THE GIRL'S GOT SECRETS (Forbidden Men #7)

3. Asher

3

Asher

Strange fact about me: I totally dug strange and unusual facts.

I knew the term for killing your uncle was avunculicide. Your sister: sororicide. Your wife: uxoricide. Slaughtering everyone in the hopes of wiping out humankind in general: omnicide. But I did not know what it was called when you wanted to murder your fellow bandmates, and I really thought I should become familiar with that term since I was seriously considering employing it.

They were driving me out of my f*****g mind.

We’d made a deal before hiring the next drummer that everyone had to agree one hundred percent on someone and vote with a unanimous thumbs-up before we let the next guy in. I hadn’t been too keen on the last drummer we’d had from the beginning. There’d just been something skeevy about him that had rubbed me wrong. But he could carry a beat so I hadn’t balked when Gally had brought him onboard. I was easygoing like that.

Oh, you have someone in mind? Fine, he’s in.

Well, not anymore. Rock had cured me of that blind naivety when he’d tried to take out one of my very good friends. Turned out, he was a pyro to boot who’d killed a good portion of his family in a house fire years ago (called familicide, by the way). So, he was currently rotting away behind bars and serving hard time, while the rest of us were stuck in the lurch, with four days left to find a new drummer, or we wouldn’t be able to play our usual Friday night gig...for the sixth weekend in a row.

This was the second day of tryouts—we’d advertised keeping it open for three—and the three of us had been unable to agree on a single damn drummer yet. Not one freaking person.

I was holding out for talent and, you know, the non-pyro vibe—scarily enough, there’d been a couple of those. Gally seemed fixated on image. No dreads, too much face metal, not enough tattoos. Didn’t matter how they sounded; he just wanted a certain look...or gender, apparently, since he hadn’t bothered to listen to the one girl who’d come in.

And Heath...yeah, Heath didn’t give an explanation. He just shook his head yes or no. Maybe he was going on gut feeling alone. Who knew? It was hard to tell with him.

I had to admit, no one had impressed me enough to flip up my skirt either, but there’d been a handful I would’ve settled for, if my two f*****g bandmates hadn’t immediately nixed them.

I was beginning to think this little democracy thing we had going was the worst idea ever when Gally flopped into a chair and groaned as he smoothed his hands up either side of his Mohawk—which he’d dyed orange this week—as if to make sure it was still in place.

“This f*****g sucks. I say we call it quits for the day.”

Yes. That was about the only thing I could agree with right now. I motioned toward Heath. “Clear’em out.”

As Heath pulled the strap of his guitar over his head and set his baby down before heading for the door, I unhooked myself from my Taylor and rolled my shoulders to ease knotted muscle. We hadn’t had a break in hours, and I could feel it.

“Reconvene here at eight?” I asked the guys when Heath returned from sending all the applicants in the hall away.

“Re-what?” Gally asked, sending me a confused scowl with his mouth fallen open and eyes squinted.

I refrained from the long, tired sigh caught in my chest. “Meet,” I said. “Do you guys want to meet back here at eight...in the morning?”

Gally shook his head. “Why the f**k didn’t you just say that the first time?”

Oh my God, I really needed to get out of here.

This time, I did sigh. After cupping the back of my neck in both hands, to hopefully keep all the veins in it from exploding, I ground out, “See you in the morning.”

I zipped my guitar into its case, flung the strap over my shoulder so the Taylor rested against my back, and hurried for the exit.

I’d never really connected with anyone in the band before. After working a night shift alongside Heath for over two years as a package handler at a local shipping warehouse, I’d finally coaxed out of him during a break one night that he liked to play guitar. When I suggested we hang out and jam some time, he hadn’t said no.

Starting an actual band had been about the furthest thing from my mind at that point. But Heath’s cousin’s boyfriend at the time—aka Billy Galloway—had heard us play one night and he’d butted his way into our sessions, saying he knew a drummer, and so...our garage days had begun.

Friends would stop by to listen to us. It still hadn’t occurred to me to start an actual band until one of Gally’s many women had told us we would be famous someday. From that point on, all Gally and Rock could talk about was getting bigger.

Since neither of them had the wherewithal to actually do anything about it, I’d dug into the research scene and figured out what we needed to do to start.

The naming thing had taken us over a week. That had almost been a bigger headache to survive than finding a new drummer. But we’d finally been able to settle on Non-Castrato. Next was finding a place to perform. After striking out at nightclubs that were well known for taking on new talent and giving them a chance to show their stuff, I took a leap of faith and contacted the newbie owner of Forbidden. The place had never had anything above jukebox music in its bar before, but I’d already been batting zero. I had nothing to lose by simply asking.

After cornering Pick Ryan in his office, I’d blurted out my request, and I have no idea why—I must’ve caught the guy on a good day or something—but he’d agreed to let us play in his club. It might’ve had something to do with me saying we’d play for free and that I’d come to work for him as a bartender since that’s what he’d needed at the time, but whatever. He’d agreed!

