Seven
Elias
Show Me How to Live - Audioslave
My eyes burn as I look over what feels like the one hundred and fiftieth financial chart of the day, silently cursing myself for not hiring an assistant to do this for me.
I click on the automated ‘approve’ reply.
My office is empty at this time of the evening.
No one is knocking at the door wanting answers to inane questions, it’s only the soft trail of rain on my office window keeping me company.
Not that I can actually hear it with the noise of Headstone’s customers downstairs.
I never work from this office, and I’m swiftly remembering why.
I bought Headstone four years ago. It was a dive bar in its previous life, a place where people who had nowhere else to go could come and find people like them.
Hell, I even frequented its doors when I was younger.
But after the owner died, it was due to be demolished.
Something about structural problems or some bullshit like that. I bought it without hesitation.
It took six months, a lot of threats, a lot of ass-kissing, and over a million dollars to fix it up to what it is now.
Its old life as a dive bar was home to so many people—I didn’t want to lose that.
So I kept the old decor and made it as similar as I could, while also introducing it as a music venue.
The people love it. I love it. But I don’t come here as much as I want. Other business calls too fucking often.
I stare at the screen, eyes painfully blurring.
I read and reread the same set of numbers three times before giving up.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I light a cigarette, and the cool menthol hits the back of my throat with a pleasant burn.
My shoulders drop, and I roll my neck. With each inhale, I feel my body relax.
I rub my hand over my bearded jaw and crack it, the tension evaporating with a pop.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I check the caller, taking another drag on my cigarette to stave off the tension threatening to return.
“What, Frank?” I answer.
“S-sorry to disturb you, boss,” he replies, voice shaky. I already know where this is fucking going.
“You have ten seconds to tell me why you’re calling me when you’re supposed to be on a job.”
There’s an audible gulp down the phone.
“Tick-tock, Frank. You don’t want to know what happens after ten seconds.”
“I can’t find the location, sir. I’m at the marked point on the map, but there’s nothing here.” Panic laces his tone. “If you could double check the coordinates, I’m sure there’s been some kind of mista—”
“Frank, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were accusing me of an error?”
“No, no, sir. I’m sure there’s just been a mistake!” he replies quickly, the tone of his voice rising. I can smell his fear from two states away.
“Frank, I could go down into my bar right now and pick anyone out of the crowd, and they would be able to read a map. If I can find someone else who can read a map, what the fuck do I need you for?” I hear the frantic rustling of paper on the other end of the line.
“Figure it out before my good nature runs out, Franklin.”
I disconnect the call and pocket my phone again. My cigarette has burned down to the filter, warming my fingers. I light another as I feel my shoulders stiffen with the tension threatening to return.
I never imagined myself being the boss who leads with fear, but that’s the only thing these bastards understand. So if I have to play the bad guy so that things get done around here, I’m happy to wear that hat. I just wish they would stop asking for absolutely fucking everything.
A knock on my office door has me releasing a frustrated breath, and I barely contain the growl that forms in my throat.
Can’t I get a fucking minute?
“Come in,” I grind out.
“Boss.” Gareth nods as he closes the door behind him. He looks… tired. I’ve been working him hard recently, but as my second-in-command, he knows the trials of the job. But as his friend, I can’t help but feel responsible for everything on his shoulders.
“Problem?”
“I just had to take care of a guy. He had too much to drink and was… causing a scene,” Gareth replies, taking a cigarette out of his own pack and lighting it.
“I also found this in his pocket.” He reaches into his breast pocket and drops a small Ziplock bag of white powder on my desk.
The sight of it makes my jaw clench and my fists tighten.
“I trust that it’s taken care of?” I enquire, a single brow raising.
Bridgeport is strictly a drug-free city, I made fucking sure of that. But it’s not uncommon for out-of-towners to bring in a personal stash. This guy just had the unfortunate luck of walking into my bar with it.
“Cain is on it,” Gareth replies, flicking a cylinder of ash into the glass ashtray.
I grunt in acknowledgment, leaning back in my chair as the faint hum of the city bleeds through the windows. Things are always easy with Gareth—no expectations, no ass-kissing, just Gareth and Elias. Who we were before this world was shoved down our throats.
Gareth moves to stand, stubbing out his cigarette on the way. “The band are about to start,” he says as he reaches the door. “Thought you should know,” he adds with a knowing grin.
My chin dips in a curt nod as he leaves. Fucker can always see right through me.
I wait a few minutes before turning off my computer monitor, leaving my office painted orange with the glow of the streetlights outside.
Walking downstairs, the scent of beer and sweat fills my senses, and I feel the music before I hear it.
The buzz of the riff and the pounding of the drums finds its way into my chest. It’s like a feeling of coming home.
Headstone wouldn’t be what it is today without the music.
But I’m particularly invested in the band currently occupying my stage.
Stepping out into the bar, my eyes immediately find the stage, and what I see makes my brow raise.
I stop for a moment. Every one of them, apart from the vocalist, is wearing a dark face covering.
I can’t deny it adds an air of mystery to the performance.
They definitely sound professional. I had Gareth go and buy a whole new sound system yesterday.
