Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
And I wouldn’t be here much longer. That was why I’d come down here instead of to the back for my break. I needed to speak with Bash. Let him know tomorrow night would be my last.
“That one you did about the sawdust was a hit. You should do more of your own stuff.”
I loved writing my own music, but typically, I sang it in the safety of my home. Dovie was my only audience, and she loved whatever I wrote. It was safe to sing my songs to her. I wasn’t so brave about doing it to a crowd full of folks who just wanted to hear me cover their favorites while they drank, danced, and flirted the night away.
“Briar,” Bash said in greeting when he turned and realized I was there. “You are killing it up there tonight. I swear our crowds are bigger when you’re scheduled onstage.”
Bash was a nice guy. Mid-forties, very charismatic, successful at keeping the bar his father had built and made popular forty years ago going strong. I hated letting him down. I enjoyed working here, and that wasn’t always the case with jobs like this. I’d dealt with bosses who thought I was theirs to paw at and who said inappropriate things to me. Bash wasn’t like that at all. It would be hard to find another bar like this one. And if we went north, like Dovie had said we should—and she was probably right—I was worried finding a bar who wanted a country singer for entertainment might be more difficult to find. I was sure they had them, but not like they did in the South.
“Thanks, but ladies’ drinks for five dollars on Sunday nights might have something to do with the crowd,” I pointed out.
He waved a hand as if that meant nothing. “I’ve been doing ladies’ five-dollar drinks on Sundays for years. Sure, it brings folks in, but when you’re onstage, it’s at least forty percent busier.”
“He’s not lying,” Mick added.
This only made it harder to tell Bash I had to quit. He seemed too happy about the crowd, which he should be. There were just as many men here as women and their drinks weren’t on sale. Not to mention the food that was coming out of the kitchen constantly. My tip jar onstage was already full, and I had two more sets tonight. I doubted I’d ever find a job as good as this one again.
“Here’s your dirty martini. Just the way you like it,” Sunshine said, pressing her chest against Bash’s arm as she held out his drink to him.
He winked at her. “Thanks.”
Yep, they were so fucking.
I cut my eyes to Mick, who gave me a look like he was thinking the same thing. I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling. I didn’t want them to know we were onto them.
“Briar.”
The deep voice behind me caused me to stiffen as my heart sped up. I knew that voice, but why was he here?
My eyes widened as I stared at Mick, who was frowning as he looked over my shoulder. I had to turn around before Mick thought he needed to protect me. No reason to get him or Bash killed for pissing off the Southern Mafia.
Slowly, I turned around to see Storm Kingston standing there. The black T-shirt he was wearing stretched over his chest, leaving little to the imagination on just how cut he was. His biceps almost looked like the sleeves were too small. Lifting my eyes, I realized I was holding my breath. His hazel eyes were hard as he stared at me. Always so disapproving, yet it didn’t take away from the way the honey color drew me in. I wanted to study them closer. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the way it made his masculine jawline appear, I fought the urge to reach out and run my hand over it.
My memory hadn’t been exaggerating it. Storm was a god. One who disliked me immensely. That snapped me out of my moment of lust.
“Storm,” I said, then cleared my throat, realizing I’d sounded a little strangled. “What can I do for you?” That last bit sounded friendly enough.
“We need to talk,” he said, then glanced at the men behind me. “Alone.”
Great. So, he hadn’t just come in to get a drink and listen to the music. He was here with more crap I had to be concerned with. I immediately thought of Dovie at the apartment, alone. Sure, Maurice was working security downstairs, but that wasn’t going to stop someone if they wanted to get to me. Not really.
“Sure,” I said in a fake bright tone, then looked back at the others watching me closely. “I’ll be backstage for a few, but I won’t be late for my next set.”