So I found myself quitting the package handling job to work for Pick and starting this music venture with basically three strangers. I hadn’t regretted it once, though, not through any of the long hours or headaches or pretty much having to set up all the gigs and create any original song we sang. It was a challenge I loved and a place I knew I belonged as soon as I’d stepped into the position.

But yeah, sometimes I thought it would’ve been nice if we all understood each other a little better, or if my bandmates actually knew what half the words I said meant. I guess we didn’t need to be tight to make a group, however. There was no reason for me to be whiny and wistful. I was probably just one of those people who simply wasn’t meant to have a great meeting of the minds with others.

Besides, tomorrow was a fresh, new day. I assured myself we’d finally find a fourth band member to agree on and my current frustrations would be moot.

As I pushed out of the studio and into the cool November evening, however, I felt restless. Unsatisfied. Because I still wished I had...fuck, I’m not even sure. Maybe a friend. Just one person I could hang out with and do s**t with, or maybe not even do anything with. Just someone to be there, to help me get out of my own head for a while. A lifeline of sorts.

I’d told myself for years that I wasn’t lonely. But screw it, I was lonely.

And oddly enough, this past year that I’d worked at Forbidden and made more casual friends than I’d ever had before, I was realizing just how utterly alone I was.

Or maybe I was just in a mood because I was still letting what that girl had said earlier bother me. But, dammit, we were not a cliché. I’d worked hard to be my own kind of person and write songs that were different from everything else out there. Why had she gone and said the one thing that would bug me the most? Now her words were going to fester until they drove me crazy.

And what was up with calling me a man-w***e? Was she for real? She didn’t know me. She didn’t know how I interacted with women, or that it’d been months since I’d last had s*x. It itched at my craw that she would so easily label me like that.

But then, I tried to tell myself she’d been upset, for which I totally didn’t blame her. Gally should’ve let her audition (yet another reason I was irritated with him). So maybe it’d only been her anger talking.

Okay, fine...the truth was I was stewing because I was mad at myself. I could’ve forced the issue and let her audition, except damn...she’d affected me. Instantly.

As soon as she’d walked in the door with her long, tan legs sticking out of her short, short skirt with such a cocky, self-assured saunter, this heat had spread up from my gut and scorched my brain cells. That kind of immediate, intense reaction had only happened to me, like, twice in my life. Once a few months ago, and then...today. I didn’t much like it. It turned my hormones into these primitive beasts that wanted nothing but p***y.

I’d been forced to turn away and pretend to take a drink because I feared staring much longer might’ve caused me to sprout wood. But I just kept picturing myself ripping off that cheap blonde wig to see what she really looked like under there and then pushing her against the first available surface so I could feast upon her.

Seriously, the craving had been that bad.

So busy trying to cool my jets, I hadn’t even paid attention to what Gally was telling her until she’d said, “Is this some kind of joke,” and her voice...damn, her husky voice had me jonesing big time. It was low for a female but still really, extra sexy.

When I finally realized Gally was rejecting her because of her gender, sadly, I’d felt a spark of relief. There would’ve been no way I could’ve concentrated around someone who attracted me the way she did. I knew it was biased, cowardly, awful, and completely sexist of me, but I just couldn’t be in a band with her without wanting to jump her...constantly, and probably convincing her even more that I was some kind of man-w***e.

And so, I felt crappy and antsy and regretful as I marched to my ride for not giving her the simple audition she’d wanted.

My motorcycle—bless her faithful heart—sat on the curb, patiently awaiting me. The ’72 Triumph might’ve been badass if it weren’t so old and beat to hell. But it’d been cheaper than anything I could find with four wheels and had better gas mileage, so I wasn’t going to complain about image. I loved her anyway.

I went about coaxing her to life—turning on the fuel, pushing the tickler, flipping the choke and ignition before kick-starting her—then I was good to go.

The only place I really had to head was home to Mozart, but right now, that felt like a miserable option, so I steered the Triumph toward my favorite place on earth.

I’d known the Forbidden Nightclub existed for a little over a year now, and in that time I’d lived all of my happiest moments there. I’d gotten to perform there for my first time and return every Friday night to play again. My band had grown a name for ourselves and gathered a crew of followers because of that place. It was at Forbidden that I’d experienced that first punch of intense longing the moment I’d seen a stranger across a crowd and wanted to know everything about her. Hell, I’d learned I had a brother within its walls. The place felt more like home to me than the studio basement apartment where I rested my head each night.

When I drove past the club twenty minutes later and scoped out the parking lot to make sure a black Barracuda wasn’t on the premises, I came back around the block, pulled in and parked, satisfied the guy I was avoiding wasn’t inside.

I wasn’t scheduled to work tonight, and I kind of wished Pick would give me more hours so I’d have something to do on my off nights, but a beer and a little company sounded good. I needed some positive chi around me to absorb so I could boost my own morale.