I told myself—and Gareth—it’s because we’re due an upgrade, but he knows as much as I do that it’s because it’ll be her playing from them.
I want her to play through something only she has touched.
I don’t need to see her face to notice her.
She’s hiding her features, but fuck, her body looks good.
She’s wearing a band shirt with strategic rips along her ribs, giving everyone a glimpse of her soft, pale stomach.
Her full breasts spill out over the shirt while her black leather pants hug her thick thighs.
My cock grows hard in my slacks, and I subtly adjust myself. Not that anyone in this room would notice. They’re all bewitched by the four people on stage in front of them. They can fucking play—they’re wasted in a bar like this.
I shove down the strange emotion that rises up at the thought of them playing anywhere but here.
And they’re mine.
The thought lands before I even consciously form it. A thought I haven’t had in a long time.
I make my way over to the bar, scanning the crowd out of habit.
I nod to my bartender, and I have my usual whiskey on the rocks in front of me as I enjoy the next few songs.
I take a slow sip of the amber liquid, letting the burn distract me from the way my body reacts every time she moves. Temporary fixation. That’s all this is.
I finish my drink and make my way to the back of the room.
The crowd parts for me as I walk to the concrete pillar and rest my shoulder against it.
Here I have the perfect view—it’s slightly elevated, so I have an unobstructed line of sight to her.
As the final notes of the song ring out, that’s when the room narrows, and I see her face.
Her porcelain skin becomes a beacon beneath the dark hood, pulling me towards her.
Her plump lips open slightly as her doe eyes lock with mine.
The shadow of the fabric framing her eyes makes her look even more breathtaking.
I can feel her pulse spike from across the room.
It’s intoxicating. My thoughts drift to what her eyes would look like gazing up at me from my—
Fuck.
I push the thought down before the need to leave and relieve the tension takes over.
For half a second, she looks like she wants to bolt.
But for the other half? There’s a flicker of something there.
That flicker does more damage than her exposed skin ever does.
It’s almost like a challenge. A challenge I’m about to throw myself into.
“All aboard!” screams the vocalist, and the hairs on my arms stand on end.
My favorite fucking song.
I let a smirk slip free, a rare surge of excitement coursing through my veins.
I watch as she steadies her hand and slows her breathing before beginning a performance that could wake Randy Rhoades himself.
Her fingers move up and down the fretboard with such ease, I can’t look away.
She’s a fucking siren, and I’m caught in her song.
As the chorus hits, she throws her head back, her ice blonde hair peeking out from behind the hood, and commands the stage. I watch as the crowd pushes to the stage, eager to be closer, as if they could inhale the music like oxygen. She controls them like a goddess, and I am but a slave.
As the song ends and bleeds into the next one, time slips through my fingers. I almost miss someone sliding into the seat next to me.
“Problem, boss,” Gareth murmurs.
“What is it?” My voice is strained, but my eyes are still fixed on the stage and the temptress currently throwing her head back as she flies through another solo.
“It’s Delirium. Someone with a badge has shown up demanding to see licenses.”
“And you can’t handle it?”
“You like to handle the feds, boss.”
I silently curse to myself. Of course I do.
“Bring the car around. I’ll meet you out front.”
Gareth nods and weaves his way through the crowd towards the back exit. I let out a frustrated sigh, picking up my second drink and knocking back the whole thing. The warm liquid leaves a satisfying burn in its wake.
Cheers erupt as Tether finishes up their set, thanking everyone for coming out for them tonight.
Perfect timing.
I stand up, adjusting the cuffs of my tailored shirt as I make my way across the room to them. Their energy forms a contagious bubble around them.
“Congratulations,” I say to no one in particular.
“Thanks!” beams the bassist.
“You have a great spot here, Mr. Headstone,” says the vocalist.
I suppress a snarl at the nickname.
“Drinks are on the house tonight,” I announce as I motion for my bartender, who gives me a tight nod in acknowledgment.
“Free drinks and four thousand dollars a night? Score!” shouts the drummer.
“Drinks are for tonight only,” I say as his face falls sheepishly. “Your payment will be deposited first thing in the morning. Have a great night.”
Thank yous ring out, but I let them fade into the background as I step towards Kat. Her chest rises and falls rapidly as I approach her, her adrenaline like a needle hooked directly into my veins. Her hands are shaking and her eyes are darting over my face.
What can you see, little rebel?
I lean down closer, her rose and honey scent filling my lungs and scattering my brain, and fuck if I’m not addicted already.
“I may own this bar,” I whisper, my cheek brushing against her hair. “But tonight it belonged to you.”
Her breath stutters, and a brief flash of something passes over her features. Barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it—which I am. Her pulse flutters visibly at her throat. My hands twitch with the urge to lean in and test how far that little tremble runs.
“Enjoy your night, Kat.” I let the aftermath of my words hang in the air as I make my way towards the exit, my cherry red Mustang waiting for me.
As I step into the car, away from the intoxicating aura of her, I feel like I finally have my senses back. I hit the gas pedal and make my way towards Delirium.
I’ve built an entire empire out of control. Tonight, a girl with a guitar exposed a crack in it.
And I can’t decide whether I want to seal it, or break it wide open.