Exquisitely Broken (A Sin City Tale Book 1) Read online

  I hesitate.

  Three little words.

  That’s all he said, but the tone of those simple little words resonates with a heady mix of seduction and longing. And dammit if I don’t like being the focus of it.

  “What dorm are you staying in?” He walks backward toward the buildings, holding my guitar hostage behind his back. I match him step for step, which successfully keeps the guitar out of my reach.

  “Dayton South. Please, give me my guitar.” I stop walking and hold out my hand.

  A panty-dropping smile slides across his face and to my complete mortification, I have to fight the urge to take mine off and offer them up as tribute.

  “Me too.”

  I smile in return and hear a low groan.

  “She has dimples too. Fucking perfect,” Jacob mumbles, or at least I think that’s what he says. “Look, let me help you with all of this.” He waves an arm at the duffle bag and hikes the guitar case in his hand higher.

  “Not necessary. I’m good.” And not really that sure I trust myself to follow you to the dorm. Apparently, my body didn’t get the memo that we don’t fall over pretty boys and rub ourselves over them like a kitten begging to be stroked. “If you could just point me in the right direction…”

  He shakes his head and takes three giant steps that swallows up the space between us, picks up the duffle bag, and grunts under the weight.

  “I gotchu, Sin. Just have a little faith.”

  “In what?”

  He pulls the second guitar case from my hand, taking a backward step toward one of the buildings. “Me.”

  NOW

  Sinclair

  Jacob Johnson is in front of me. There are close to a million people in this valley. Why him? And why now? I could’ve gone another lifetime without seeing Jake again?

  Aaron’s effervescent voice is coming at me through a tunnel, saying, “This is the CFO of The Hotel,”

  I see the man who broke my heart, the one who threw me away like day-old garbage. He’s standing in front of me with the same haunting eyes and full lips spread in a sad smile. He reaches out to take my hand, and I’m trapped motionless by shock. He takes my palm. Just for a second, okay maybe like two or three seconds, I let myself bask in the familiar feel of his skin against mine.

  “Jacob Johnson. Nice to…”

  I jerk my hand out of Jake’s, his voice breaking my trance like shattered glass. And because this day fucking sucks, I stumble over some yet to be identified object behind my heel. He wraps an arm around my waist to stop me from toppling over, securing me to his chest. Our lips are a breath apart. When he exhales, the scent of his cinnamon gum takes me back to hundreds of other moments like this one, moments where he was my anchor.

  “No.” I place hands on his chest.

  Jake pulls his head back, his questioning gaze searching mine. I take that inch and push as hard as I can forcing him back a couple of steps.

  He immediately moves forward, trying to reclaim that space.

  “Can we just talk for a min—”

  I slap him. Hard. The sound echoes around the room and every eye in the place turns in our direction.

  “Fuck you, Jake!” An imprint of my palm blooms red and angry on his face. His fingertips tentatively touch his cheek, but he doesn’t back down or slither away as it were. If anything he doubles down, frustration and determination warring for dominance on his face.

  Oh my God, that felt good! For years, I’ve thought about this day. The day when the shoe would finally be on the other foot, and he’d be the humiliated one.

  Satisfaction swells in my chest.

  Then my head swivels around the room, and I fully grasp the reality of this situation and my utterly dumb-ass response. Was it justified? You bet your ass it was. But smart? Not even a little.

  “I’m not asking for…” The muscle in his jaw tightens as he grinds his teeth before he starts again. “I’m just asking for a minute… one minute of your time… that’s it. The last time I didn’t get to say—”

  I lower my voice and plaster a fake smile on my face, conscious of the eyes on us. In a fast, hushed whisper I say, “Do you not see all these people?” I signal around with room with a tilt of my head. “No, we can’t talk. What is there left to say?”

  I turn around, looking for the closest exit. I have to get out of here before I make an even bigger fool of myself. I walked into this room on top of the world. Leave it to Jake to taint even this. He steps in close behind me.