Quinn and Knox were working the bar. Out of all the club’s bartenders, they were the two quiet ones. With the mood I was in, I wasn’t sure I’d be the best conversationalist tonight, so they were actually perfect choices for companionship.

“Hey, Asher,” Quinn greeted with his friendly, boy-next-door grin. “How’re the auditions coming?”

“Shitty.” I slumped onto a stool. “How’re the wife and kid?”

His smile bloomed with pride, and yep, that was exactly the kind of exuberant energy I needed. “Zoey seems a hundred percent better, and the doctor thinks we can take J.B. home in another week.”

“That’s great, man.” His wife had given birth to a severely premature baby a couple months back. It was nice to hear both she and the kid were making a complete recovery. I should’ve been happier that things were working out for them.

Instead of the cheer, however, a bitter ball of loneliness swelled inside me. Why couldn’t I find someone the way Quinn had?

A bottle of Angry Orchard appeared in front of me right before Knox flipped off the lid and strolled away.

“Thanks,” I called to his back, grateful he knew exactly what I needed. I picked it up and took a long pull.

God, that tasted good. I sighed and relaxed into my seat. Quinn went to help a customer at the other end of the bar, and I contented myself with my alcohol while both guys milled about me and did their thing.

Behind them, shelves of assorted bottles glinted in the low blue lighting overhead. It gave the atmosphere a calming effect that soothed a restless part of me. If I could’ve just sat there and lived on that stool for the rest of my life, I would’ve done it.

I closed my eyes and tipped my face forward as I rested both elbows on the countertop, letting the sound and smell of Forbidden seep through me.

But apparently, my peaceful reverie wasn’t meant to last.

“Asher?” A familiar voice had me jerking my head up and my eyes snapping open wide.

Instantly on edge, I swiveled toward the call and gaped in horror at the man who approached.

“s**t! Where did you come from?”

Pick, my boss and as of three weeks ago my older half-brother, slowed his approach and c****d an eyebrow. “Uh...my office?”

Damn, I should’ve known he’d still be around this early in the evening. It was his club; why wouldn’t he be around? But I’d been so sure I hadn’t seen his Barracuda out front.

“Did you get a new car or something?”

“Actually, yes, I did.” He squinted at me. “Why? Were you trying to avoid me?”

“What?” I snorted as if that were a ridiculous suggestion. “No.”

He knew I was lying. Pick had a way of eyeing a person that let you know he could read every thought in your head. I kind of admired that about him, even though it also intimidated the s**t out of me. Hell, just about everything there was to Pick Ryan impressed and unsettled me in equal measures.

It was eerie as f**k—as well as astonishing and yet utterly overwhelming—to know I was related to such an intuitive yet pleasant guy.

If I could’ve handpicked anyone on earth to choose as my biological big brother, it would’ve been him. He was just one of those personable, laid-back guys who accepted you for who you were and watched your back without you even asking him to.

And yet, the whole brother thing rattled me to the core. Me and “family” had never meshed. I just had this sinking feeling I couldn’t shake that if I let him actually be my brother, it’d all go to hell.

I had too much to lose if Pick ended up telling me to get lost. This place and what I had here were my entire life. My job, playing on Forbidden’s stage with my band, my friendship with him and all the other guys who worked here, and just...well, all of it had become the most important things to me. I didn’t know what I’d do without everything he’d already given me.

Pick continued to watch me with those omniscient brown eyes, which he must’ve picked up from his dad since our mom’s had been green, like mine.

“Prove it,” he murmured. “Tag along with me.”

“Huh?” I blinked at him as if he’d spoken a foreign language.

An amused grin cracked his face. He hitched his head toward the exit. “I have somewhere to be soon. Why don’t you come?”

“Why?” I winced as the suspicious-sounding word left my lips. What I really should’ve asked was where. But Pick answered me anyway.

With a careless shrug, he said, “Just to hang out.”

The offer was tempting. It was the exact kind of companionship I’d been craving only minutes ago. But I didn’t dare hope, wouldn’t fall victim to the lure. It would end badly. It had to end badly. Any and every familial thing in my life ended badly. Why would this be any different?

“Oh, Jesus.” He rolled his eyes and slugged his arm against mine. “Quit overthinking it already. Just get your ass off the stool and come with me.”

“But...I have to finish my beer.” Yeah. That sounded...lame.

Pick glanced at the countertop in front of me. “What beer?”

I spun to check on my drink, but it was gone, only a wet ring left on the bar where it’d once sat as Quinn tossed a bottle in the trash that looked suspiciously like an Angry Orchard.

“So let’s go already.” Pick nudged me again.

With a reluctant groan, I slid off my seat. I told myself I was only doing this because he was my boss; he could fire me if I was subordinate. But honestly, I was curious. No matter how certain and afraid I was that starting a brotherly relationship with him would end badly, I wanted to know more about this guy who’d come from the same womb as me. I secretly did ache to have him as family.