hands behind the other guy’s back.

  The screamer is wearing a Sin City T-shirt with my signature on the front, and if that isn’t creepy enough, I recognize him. He’s been following us around for weeks, which was pretty awesome at first, because we finally had a bona fide groupie, but after talking to him a couple of times, shit got weird. I called it quits when he tried to cut off a piece of my hair.

  But when I stopped talking to him, he really went cuckoo for Coco Puffs, doing his damnedest to get close to me. He’s always front and center. The only still thing in a sea of movement with hair unkempt and wearing the exact same concert T-shirt every single time I see him.

  The excitement of having our very own fan dulled quickly. Besides the crazy, sleep schedule, this part of being almost famous, freaks me out.

  I turn my eyes away from his form being escorted away from the bus and watch Miles lope up the stairs. His T-shirt torn is at the collar and there’s a new hole in his already tattered jeans. But his wide mouth is pulled into a grin.

  “Does that mean that we’re famous now?” Dan asks, flopping onto one of the captain chairs. His long limbs hang over the sides and the Bert and Ernie T-shirt raises just enough to expose his pierced navel. “Sin has her first stalker.”

  “I don’t know how you can joke about this. That guy is getting weirder and weirder. I mean, did you see him tonight? It was like he was in a trance.” My gaze shifts between Dan and Miles for confirmation that we’ve all been seeing the same thing.

  “I think he’s mostly harmless. If he got close enough, he might hump your leg, but he’s not one of those dudes that’ll boil your rabbit.” But I see the worried look that passes between the boys before Miles, sits down next to me. As if they know something I don’t, and for the first time since Mr. Crazy showed up, I’m a little scared.

  “Nice, Miles. Thank you for that, really.”

  “Anything for you, Sin-a-Sticks,” he sarcastically quips, slapping his big hand on my knee, causing an involuntary jerk.

  “I can’t leave you two alone for a minute without shit poppin’ off,” Adam says to Dan and Miles as he enters the bus, no doubt already aware of the incident with the stalker. Adam sits in the driver’s seat and closes the bus door. We each take turns driving to ensure that we get where we need to go on time. I drove last night.

  “Sin, let me holla at you for a sec.” I sit right behind the driver’s seat as he starts up the bus and pulls out onto the road.

  “Our last four shows have been canceled,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “Why?” I squeeze the headrest behind him hard enough to break couple of nails. Every single time we break the surface, something pulls us back under. One step forward and twenty steps back. “What happened?”

  “Indigo decided to call it quits.”

  “Like perman
ently?” How can she do that? She signed a contract with the promoter same as we did. As the headliner, Indigo is the one that convinced, her indie label to let us open for this tour. And now she’s done?

  “Yeah. I’m not sure what the hell is going on. Just got a call from John. So, it looks like you get your wish. We’re going home,” he says in a low voice. The disappointment is evident on his tired face. God, this sucks. Like really fucking sucks. Yeah, I want to go home but not like this. Not losing our ride or finishing what we set out to do.

  “You okay, Adam?” I already know the answer, but I need him to do what he always does. Make me believe that Sin City can survive this. Convince me that one more set back doesn’t equal failure.

  “You know me. It’s just… I’m just frustrated. We were just starting to get traction. Nah mean? It just feels like every time we get a little momentum, it grinds it to a halt. But when we get back to the valley, we have some options.”

  “This wasn’t us,” I tell Adam with a nod to drive my words home. But damn if it doesn’t feel like it.

  He looks at me for a brief second before rolling his eyes back to the road. “So, we’ll sleep at the hotel tonight and tomorrow we head for home,” he says.

  “Home… God. How long has it been since we’ve been home?”

  “For longer than a couple of days? Five maybe six months, I think.” He rubs his thumb over the sharp edge of his jaw. His eyes once again flit up to mine before returning to the road.

  “You gonna be good when we get back? I know stuff between you and your man has been…” He waves his hand back and forth in a so-so motion.

  “Once I’m home it’ll be better. We’ll find our center again.” We. Are. Fine. At least we will be. It’ll all be fine. When I get home, everything will go back to normal.

  We’re going home!

  “Hey, boys, we’re going home!” I yell at the back of the bus at the other two.

  “Vegas, baby!” Miles whoops.

  “Vegas, baby!” The rest of us holler at the top of our lungs.

  NOW

  Jake

  I toss my keys on the foyer table as I make my way through the hallway to the living room, dropping my suit coat across the arm of the old sofa, the only thing I kept besides a photo when I moved out of the house Sin and I shared together.

  I’ve only seen her once since the balcony, and that was from across the casino with rows of machines and dozens of people between us.

  I’ve never spent hours on the casino floor, skulking around corners, hanging out in front elevator doors hoping to catch a glimpse of a particular woman that somehow manages to avoid me even though there is only one entrance and exit to the villa within The Hotel, and she travels with two huge men and multiple security officers.

  One stolen moment and all I can see are the intense stares, the searing body that melted like butter around mine, the silky tight fit while I filled her, and the earthy moans that fell from parted lips while I ate her pussy to my fucking heart’s content. One reckless moment and I want to walk away from everything, leave it all behind. Be that guy, the one that didn’t give a shit about what people thought or what his family wanted. Having her on that balcony was the worst kind of tease because it was just enough to remind me of what I’m missing.

  I’m a simple man.

  I like simple things.

  At least I did until Sin reentered the mix. She’s a loud reminder that complicated has its points too.

  She left me with a wet dick and balls so tight they were aching for days. Then she walked back into that party with her shoulders back and head held high and so unaffected, I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined the whole thing.

