• Eight •
· Eight ·
The blond Greek god could leave now.
Briar
Finishing my first set onstage at Highwater, I made my way down to the bar, where Bash Highwater, the owner and my boss, was standing by Mick, one of the bartenders working tonight. Mick was a good-looking guy around thirty while the other bartender tonight, Sunshine, was mid-twenties with big boobs and blonde hair. Bash was very selective with his bartenders. They all had to be efficient and attractive. I was almost positive he was screwing around with Sunshine. The possessive look she gave him was a dead giveaway. Not that it was my business, but I noticed these things.
“Thirsty?” Mick asked as I stepped up to the back of the bar.
“Yes,” I replied with a smile.
He grabbed a glass from the cooler and added ice, then filled it with water before handing it to me.
“Thank you,” I told him before gulping it down.
“When are you gonna do one of your originals again?” he asked while he worked on filling two mugs with beer on tap.
I shrugged. “Don’t know. I think the crowd prefers what they know.”
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.”
Bash nodded his head, but he kept his eyes on Storm. Did he know who he was? He seemed unsure about letting me go.
“Nice to see your father’s place is still thriving,” Storm said to him.
That answered my question.
“I do my best,” Bash replied. “I was unaware you knew my best performer.” The cautious way he spoke to Storm made me wonder just how he knew him.
“There aren’t many gorgeous females in Georgia I don’t know,” Storm said with a crooked grin that was meant to ease Bash’s concern, but seemed so out of place on him. At least the Storm that I knew. He was always scowling.
Bash let out a nervous chuckle. “Yes, I imagine you do.”
His eyes shifted back to me then, as if he wanted to warn me. It was possible Bash thought I didn’t know who and what Storm was.
Reaching up, I touched Storm’s arm affectionately and smiled at Bash. Storm’s arm flexed under my touch, but he didn’t jerk it away.
“We won’t be long,” I told them, then turned my head up to look at Storm. “Follow me.”
I didn’t wait to see if he was behind me as I made my way to the door that led backstage. I knew he could keep up just fine. The people in our path seemed to part as we walked by. Was it just Storm’s commanding presence, or was he scowling again, looking like he might shoot someone who didn’t move? Probably the latter.
Stepping through the door, I kept going until I made it to the dressing room I used on nights I worked. I left it open for Storm to follow me inside, knowing he’d close it behind himself. Crossing my arms over my chest, I turned to look at him. His broad back was to me, and good Lord, his ass in a pair of jeans was fantastic. Jerking my eyes off his bottom half before I ended up admiring his muscular thighs, I watched as he locked the door before facing me.
“I’ve got ten minutes left on break,” I informed him.
He studied the room for a moment before looking back at me again, as if searching for something. “You need to leave town.”
I was already planning on it, but having him tell me that I needed to annoyed me. “And why do you think I should be taking direction from you?” My tone was snarky, but he seemed to bring out the worst in me.
“Jameson is injured, but he’s not dead. You’ve got maybe a week before he’s moving around again.”
I felt the blood drain from my face as I stared at him. I hadn’t thought this was what he’d come to say. Jameson being alive was something I’d stopped worrying about. I had been sure that they killed him.
“But he shot at you,” I said, my voice giving away my fear.
Storm shook his head. “No. He shot at you. That’s not reason enoough for us to kill the heir to one of the biggest whiskey distributers in the South and Sol Mercer’s fiancé.”
Panic was rising in my chest. Dovie wasn’t safe. I had to get her out of this town, this state, now.
“I thought the Mafia wasn’t afraid of anyone,” I blurted.
Sure, I wasn’t their concern, but didn’t they kill people and ask questions later? Why let Jameson live?
“We aren’t. We just know when a battle is worth it. This one isn’t.”
Ouch. Okay, that was fair. No reason to bring on that kind of attention over me. Someone they didn’t like or trust.
“Right,” I muttered as my mind raced as to what I needed to do next.
I couldn’t go back on that stage. Not with Dovie at home, alone.
“Is that all then?” I asked him when he didn’t move to leave or say more.
He nodded. “Yeah. I felt like you should be warned.”
“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself.
When he didn’t respond right away, I started to think he wasn’t going to, but he lifted one of his large, tanned hands and ran his thumb over his lower lip as he studied me. That one move, although my life was in danger and I had to go save Dovie, made my body tingle. Especially the area between my legs.
