Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Why? He’s got a fantastic voice.”
“Savage is the type of man to stay in the background. He doesn’t like the spotlight at all. Never. When the band plays, he fades into the shadows and acts as bouncer. Anyone gets rowdy, he throws them out. Or just gives them one of his looks and they settle down pretty fast.”
“He should sing.”
“He should, but he won’t. Seychelle’s got him doing a few things none of us ever thought he’d do. She watches out for a lot of the elderly in both Sea Haven and Caspar. Makes sure they have groceries and medicine. Keeps them company. Does repairs on their houses. Now he does those things with her. Got the club doing them too. The older group, especially the ladies, have all fallen for him. They bake him all sorts of things, bring them to the clubhouse, or even here to the roadhouse. He takes it all in stride, but we give him such a bad time. If those old ladies knew he could sing . . .” He broke off, laughing. “Savage has gone from a scary tiger to a little favorite kitten.”
“Do they know about you and the work you and Ink do helping prisoners get back on their feet?”
Master sobered instantly. “That’s different. And no. No one knows. And they aren’t going to.”
Ambrie hid her smile. “Who are the band members?”
“The ones you see up there.” Master indicated the three playing on the stage. “Keys, Maestro and Player. All of us can sing, but we like to concentrate on our instruments. That’s why we looked everywhere for the perfect singer. We found Seychelle, but Savage had beaten us to her. That means he calls the shots on her care, which is a good thing. We might get carried away because she’s so good. Never heard a voice with such a perfect pitch.”
“I don’t suppose she would sing something for my parents’ memorial.” Ambrie was wistful. “Not that I have any idea how to put something together.”
“Torpedo Ink will help with that, princess. Alena and Lana were discussing what the club could do for you already. Absinthe said we could claim the bodies as soon as the coroner releases them. He’s staying in touch. You don’t have to do anything.” He slipped his arm around her, and Ambrie immediately leaned into him, grateful for his care.
She detested talking about her parents. The minute she did, images poured into her mind of the two of them slumped in their favorite chairs in the den, blood soaking into fabric, staining it forever. She didn’t want to remember them that way. They had always been alive, vibrant and animated. They were passionate and decisive. Both were strong-willed and given to long debates. What they weren’t was slumped over in chairs, blood soaking their clothes and skin.
The music began again, and Seychelle began to sing. Immediately, she felt lighter, as if a great sorrow had been lifted from her and carried away. She could almost feel her grief lessen. She listened to the words of the song, expecting them to strike some chord with her, but it was more the notes the singer hit. The purity of her voice called on wings to attach themselves to the deep grief and float it away from Ambrie so she could breathe. Then Savage’s voice joined in, singing counterpoint to Seychelle, while Master took his guitar from the case.
“You’ve got to get him to sing onstage once in a while,” Ambrielle said. “He’s really that good.”
“It would never work. He’d never do it.”
Ambrie listened to the duet as the two sang back and forth and then harmonized together. “Well, he should. At least with her.” She turned to look at her husband. She found him terribly attractive, not in the accepted sense of the word but in a rough, very edgy way. She’d had no idea that was her “type” until she laid eyes on him. Master was the epitome of her type, since she didn’t seem to see anyone else.
“Do you sing too? On the stage? You said all of you could sing but preferred not to. Do you ever sing in front of an audience?”
He did his best to scowl at her. She did her best not to laugh. He did that a lot: tried to look all tough and scary. She supposed it worked on most people. She couldn’t help rubbing at the fierce lines on his face with the pads of her fingers and leaning in to brush a kiss along his too-strong jaw. That earned her one of his half smiles, the ones that never quite made it to his eyes but told her he liked what she was doing.
He tried to bite her finger. A little shiver of excitement slid down her spine. She found him incredibly sexy. He was rough. Her body could attest to that. She was sore. She didn’t mind being sore, because every step reminded her of the ways he had taken her, his body moving so brutally but so completely in rhythm with hers. His eyes had been on her the entire time, so completely focused on her, as if she were the only woman in his universe.