  “Wait!” he rasps. The low timbre of his voice is almost drowned out by the noise around us, but I hear him. Oh my God, do I hear him. The rough sound skims across my nerve endings, making my nipples pebble into stinging points, and my frantic movements slowly stop. I stand there with my back to him. My mind screams at me to move, but my body begs me to reconsider, just one more time.

  “Turn around.” He waits for a couple of seconds, and when I fail to respond, I hear a whispered, “Please. I just want a chance to…” He places a hand on my shoulder, and my eyes flutter closed as I fight the urge to lean back into his warmth.

  “Just have a little faith in—”

  “Have a lit-little…,” I stammer, as I turn around, bringing us face-to-face. He’s lucky I don’t hit him again.

  Asshole.

  He said the same thing to me the first day we met. And look where trusting him got me.

  He straightens his suit coat and runs a hand down his tie. Finally taking in the shocked faces and semi-hidden cell phones. Jake takes a deep breath. I can see the gears in his mind working to grasp the severity of the situation while still pleading his case.

  “I don’t want to hear it. Whatever you are about to say… just don’t. Do you remember when I told you I treated you with a respect that you didn’t deserve?” I wait for him to nod.

  “Well, baby, those days are long gone. I’m not your mother and contrary to what she may have told you, the sun doesn’t rise and set on your ass. You don’t get to ask me for time or understanding. You don’t get to ask me for anything…”

  “If you would let me get a word in—” He squeezes the bridge of his nose while the other hand closed into a fist against his leg.

  “You still don’t get it. I don’t want your stupid words! Actions, remember that?” I close the space between us, poking a stiff finger in his chest. “It’s all about actions, right? What did your actions say?” I look up into his face waiting for a reply. The only answer I get is his hand coming to wrap around mine, pulling my finger from his chest.

  The venom just keeps pouring out of my mouth. I can’t stop. Why can’t I shut up?

  “Oh, I got the Sin-ain’t-shit message loud and clear. So, no I don’t want to talk, and no I will not give you a chance. You can go straight to hell, Jake. And real talk? Fuck you for making me appear like the no class hoodrat your family always thought I was. Nice touch!”

  I push against the solid wall of his chest and turn back toward the exits. This time he lets me go. But I don’t know what door will lead me out of here, and every direction I turn there’s a phone out recording. My well-groomed facade starts to slip in frustration. I haven’t worked my ass off the last four years to end up the tail end of a joke on a late-night talk show. Hindsight being what it is, I should’ve smiled prettily and walked in the other direction. But now I can see the GIFs of me slapping him playing on a loop.

  Maybe by some miracle the fallout won’t be as bad as I think. The only people I have with boots on the ground here are the band members and security. Venetria left about two hours after we arrived with promises she be here for opening night. Our manager isn’t set to arrive until early next week, a day before opening, because who could have anticipated that I would go reality TV on my ex at the release?

  All the other people in attendance are employees of The Hotel, so it can’t be that bad, right? But all I need is for one picture or video to leak.

  I forgot all about Seth and Aiden, who stare at me in wide-eyed
disbelief. If I weren’t in the middle of what amounts to one of the worst days of my life, this whole thing would be comical.

  But right now? Not laughing.

  And then there’s Aaron, the entertainment director, who has the power to cancel Sin City’s contract before we even start. Who is standing a foot or so away with his mouth hanging open and his head whipping back and forth between Jake and me. While Jake is still standing close enough that I can feel the heat coming off his body, his hands balled into fists, chest visibly moving up and down with each breath and suddenly it’s too much.

  I walk around all four men and beeline toward the entrance. I’m a couple of feet from my target when Adam appears like the archangel Michael, by my side ready to do battle. But when he doesn’t see an easily identifiable target, he pulls me in the opposite direction. I follow his lead, tailed by two bamboozled security guards and a still flustered Aaron. We all exit into an empty hallway and as soon as the door closes, my composure crumbles.