“I don’t like you, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to die. I debated not coming. Letting your fate lay where it might. But unlike you, I do have a conscience. I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror, knowing I did nothing. I’ve warned you, and now, it’s on you what you do next.”
It wasn’t like this was the first time that Storm had said things to me that stung, but it didn’t make it any less painful. I said nothing, but nodded my head. I didn’t trust my voice. I needed a moment alone to regroup and make a plan. The blond Greek god could leave now.
As if he’d read my mind, he turned and walked back to the door. I watched as he opened it and closed it. Not once even glancing at me again. Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my phone and texted Dovie.
Are you good?
That was my typical question. I didn’t want to alarm her with, Put a chair in front of the door, go get my spare gun from under the floorboard in my room, and hide in the closet. That would have been a little dramatic, but right now, I’d feel better if she did just that.
Yep! Watching season four of Never Have I Ever.
A small smile tugged my lips. I didn’t care for the show. I thought it was silly, but I was glad Dovie was watching something age-appropriate for once. When she’d been on a Sons of Anarchy kick, I had hated it and felt like I was failing as a … whatever I was to her. The stepsister who had stolen her from abusive parents and kept her on the run to protect her. Not really a title you could share with people.
I’ll be home soon.
I paused my finger, hovering over the keys, wanting to tell her to finish packing up her things, but knowing that would have her asking questions that I wasn’t going to answer with her there alone. She’d be terrified.
I thought you worked until closing.
I was supposed to. But not anymore.
Change of plans.
The dots appeared immediately, telling me she was typing.
Why? What happened?
Smart girl. She’d been on the run with me for too long. She knew the signs.
Nothing. All is well.
Dots, then …
You’re lying.
UGH! I was not telling her this over a text.
Watch your show and stop being a brat. I’ll be there soon.
More dots.
Fine, but I’m getting the big knife from the kitchen and putting a chair under the door. Knock when you get here.
A bitter smile touched my lips. I hated that she knew this life. But it was better than the one I’d taken her from.
Okay.
I wasn’t about to tell her not to. I’d feel better, knowing she was on alert.
The guitar I used here wasn’t mine. It was one that Bash supplied. He wanted me to use a flashy one onstage, and mine was nice, but it wasn’t anything like the one he had me use. I didn’t have to go back to get anything, and although I needed to tell Bash I was leaving and why, I didn’t have time. I’d text him and apologize that way. It was a shitty thing to do, but Dovie came first.
Grabbing my purse, I slung it over my shoulder, then headed for the door. When I opened it, I came face-to-face with Bash. Shit. He looked at my purse, then back to me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“It’s an emergency. I have to go,” I explained. “I am really sorry about this.”
“Are you in danger, Briar? I know who Storm Kingston is. Do you?”
I nodded. It was a yes to both questions after all.
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a heavy sigh. “Shit. Okay. What can I do to help you? I know Stellan Shephard because my father worked with him some and Stellan helped him with a uh, situation, years ago. It’s how he got the money to open this place. But I’m not tight with them. They’re not people you get tight with.”
I nodded again. “Yeah, I know. It’s not them that my issue is with, if that makes you feel better. Storm came to warn me—that’s all. They won’t be back here, but I-I have to go. As in leave town. I thought I had more time, but I don’t.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Okay, right. At least let me go get your tips and pay you what I owe you. If you’re running, you need money.”
Yes, I did. But I had to hurry. “I don’t have much time.”
Bash pulled out his wallet, and I watched as he took out a small stack of one-hundred-dollar bills, then held them out to me. “Take this then.”
I shook my head. “That’s too much.”
It was at least two thousand, maybe more. He owed me a thousand, max.
“Take it,” he demanded, shoving it into my hand. “You need it.”
I hesitated for a moment, then wrapped my fingers around the cash. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back one day. I swear it.”
He shook his head. “Just when it’s safe, come on back. Your job will be waiting on you.”
I’d never be able to come back, but I didn’t say that. I gave him a smile I didn’t feel. “Thank you.”
“Anytime. Go. Be safe. Call me if there is anything I can do to help.”
I started to go, but stopped and threw my arms around him and hugged him briefly. It was rare that men helped me without wanting something in return. The emotion clogging my throat at his willingness to help surprised me. I wasn’t used to it.
Letting him go, I stepped back and turned to head out the back exit. I was going to miss this place, but I’d move on and find something new. I always did.