  The chime on the front door goes off, signaling Connor’s arrival. My mood is black, but that’s pretty much been the case for the last month. I hear his footsteps coming toward me, and I sincerely regret giving him the code to my house.

  We have these meetings every month. It gives us a chance to talk without all the politically correct, corporate bullshit hindering our words or worrying about the wrong ears hearing information we’d prefer to stay between us. At these meetings if I think he’s spending too much money, which is often the case, I get say, “Muthafucka, green don’t grow on trees. Rein in that shit.” Instead of something like, “We need to curb spending cost in that area.”

  My department is tight. I don’t question whether or not my employees are on top of things because I know they are, but they’re not me. Money and I have always gotten along beautifully. I see things quickly that others just don’t.

  I know where to find money, how to hide it, and the right people to clean it. When you’re a self-funded casino, not all the money that comes in is above board, and I had to reach far into the Vegas gutters to make this casino happen. The people we have to pay don’t necessarily have offices or wear suits, and they don’t accept checks from a corporate account.

  We have another payment coming up at the end of the month, so we need to iron out some details. Shit doesn’t stop because my life is in shambles. I silently yell at the ceiling, curling my hands into tight fists and throwing a couple of punches in the air. Nope, not irritated at all.

  Connor comes in carrying a brown paper bag filled with what smells like Chinese takeout. The aroma makes my mouth water as soon as it hits my nose.

  “Just for me?” I ask, batting my eyes at him.

  Connor blows me a kiss as he pulls white takeout boxes out of the bag.

  “No, jackass. I gotta eat too,” Connor snaps but the smile on his face ruins the irritation in his voice. “You got the beer?”

  Without answering, I reach into the fridge, pull out a couple of bottles, and slide one across the counter. I twist the metal cap off mine and take a long pull from the bottle. Connor tosses me a pair of chopsticks, and we both stand at the counter in silence, eating food out of boxes.

  “So, what’s up with you and old girl?” Connor asks me around a mouth full of food. “Did you finally man up and figure your shit out?”

  I open my mouth but then close it because no, I haven’t figured out anything where Sin’s concerned. Where do I even start? I still can’t get her to talk to me let, alone unpack our baggage.

  Connor points a chopstick in my direction. “I take that as a no.”

  I shove another bite of my food in my mouth, taking my time to chew it into the smallest possible pieces while I let my mind go back to that night on the balcony. I know a couple of things.

  First, is that physically we are perfection. Fire and gasoline. One feeding off the other to burn hotter, brighter. With an intensity that is immeasurable. Second, regardless of our past, we could have a future. Sin may not want to want me, but I live under her skin and flow in her veins just as she does in mine. Us is not a choice. It never was, it’s inevitable.

  “It’s…” I keep my eyes focused on the food. “I don’t know, complicated.”

  Connor grunts in disgust. I can feel him staring at me while steadily shoveling food into his mouth.

  “Real talk. Did you expect anything different?”

  “I don’t know, man. But I didn’t expect this.”

  “This?”

  “She’s icing me out.”

  “How so?” I finally look at him, and he shrugs. “Dude, I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

  “Then don’t be.”

  He takes a swig of beer before he moves to open another box of food. “I’m just saying if you pursue whatever this is, you’re about to stir up hella mess. Be ready for it.”

  “Meaning what?” I set my food down and brace my hands on the counter.

  “Ever since she rolled up on the scene, you’ve been on edge, growling and snarling like a rabid dog.” Connor picks up noodles with the chopsticks and shoves them into his mouth.

  “It’s not good or bad, just different. I was telling Jeanine the other day you need to get your shit together. Don’t think I haven’t noticed all the time you’re spending out of the offic
e. And even when you are there, you’re not. You haven’t messed anything up, yet. But I’m not used to your focus being divided.” He tilts his head, eyeing me across the counter. “We owe bad people big money, J. I want you to get the girl, but I want to keep my legs in the process. Your heads gotta be in the game.”

  “I’m on it, Connor. I know a guy. A banker of sorts on the dark web that’ll be handling the exchange in crypto currency. I got this.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about. I should have known about this shit the moment you did.”

  I meant to tell him. He’s right. I should have told him weeks ago. But I’ve been… fuck! I need to pull my head out of my ass. “Won’t happen again, Con. I gotchu.” I extent a fist which he taps with his own.

  “I hate to bring this part up, but you also gotta keep that pretty mug out of the paper. I don’t know too many people on the dark side that like that kind of publicity.”

  “I’ve never been the face of The Hotel, Connor, that’s all you.”

  He smiles big. “This is true. But we, the two of us”—he moves the chopstick back and forth between us—“run this shit. So, man up. Daddy’s name may have opened a lot of doors, but I guarantee it won’t keep them open if we fuck this up.”

  I roll my head on my neck, trying to stretch the tense muscles in my shoulders. The vein next to my eye starts to thump as a headache creeps in. I’m trying to figure it out. Sin and I got turned upside down a long time ago, and I can’t figure out how to get us right side up. While I’ve been trying to figure us out, I’ve haven’t been as attentive as I should be to other issues.

  “I’m good, man,” I say. I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more, him or me.

  “Nah, your cranky ass attitude and bitchlike pussy pining says different.”

  “Don’t make me kick your ass out of my house,” I say halfheartedly because I can hold my own, but pound for pound Connor would kick my ass. Don’t let the ten-thousand-dollar suit and the education fool you. He’s a street kid.

  His mother was the pretty showgirl that fell in love with the married casino boss. When she got pregnant with Connor, there wasn’t a celebration or offer of marriage. There was a layoff notice and one-way ticket back to a small town in Louisiana.