  “What in the hell was that? I heard the commotion from the other side of the room. I thought something had happened to you. Where in the fuck were you two?” Adam advances on Seth and Aiden. His anger needing a target.

  “He’s here.” I can barely understand myself, but he seems to have no problem.

  “He, who?” He looks at Aaron for answers and then back at me. I still can’t formulate what just happen. He turns back to Aaron.

  “I introduced her to the CEO, Connor Rappaport, and his best friend and business partner, Jacob Johnson, the CFO.” He shrugs because he has no idea what’s going on.

  “Did you just say Jacob Johnson? Jesus… fuck!” Adam bends at the waist and growls in frustration. That is how I know that we’re in trouble. Adam is usually the eye of the storm, but if he’s bent over in frustration, shit just got real.

  “This is a goddamned mess.” Adam stands upright, running agitated hands over his jean-clad thighs. “How are we just now finding out that Jacob works here?”

  “There is still time for us to back out of this thing. Go somewhere. Hell, anywhere else.” he says. “But I gotta stay in the valley, you know?” And I did. He has an appointment early next week with the Department of Child Protective Services. They’re supposed to check out his house to make sure it meets their standards for housing a child, and if he passes, they’ll grant him temporary custody.

  “I thought you guys were happy with the deal. We… I… I went through a lot of trouble…” He laces his fingers behind his neck and stares up at the ceiling, looking for answers in the stark white paint.

  My eyes fill with tears, and I blink to stop them from falling down my cheeks. I refuse to let one tear fall because of that beautiful, pleading asshole.

  “No one is backing out. It’s just… he… just caught me off guard is all.”

  “If I have to be the fucking Wall of China, I swear I’ll keep him away from you.” Adam grabs my face in his strong hands. Worry lines crease his forehead, and his eyes are tight around the corners.

  I love the sentiment, but we’re not kids anymore. I don’t need Adam to fight my battles or block out the bad things in the world.

  “I’m a big girl. If Jake knows what good for him, he’ll stay the hell away from me. If he’s stupid enough to come looking, I promise he won’t like what he finds.”

  “There’s my girl. You got this, Sin. You ready?” He has said the exact thing to me every time we’ve gone on stage, every showcase we did for labels, every photo shoot, and when we ran away from the group home for the bright lights of Las Vegas.

  “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  NOW

  Jake

  When I pictured seeing Sin again, I imagined things going differently. Not sure what different looked like, but I’m positive it didn’t include yelling, public humiliation, or getting slapped in front of a room full of people.

  At the beginning of the night, I’d been talking with one of the other guys from finance. It had been mindless talk. Conversation for the sole purpose of filling up dead space and helping me maintain a certain level of calm.

  For days, I’d been vacillating between an almost euphoric happiness at the idea of seeing her again and the ugly despair rooted in the understanding our breakup was more than one incident. It was the culmination of a hundred, minute decisions. The mistakes I made were the unforgivable kind. But that doesn’t change the fact that I still crave her. Her light, her creativity, her beauty, her love, her forgiveness, her everything.

  Sin entered the room on a wave of noise with Adam by her side, security orbiting around the edges of her personal space, and the not so subtle attention of every person in the room. And I froze. The circulatory system in my body suddenly failed to deliver adequate blood flow and constricted the oxygen in my lungs.

  She’s here. Here. Right in front of me.

  For the first time in four years, my eyes had the pleasure drinking her in and my view was fucking perfect. I was able to simply observe her, take her in. Let my eyes trace the slope of her neck and the distinct bones of her clavicle. Down the flat of her stomach and over the flair of her hips. She was a vision wrapped in hot pink, a color that made her dark brown skin glow with brilliance, after years of having to settle for flat images that never quite seemed to capture her essence. I was overwhelmed in her presence and in my reaction to it.

  At twenty-nine, I’ve seen beautiful women. I’ve pursued and dated them. I’ve fucked them seven ways from Sunday and enjoyed it every time.

  Every. Single. Fucking time.

