“Still enjoying working weekends at the veterinary clinic?” I asked her.

The enthusiastic smile on her face broadened. “I’ve got two shifts now. Mom says when I’m a junior I can add one day during the week, too.”

“That’s great, Ann.” Animals were her passion. Always had been. Though we’d never been able to have a real pet, she’d collected the stuffed versions since she was three. She wouldn’t give any of them away and had so many now that they covered all the built in shelves in her bedroom. I planned to get her a real live Labrador puppy to go along with the house I was saving up to buy for all three of them.

“War says to tell you we’re on in five,” King announced.

I nodded, turning back to my family, frowning when I caught the look that passed between our drummer and Miriam. What the hell? King was totally checking her out. I was gonna kill him. And eff it if Miriam wasn’t returning the favor. Dammit. She was even arching her back to make her boobs look bigger.

I grabbed her arm.

“Bry,” Miriam hissed. “You’re hurting me.”

I ignored her, guiding all three of my women to one of the roadies I trusted. “Mark, can you take my mom and sisters to their seats?”

“Sure thing, Bullet.”

“Thanks.” I laid a palm against my mom’s soft cheek. “Mark will bring you backstage after the show. I want to introduce you to all the tour personnel.”

“Can we meet Avery Jones?” Miriam asked face bright with anticipation.

My smile flat lined. It’d been a bit of work, but I’d managed to avoid Red since she’d dumped me. But far better to spend the evening with her than endure another night watching Lace with War. “Sure.” I sighed.

4

I sat on the top of a stack of amps, watching the Jackson family reunion, on the outside now looking in, extinguishing the desire to be included with them again before it could unfurl completely. My chin dropped down to my chest, the length of my hair sliding forward effectively concealing the longing on my face.

Stop it, I told myself. That kind of family love and loyalty in all its Hallmark loveliness wasn’t for me. Once upon a time maybe, but not anymore.

Why couldn’t I accept the way things were? I didn’t belong with them anymore, no matter how much I wished things were different, and Bryan was never going to be mine. My gaze followed him after his mom and sisters left and he moved to take the stage.

I hopped down from my corner perch and wandered closer as Bryan and the guys got ready to perform. I’d arrived too late last night to see the show. I watched King take off his shirt as he climbed up onto the drum riser, and my eyes widened at what I saw. I shook my head in appreciative disbelief. When had King gotten those guns? He used to be the chubby one. Not even remotely so now. He was as cut as an Abercrombie and Fitch model, a sexy Latino one with his square jaw and bronze skin and dark closely cropped hair.

My gaze drifted over to Sager, the other half of Tempest’s comic duo. He and King had been best friends as long as Bryan and War. Everyone in the band knew their constant joking was really a coping mechanism, their way of dealing with the crap they’d been through. Their humor was as much a part of who they were as the clothes they wore, although Sager wasn’t wearing much right now, just faded jeans. The lanky bassist had recently dyed his curly brown hair jet black. Long uneven wisps of it framed his angular face.

Bryan came over and said something to him that I couldn’t hear. Sager nodded, pulled his signature newsboy cap down lower over his brown eyes, and pointed his hawkish nose to the floor as he tuned his Fender.

Bryan’s gaze flicked to me.

And I couldn’t make myself look away. Those light colored eyes of his I could stare at for hours if the rest of him wasn’t equally as enthralling. The thick black ink of his tats scrolled fluidly over the bulges of his biceps down to his wrists where an assortment of black leather and silver bracelets were stacked together. Just like the other guys, he was shirtless, and I found myself lusting after the sexy lead guitarist of Tempest. His chest was smooth, his abdomen flat, and his narrow hips were laced into a pair of tight black leather pants. War called to him and he turned away, giving me a view of his backside.

Even his ass was perfection.

I swallowed to moisten my dry throat.

Bryan sauntered across the stage in heavy biker boots and met War at center stage. War clapped him on the shoulder before plucking the mic out of its stand. Giving me a wink, War then faced the audience, his hands draped lazily over the mic stand waiting while a man in wire rimmed glasses finished the band’s introduction.

His spiky platinum hair gleaming beneath the stage lights, my brother plugged in his favorite Gibson Plaintop, made an adjustment on his footboard, gave Bryan a thumbs up, and flashed me his infamous double dimpled smile.

I smiled proudly back. I didn’t envy Dizzy his success. He deserved to be out on that stage. He was one of the best rhythm guitarists I’d ever heard, though I was a little biased for sure. His steady reliable pacing gave Bryan the freedom he needed to go all crazy on lead. My heart squeezed. I’d missed my easy going brother so much. Maybe if he’d been around, I would’ve had the guts to leave Martin sooner.

“Go ahead and leave, bitch,” Martin told me in that same disaffected voice he always used whenever I threatened to leave. Which wasn’t often anymore.

After all what other choice did I have?

I had no money, and I wasn’t welcome back in my uncle’s house. I’d tried to go back there the first time Martin had hit me. “You’re just like your mother,” he’d told me.

Turns out he’d been right.

I pressed my lips together, my vision blurring as I stared at my arms. Just looking at them made me long to shoot up again. I hated what I’d become, and I hated Martin, but I loved the drugs more. I craved that next high more than food or water, more than oxygen, more than life, more than love. I’d do just about anything for that next fix. And that’s what gave Martin the power he had over me.

My gaze slid to Martin as he slipped the Glock into his shoulder holster and pulled on a jacket. His eyes hard and dark as flint met mine. He was handsome, except for his eyes. If the eyes really were windows to the soul, I should have realized much sooner that he didn’t have one.