Relentless Rhythm (Tempest #4) (2 page)

I slid out my cell.

Enough of this bloody waiting.

It was time to figure out where she was and what was going on. Consequences be damned.

I wanted her standing across from me right now. Wearing that smile that I’d been able to coax out of her more and more lately despite the circumstances. Her leaning an elbow on the bar, her pretty face close enough that I could see the bronze flecks in her jade colored eyes. The two of us together within the make believe world we’d created. The one in which that platinum band on her left hand didn’t exist.

“He’s seriously h.a.w.t.” Mel, my best friend since I’d begun working at the Mine, spelled the letters out before she let out a longing sigh. “Don’t you think so, April?”

“Who, baby?” I finished filling a couple of tumblers with ice before looking up. The blue haired imp was fanning her cute heart shaped face with tatted hands that spelled out her nickname in fanciful script above her knuckles.

I really didn’t need the clarification. I’d seen him when he’d come in. Her latest crush. She usually had a new one weekly, but not this time around. Her interest in this one hadn’t dwindled. It had intensified. Constant contact with him at the club and whenever she recorded background vocals at Black Cat Records, fed the fetish, I believed.

“Dizzy Lowell,” she confirmed grabbing my hand and curling her fingers tightly around mine, stopping me mid pour. His name was accompanied by a longer, breathier sigh befitting the guy’s rock star status. The sexy rhythm guitarist and his band Tempest were on the cusp of mega success and probably would’ve been there already if not for the recent vacancy at lead singer.

“OMG that piercing on his lip kills me!” she exclaimed fluttering her lids and practically swooning backward onto the bar. “I want him so bad.” Everything Melinda T. Belle did was high drama. She lived her life in perpetual motion, never letting a single moment go by without wringing every single ounce of joy from it.

Mel brought a definitive sparkle into my life that had recently been eclipsed by way too much dark. She’d lost her mom as a child the way I’d lost my biological father, and we’d bonded over that commonality. My world was a much brighter place because she was a part of it. I was so grateful for her, and though I often felt like our friendship was lopsided, that I needed her much more than she needed me, I still clung to her like she was the only life raft in my shipwrecked sea.

“Have you noticed the way he bites down on it?” She grabbed my face and smushed my cheek into hers forcing me to gaze upon the object of her desire.

It wasn’t a hardship. I’ll admit it. The guy was an intoxicating visual mixer. Handsome. Intense. Unforgettable. His mostly Kahlua hair was styled into spikes tonight, the club lights glinting off the splashes of Godiva White Chocolate Liquor highlights.

Dizzy lazily surveyed the Diamond Mine with his sexy brandy hued eyes as though he owned it. He didn’t of course. Not the building or its contents. Those belonged to my boss, Montana Simms. Tan to those he considered friends. But the women were Dizzy’s, whichever one he chose. As one of the bartenders, I had a premium courtside seat to watch him. Night after night he waved his royal scepter and his subjects swooned, each his to command… if the roguish prince decided he wanted to.

He was in with his usuals, his bandmates from Tempest: Bryan Jackson, faux hawked, grey eyed, and popular lead guitarist. Sager Reed, the artistic, tatted up, and inky haired bassist. King Acenado, the hot Hispanic drummer with the wicked sense of humor and volatile temper.

Dizzy was in the middle of the VIP booth he and his crew shared, his arms thrown wide across the back cushion. The edges of his sculpted lips were curled into a sardonic grin and his trademark black leather jacket was completely unzipped and open tonight revealing his toned physique beneath it.

The guy
was
unbelievably hot, almost too good looking to be real. Legendary in other ways, too, if you believed the talk.

Remembering some of the more graphic specifics heated my cheeks and made my throat suddenly dry. I squeezed Mel’s hand before reaching underneath the counter to snag a bottled water I always kept stowed there during my shift. I uncapped it and took a long sip to quench my thirst.

“I know, right?” She grabbed the bottle, took a sip of her own, and wiggled her manicured brows at me.

I started to deny that he had any effect on me, but decided why bother? I might be married, but I wasn’t comatose. I had eyes to see. I could acknowledge sinful beauty like his when it was sprawled out in all its glory.

“Yeah, he’s delish.” I buzzed her on the cheek with my lips before putting the water away.

Mel grinned mischievously. “He makes my toes curl. I wanna do things to him. Bad things.”

“So do most of the woman in the bar, and most of them already have,” I cautioned. “He’s not very discriminating, and you’re way too good for him.” And she was way too emotionally brittle beneath her brash veneer. A guy like that would crush her sensitive spirit without even noticing.

I couldn’t tell her what I really wanted to say, that I wanted her to stay far away from him. I’d been her age… once… not too long ago actually. Once upon a time, I’d been just like her. Young, carefree, blissfully ignorant of danger, doing what I wanted to do and sassing anyone who tried to keep me from doing it.

“Can I get some Molsons and Cokes?” The groove of Mel’s solitary dimple flashed in her softly rounded cheek. “I promised I’d bring them over.”

“Sure, Sweetie. How many do you need?” I was doing another order but would put it on hold for her. She was my friend. The only one I had really, since I had too many secrets to hide to handle more.

“Four beers, two sodas.”