  Every scrape of nails, every low moan, and high pitch wail. I’ve enjoyed it all but I never loved it. What I had with Sin was love, an emotionally deep, physically satisfying, all-encompassing love. The women I got lost in as I tried to forget her couldn’t even touch the memory of Sin.

  At the time I hated it.

  Hated her for leaving me, for icing me out, for having the nerve to hold me accountable for my shit.

  Looking at her now, so far removed from the girl I knew, I’m not sure what I feel. Gone were her rough edges, the sweetly insecure walk, and the contradiction that struggled to find the balance behind creative pursuit and performance. The woman who stood in her place had confidence in spades. Beauty that was a statement of fact. Like the way the sky was blue or water was wet. Sin was beautiful.

  In that moment I got it, all the media attention, all the appearances on television and on magazines covers. I understood why everyone wanted a piece of her. Why from the moment we met I could never get enough of her.

  I watched Sin walk across the room all graceful poise and swaying hips and my instinct went to war with my common sense. Conventional wisdom would say approaching her in a room full of people after years of resentment and hurt feelings wasn’t a good idea, but as I tracked her movements, watched her with an intensity typically reserved for a lion stalking its prey on the Serengeti, I had to fight the urge to break her off from the herd and pounce.

  I wanted peel her out of that goddamn skintight, pink dress and take inventory of all the things that had changed or stayed the same since we’d last seen each other. I wanted to wrap my hands in the springy curls of her hair and watch her eyes melt into mine as our lips met for the first time in four years. More than anything, I wanted to repent at the altar of Sin. Sink to my knees and beg forgiveness. Worship her body with my body. Remind her how my hands felt against her skin, and how much she liked my face pressed into her wet core.

  While I zoned out, Aaron immediately apprehended Sin and made a beeline to Connor, who was only a couple of feet away from me. When Aaron looked at me over her head and started the introduction, I hesitated, unsure how to progress. Pretend as if I didn’t know her? Go in for a hug? Act on my baser instincts, strip her bare, and reintroduce myself in the biblical sense?

  Ultimately, I held out my hand. My fingertips sliding over her palm. And before I could fully register the exhilaration of touching her again, she’d snatched her hand out of mine.
/>   At first, a look of confusion creased the skin between her eyes, but in the blink of an eye that look transformed into biting anger. Those wide brown eyes with specks of gold looked through me as if I was nothing. No, that look said I less than nothing and that shit burned. Hurt much more than it should. And when she jumped away from my touch as if it repulsed her, the pain that had been a pinprick of sensation in my frontal lobe grew to an aching pulse that I felt all the way down to my toes.

  Even through the plastic smile and stiff limbs, I could still easily read her. Her body language was screaming, Why are you here? What do you want? Go to straight to hell! And that was before every foolish thing that popped into my head came out of my mouth.

  I should’ve followed my first thought and forgot about the whole thing. This night was a first, not only for The Hotel but for Sin as well. I should have respected that. Stayed in my lane. Then I remembered the split second her body was pressed against mine, and I wouldn’t change a thing. Not even the slap that snapped my head back on my neck. I should’ve waited until I had a chance to talk to her alone, but something tells me it would’ve played out the same with only a slight difference. My shit wouldn’t be hanging out in the wind for the world to see.

  Not just my little corner of Las Vegas but the entire fucking planet. There had been pictures and videos taken. All of which have the possibility of being leaked. From a business perspective I’m screwed. Think about it, most people, even the people that work for the casino, have no idea who I am or what I look like. Why? Because you don’t need me to successfully brand the business.

  Part of the allure of casinos is anonymity. The idea that anything goes. That no one is watching or judging. For the right price, hotel guest can engage in their dirtiest, raunchiest fantasies with no one back home the wiser.

  But when the hotel becomes synonymous with a person or a group of people there is a layer of accountability. Suddenly the forty-year-old soccer mom from the Bible Belt is a little reluctant to wear the miniskirt or the see-through top. The devout church goer thinks twice about dropping a grand at the craps table, all because they feel like they know you.