CHAPTER ONE
pen
“So where are you going that you had to drop me like last week’s trash instead of hanging out with my sorry ass and listening to me cry about Brock?” Stella sniffed on the other end of the line, and I felt bad. I wanted to be there for my best friend, but I couldn’t control when or where I was sent to work.
“Some small ass college town called Willow Bay. If it makes you feel better, I wish I was there with you. This band is probably going to suck ass and not be worth the gas or the traffic,” I grumbled.
“A little,” she whispered so quietly I almost didn’t catch it through the Bluetooth in my car.
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as I tried to come up with something that would lift Stella’s spirits. Ever since her husband, or should I say soon to be ex-husband, came to her saying he wanted a divorce and one of the nurses at his practice was pregnant with his child, she’d been having a hard time. Not that I blamed her. But in the long run, I knew she’d be better off. Brock was an asshole on his best day, and my sweet friend didn’t deserve to be treated other than the princess she was.
“If Cristiano doesn’t have me running someplace else tomorrow night, I promise to hang out with you. We can sit around in our pajamas, do facials and mani-pedis, and watch some cheesy movie on Netflix. How does that sound?”
“Sounds like you’ll be miserable,” she laughed.
“The things I do for my best friend,” I laughed along with her. Once Stella’s divorce was final, I knew I’d have to do something epic to break her out of the wall she’d erected once our hometown learned of the demise of her marriage. Living in a small town was hard. I wasn’t a fan of everyone knowing my business. I liked being able to sleep with whatever guy floated my fancy and not have the entire town know about it the next day. That’s why I lived in LA.
“I’m one lucky bitch to have you in my life. Thank you, Pen, for looking out for me.” She let out a defeated breath, and I knew what she was going to say next was going to be powerful. “When the divorce is finalized, I’m moving away from Oasis.”
“Do you have any place in mind?” I asked, hoping like hell she said LA, so I’d see her more.
“Not at this moment, but definitely closer to you. I don’t want to have traffic or the time of day be the deciding factor on whether or not I see you.”
“Hey,” my lips turned down at her statement. “I will sit through hours of traffic to be by your side for only a few minutes. But I’m not going to lie. It would be amazing if you moved to LA.”
“I think it’s time,” she paused, and I wondered if she was thinking about her stupid ex. “I’ll be ready. Do you want to hear some good news?”
I scoffed. “When do I not want to hear any news from you? Spill,” I demanded, taking an off-ramp from the highway. I was close to my assignment for the night and would have to get off the phone just as Stella was getting to the juicy parts.
“I started writing a book about a serial killer in a small town,” she blurted out.
“Are you writing about the Scarlett Killer?” I asked, wondering if she was writing about Oasis’s very own serial killer.
“No, no. This is just about a wife who discovers her husband is a serial killer. It’s kind of therapeutic. I’m basing the husband off of Brock,” she giggled.
“That’s my girl,” I hooted. “I’ll be the first in line to buy a copy.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’ll ever publish it. It will probably be shit, and no one will ever want to read it.”
“I want to read it, and so will everyone else,” I told her, knowing whatever she wrote would be amazing. When we were young, Stella used to always come up with the most amazing stories, and I knew this would be no different. “I hate to do this, but I’ve got to get off the phone. I’m almost at the club.”
“It’s okay, Pen. I understand, and maybe you’ll be surprised, and the band will be amazing. What’s their name again?”
“Crimson Heat,” I answered her. It was a good name, but that didn’t mean anything. The last three bands Cristiano sent me to see were trash. I wondered how he found out about them and why he was wasting my time on them.
“I bet they’re all hot,” she giggled.
“Maybe, but if they’re even half as bad as the last one, I’m leaving after three songs. I’m not wasting my whole night here.” My GPS gave me instructions on where to turn next, and I pulled into a small parking lot that was full of college kids. “Okay, I’m here. I’ll call you when I’m done if it’s not too late.”
“Here’s to hoping you don’t call and that they’re fabulous. Bye,” she called out in a sing-song voice.
“Bye, Stel.” I ended the call and slipped my phone into the back pocket of my skin-tight jeans. I learned long ago; purses are not meant for tightly packed bars and music venues. They were too easily stolen.
Stepping out of my car, I inhaled the air. I could almost smell the water of the bay. Or maybe that was wishful thinking since the air was saturated with the smell of cigarette and marijuana smoke along with stale beer. If the outside was this potent, I knew the inside of the bar would be worse. Oh, the things I suffered through for my job.
Strangely, when I walked inside, the place smelled… nice. Okay, maybe I wouldn’t take it as far as saying nice, but it didn’t reek of cigarettes, smoke, and pot. It was good to know the owner kept the smoking to the outside of the building.
A band was already playing, and they sounded like shit. It was some mix of death metal and rap that made my ears feel as if they were bleeding. If I wasn’t on the job, I would have made a beeline for the bar and ordered a shot of tequila just to get me through the next few minutes because I wasn’t staying long.
Instead, I moved to lean on the back wall and watched as a few people tried to make the front of the crowd a mosh pit.
The band stopped playing, which was music to my ears. I looked down at my Apple Watch to see it wasn’t quite nine o’clock, which was the time Crimson Heat was supposed to come on and play. Maybe they went on early, or maybe Cristiano gave me the wrong time. It wouldn’t be the first time for either. Either way, I kicked off the wall and started to head toward the door, ready to leave, when a raspy voice spoke.
Slowly, like I was in a slow-motion movie, I turned my head and saw a dark god on stage. He was clad in all black from his black motorcycle boots, black jeans with holes in them, up to his shirt and leather jacket.
I stood dumbfounded as he took off his jacket and threw it off to the side. I wasn’t one to be easily turned on, but damn. There was something about the way his muscles rippled that nearly had me panting. I didn’t care who he was. I was going to stand there and listen to every word he said and watch every minute detail his body made.
“Good evening, Willow Bay,” he shouted, a lazy smile growing on his too-good-looking-to-be-true face. It was like he’d been brought straight out of my wildest fantasies with dark hair with a little bit of curl to it. Eyes so dark you couldn’t tell if they were brown or black, but from the aura he gave off, you’d expect them to be black like his soul. I knew the scruff on his jaw would feel delicious between my thighs. Olive skin that stretched over tight muscles that I wanted to touch and lick every inch of. “We’re Crimson Heat, and we’re going to be here for the next hour. If you know the words, we’d love you to sing along with us.”