Irresistible Refrain

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.

2 weeks prior

“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.

His gaze was cold, emotionless, and calculating as he studied me. A growing sense of unease flooded my body, making my pulse pound and my respiration increase. There’d been thinly veiled statements from him lately, pressure to do things that I’d been able to deflect, but didn’t know for how much longer.

When we first met he’d been kind, and I’d believed there’d been something worth having between us, but now I was just as certain it’d been wishful thinking. I’d been wrong about so many things.

One thing I was sure of- guys just wanted a piece of me. They would say or do what they needed until they got it, and then they were gone.

Bryan was the first to make me feel that way. I never realized how much I needed and took his approval for granted until it was withdrawn. My throat clogged remembering his callous dismissal of what I’d thought we shared.

What a stupid little girl I’d been.

Never welcome.

Never wanted.

My mother had been right all along.

A part of me, the part with dreams, the beautiful part, had been snuffed out by darkness. Fear had replaced hope and apathy had replaced fear until all that remained was this empty frame, a place card for the woman I’d once been, still pretty to look at, but hollow inside.

Martin grabbed my shoulders, squeezing just hard enough to hurt. I looked up at him, gritting my teeth together, keeping my expression as neutral as possible. I’d had to adapt quickly to survive his sadistic streak. He enjoyed breaking people down so he could control them. Most of the time he didn’t get physical, as long as I didn’t show weakness. It was strength he admired. My backbone. What remained of it anyway, that he respected.

“I’ve got some China White coming in tonight.” His coal black eyes searched mine. “I’ll bring you a bindle.”

“Alright.” My lips curved up into a thin caricature of a smile.

His answering grin was a travesty as well, feral and predatory. He didn’t even try to hide his disdain for me as he went out the door. Why should he? He had me. He knew that. He always seemed to know everything. Just like he’d known how susceptible I’d be to him and his brand of fake charm the first night we’d hooked up together.

I’d had an idea who Martin Skellin was before that night. His reputation had always scared me away, but after being tossed aside by everyone I’d ever trusted, I hadn’t really cared what happened to me or who I did it with.

I should have…

because although Martin was attentive in the beginning, using his influence to get me a job singing at a local club, his true colors began to bleed through shortly afterward. He was into some serious illegal shit. I woke up nights, seeing and hearing things that I wished I hadn’t. Suspicion became a reality that I tried but couldn’t ignore.

Then Tempest hit it big and Martin had a new game to control me, a more effective way to break me down. He began showing me articles and pictures of the guys and loved to point out what a big success they were without me. I tried pretending it didn’t matter thinking eventually he would give it up and move onto something else, something less painful, but he hadn’t.

Instead, he honed in on my weakest spot.

Bryan.

An explicit YouTube video of the infamous bad boy guitarist of Tempest became the final wrecking ball that demolished the wall I’d carefully built around what remained of my heart. The wall that had already started to crumble, the wall that wasn’t nearly as strong as I’d needed it to be.

After that I gave in and regularly took what Martin had offered before. I did whatever, whenever. Why shouldn’t I? Forgotten and abandoned by those I’d loved, it was inevitable where I was going to end up. Better to get it over with and fast pass the trip.

I learned to compartmentalize my life. I stuck the bad stuff into a box and pretended it didn’t exist. And when the needle was under my skin, when the drugs hit my bloodstream, everything else did fade away. I lost the will to care about anything. I stopped dreaming about the future, and settled for shuffling through the lucid times like the living dead until the next time I could get high.

I waited up late that night for Martin. He came back as promised, but he hadn’t come alone. Strader was with him. Tall and thin with a gnarled face, Strader’s brand of evil made Martin’s seem angelic.

I rose from the couch, pulling my robe tightly closed with one hand fisted over my chest. Outwardly I tried to project confidence. Inside my nerves were all over the place. It wasn’t lost on me that both men tracked my movement with anticipatory gleams.

This wasn’t good.

“I’ll just leave you two alone to discuss business.” Chin down; I hustled toward the back bedroom.

“I’ll go with you.” Strader’s mouth practically drooled with lascivious intent.

What? No!

Eyes going wide, I looked to Martin for help.

“No, wait.” Martin held up his hand. “Let me talk to her first.”