I lifted a brow, gaze drifting back to the VIP booth for a quick head count, noting additional details I’d bypassed earlier. Sager had his chin down, his angular face aglow from the backlight of his ever present iPad. King gesticulated wildly with what I assumed was the latest retelling of one of his outlandish escapades. And two new additions, a red headed guy alone on the far end of the table and a beautiful blonde with short hair who had climbed onto Bryan’s lap. I recognized her as Dizzy’s sister, Lace. The handsome guitarist was rubbing his chin across the top of her head. If they weren’t on the other side of the club I imagined I would have been able to hear his contented sighs. They looked so in love, so good together. That certainly explained why he’d never showed any interest in the women who came onto him whenever he visited the Mine.

I felt a little twinge inside my chest watching them and remembering when it had been like that for me and James, or so I liked to imagine. I brushed that wistful thought away before it could completely pollute my mood. Our relationship was what it was now. I didn’t like to dwell on it, especially not at work. I had gotten quite adept at compartmentalizing my life. James had too, apparently, though his way left devastation in its wake.

I allowed myself one last envious glance at the couple, lingering as they gazed into each other’s eyes as if no one and nothing else in the world existed outside the two of them.

That was heady stuff right there, having a man so into you that he wouldn’t even consider looking at another. But that sacrificial component was always present in love’s purest form. That feeling that you would do anything to make the other person happy and that confidence that they would do the same. Yeah, I still believed in the concept. I’d seen it in my mother’s marriage.

I really liked people watching. I had lots of opportunities to do it while working behind the bar. Bartending was my job, and I loved it. But writing was my escape, and watching Bryan and Lace had given me new ideas for the characters in my fanciful tale.

My gaze wandered to the other handsome, vaguely familiar redhead. I squinted as I studied him. He seemed out of place with the rest, like he didn’t know them all that well or at least not well enough to be relaxed. He seemed distracted, too. While the others laughed at something the drummer was saying, Red’s gaze remained straight ahead, lost in thought, stalled out on the empty stage in front of him.

It was currently empty because Ebb Tide, our house band, the one Mel’s dad fronted, and the one she frequently guested on, had the night off. It was open mic, but no one seemed to be in the mood to sing.

While I filled the last mug on Mel’s order, Red stood and leaned over the table saying something to the others before heading our way. He had to dodge the crowd surging toward the dance floor drawn by the dubstep pounding out the speakers. More than a few women paused to watch him as he passed.

Not a bad looking one in that whole Tempest bunch. Talented and easy on the eyes, as near a sure bet as one could be in the music business.

I felt Mel’s stare and turned to look at her. Her sapphire eyes were twinkling with amusement she didn’t try to hide. She grinned wider when I snapped my slacked jaw shut. She’d caught me mooning over Red. I rolled my eyes at her, refocusing on the order, carefully arranging the Molsons on the bar tray.

“That’s Justin,” she informed me as if I’d voiced the question aloud. I could hear the smile in her voice. “Tempest’s new lead singer.”

“Hey.” Justin scooted in sideways filling the small amount of space between Mel and another bar patron. His gorgeous emerald eyes sliding back and forth between us, he put his hands on the bar. “It’ll only be the four beers and one Coke this round. I’ve gotta take off, but I wanna pick up the tab.” He offered me his credit card. I took it and hopped over to the register, dragging my gaze away from the tantalizing view.

As I was ringing up the sale, I registered the full name on the receipt.

Holy Shit.
I looked back at him, suddenly putting everything together and realizing why he’d looked so familiar. He was Justin Jones, the twin brother of Avery Jones, the famous female guitarist for Brutal Strength. My favorite band in the whole world. Ever since high school. After all they were the local BC band who had made it big. But I liked them even more now that Avery had joined them. I couldn’t help but admire her. She was a guitarist in a rock band, a rarity in a profession dominated by men.

I handed Justin the check. “Top copy’s mine,” I explained, biting my lip. I was trying to decide if I should say something while his head was bowed. When he gave me back the signed receipt, I went for it. “I love your sister.”
Smooth, April.
“She’s an incredible guitarist, I mean, and her lyrics are awesome. I’ve been a huge BS fan for ages, but well, since she came along, they’re even better than before.”

He grinned. “I love her, too.”
Oh my gosh. What a sweetie.
“I’ll try and bring her by sometime. She likes to meet her fans. That way you can tell her yourself.”

Oh. My. Freakin’. Gosh.
“That would be fantastic,” I managed to say aloud without any high pitched fan girl squealing.

“Consider it done.” He shifted his attention to Mel. “See you around the studio, Bluebelle.” He reached over and mussed her straight shoulder length strands.

“Sure,” she mumbled gaze dropping to her feet, but not before I saw the flare of anger inside her kohl lined sapphire eyes. Mel got a little defensive whenever people treated her like a kid. She had a baby face that made people mistakenly assume she was a lot younger than nineteen.

We both sighed at the same time watching him saunter away. I was the first to refocus. I slid the tray toward her. “Better get these to your buddies before they get warm.”

“Yeah, alright. Thanks, April.” She tossed her hair out of her eyes and slid off her stool.

“You’re welcome, Sweetie.” I watched her balance the tray over her shoulder as smoothly as anyone on the regular wait staff. She had an innate grace that complemented her beauty and a good heart, too. She often helped out whenever the bar was overrun. But no matter how many times Tan asked she always refused to join the payroll. Any free time after course studies and helping her dad with his band, went into skiing. She was obsessed with ski cross and wickedly good at the dangerous freestyle sport, always finishing high whenever she competed. She dreamed about making the national team and representing Canada on the world cup circuit, much to her overprotective father’s chagrin.