Strader looked like he was going to refuse, but then his expression changed. “Sure.” He gave me a lurid grin, gaze raking me head to toes in a way that made my flesh crawl. “But just so you know, it’s gonna happen, willing or not.”

And there it was. There was no longer any doubt what he wanted, what he had come to get.

Me.

My heart began beating so fast it felt like my chest was going to explode. It was extremely unlikely I would be able to convince Martin to change mind. He owed Strader a lot of cash. Being under Martin’s thumb had been one thing, becoming a disposable plaything for a man like Strader was entirely another. I’d reached the end of the road, and I refused to go further, deciding right then and there that I’d rather die than endure whatever Strader had planned for me.

But I wasn’t going down easy.

A deadly calm fell over me as I watched Strader give Martin a tight nod. “I’m going out to the car. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

As soon as the door shut after him, I turned to Martin, chin lifted, hands balled into fists at my sides. “I won’t go with him.” I was so proud that my voice didn’t quiver.

He laughed. “Like you have any choice.” There wasn’t an ounce of mercy in his eyes.

What a fool I’d been to believe a man like Martin Skellin had ever cared for me.

He reached for me.

“No,” I managed to rasp though fear had sucked the air from my lungs. I shook my head vigorously and took a step back.

A mistake.

“You strung out bitch.” Martin’s eyes flared. He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me so hard my teeth clattered together and my thoughts became rattled. “You can and you will.”

“No.” My eyes burned, but I didn’t cry and I didn’t back down.

That’s when he lost it. I didn’t even see the blow coming. The force of the impact knocked me back on my heels. I tasted coppery blood in my mouth. He glared at me. I glared back, never hating anyone more than I did him in that moment. I went after him, pounding my fists ineffectually against his solid chest. He easily knocked my hands away and smacked my face again with his open palm.

I backed away covering my burning cheek with my hand. He’d hit me before, but he’d never looked at me with such malice. The entire left side of my face was a fiery blaze now. Frantically I retreated, looking around the room for something to defend myself with. Then he rocked me with another blow. His fist felt like a brick as it blasted into the left side of my skull. I reeled into a side table, knocking it over. Everything went black for a moment. When I blinked away the haze, I found myself on the floor with his body looming over me.

“Ok,” I mumbled. “I’ll go. I’ll go.”

Those lips I’d once thought handsome spread across his face into a dark as death smile. “Knew you’d see things my way.” He offered me his hand to lift me up. I offered him my left, but the fingers of my right hand closed tightly around the base of the broken lamp beside me.

As he leaned down, I swung it at Martin’s head with all I had in me. Brass and bone came together with a sickening crack. He lurched face forward into the carpet, and he didn’t get back up.

I fled down the hall and out into the night with just the clothes on my back and the engagement ring he’d given me to pawn.

Shaken by the memory, I shoved my trembling hands into my jeans and stuffed those dark thoughts back into the box. I leaned back against a column and forced myself to refocus on Tempest’s performance. The guys were well into their set now. They were polished and confident, and there was no awkward space where I’d once stood.

Not needed.

Not wanted.

As the disheartening reality of that sank in, my gaze stalled dispassionately on War. Wet and plastered to his head, his brown hair looked almost black. I watched him throw the tail end of his long lavender scarf behind his sweaty back as he strutted confidently across the width of the stage.

He’d made it so easy to resume our old relationship. I didn’t know why he had wanted me back, but he had, and I was grateful. He seemed to want to pretend that the past two years with the RCA deal and Martin had never happened, and that was just fine by me. We were on the same page in that regard though our reasons were undoubtedly different.

With Bryan, on the other hand, I was afraid there was never going to be a way back to the close friendship we’d had before. We never talked about the night we had spent together, but it was always there, an awkward and unbridgeable gap between us.

My eyes followed him as he prowled dangerously around the stage with his guitar, by far the sexiest guy I’d ever seen. Lids lowered, face an intense mask of concentration, I watched his fingers flying over his Les Paul. His instrument screamed like a complex climax above the rhythm of the current song. My blood heated remembering those nimble fingers and the effortless way they’d played my body with strikingly similar results.

Long after the music ended, my gaze lingered on Bryan and the puzzle he represented. There was still much of the handsome playful boy I remembered, but now some additional things much beyond his age. I wondered at the faint lines around his mouth and the guardedness in his manner that had not been there before.

I guessed the past two years had put some hard mileage on all of us.