Chapter 2

ChapterTwo

Cash

Itap the mic, clearing my throat softly as I settle into the dim corner stage of the local bar. It feels like home. Even though I’ve been performing in sold-out stadiums for the last few years, this is where my heart formed—a guitar in my hands and a semi-drunk crowd barely paying me any attention. Moments like this have a beauty I’ve never experienced in a theater. I’ll never silence a crowd that’s there for me.

I strum the chords on the weathered guitar, sucking in a breath before singing the opening line of a classic country song.

My grandma hummed “Wild Roses” to me plenty of summer nights under the stars, her gentle arms around me as she lulled me to sleep. Grandma loved music of all kinds. She filled my head with stories of her life as a traveling musician when she and Grandpa were first married before the babies came.

It’s no wonder I still sing this song, only with my unique slow twist on the familiar lyrics. I begged the record label to get the music rights to the song so I could add it to my last album, but they refused, claiming it wasn’t consistent with my brand. These classic country melodies are more my brand than anything the label makes me record. It’s the music that formed me, entrenched in my childhood, and imprinted in my DNA.

The lyrics transport me to memories filled with sorrow and joy, something my current music could never do. The words bring back the smell of apple pie baking in my grandma’s kitchen and her tinkling laugh as I kiss her wrinkled cheek.

The sweet chords spin through my fingers with the help of muscle memory. The energy in the room grows with every passing beat until the audience sings along to the final chorus. Their voices are a euphonic symphony echoing through the bar.

This surprise little rendition of a classic tune would likely hit the news cycle before the morning if this were a bar in Brooklyn. But as I scan the crowd, no one whispers or points. I’m just a regular girl with chops. It feels fantastic to merge with the crowd and sing simply because it fuels my heart with joy.

The last note of “Wild Roses” fades, and I set the guitar against the stool. People push closer to the stage as I stand. They cheer and clap as I descend the stairs into the anonymity of the crowd. I nod and smile my way to the bar, surprised to find a lineup of shots waiting for me from appreciative audience members.

I thank them for their generosity but refuse to take a sip. Hard liquor and I don’t mix. It took some time to realize. I used alcohol to escape the things I’d rather forget, but those unhealthier phases of my life are in the past, and I’m a beer-only girl now.

I turn to the hot bartender and blush under his heated stare before asking him for another Keith’s. He doesn’t appear to fit the aesthetic of a small town with his black jeans, My Bloody Valentine T-shirt, and steel-toed combat boots. The guy stands out like a punk rocker at the Grand Ole Opry.

The bartender uncaps my bottle, settling it in front of me. “You sounded good up there.”

“Thanks.” I tip the bottle to my lips, letting the liquid coat my throat, yearning for its comfort. Good ol’ liquid courage.

“Only heard one other person sing that song live.” His blue eyes narrow on me, his head tilted like he’s searching for a greater truth than I’m willing to bare for the masses.

I recognize the gleam in his eye, having been exposed to it my entire career. Vultures surrounding me disguised as reporters. Relentless. He’d make an excellent reporter. The guy seems to mistrust everyone and everything. And damn if he doesn’t look delicious doing it.

My gaze travels over the day-old stubble at his rough-cut jaw, the slightly long hair that curls at his ears, and the wide stretch of his muscled shoulders, strong enough to hold a girl like me down without breaking a sweat. And those hands. Those large hands covered in tattoos and sexy-as-sin veins could wrap around my neck until I passed out. I shake my head to clear the fog of rough sex with this random stranger staring at me with so much contempt.

“You sure you haven’t been here before?” The slight southern twang of his words does things deep in my stomach. Wonder what he’d sound like, choking me with his dick and calling me his dirty little whore?

I swallow the ball of nerves stuck in my throat and ignore the wetness between my legs. “First night here.”

I tip my beer at him before taking it to my lips, needing to wet my dry throat.

“Well, it may surprise you to know that it’s not the first time I’ve heard that song in my bar.”

I arch an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.” The lie trips off my tongue because it was my least popular song and released on a B-sides album. Most people heard it for the first time twenty years after it was written. “It’s a fantastic song by one of country music’s legends.”

“Is that so?” He moves closer, icy blue eyes assessing me shrewdly.

“Yup.” I pop my P to annoy him.

It must work because his jaw ticks.

“Hafta say, barkeep, your interest in the song makes you slightly more interesting.” I shoot him a fake grin and finish the rest of my beer. “Mind grabbing me another?”

His lip twitches, and his mouth curves into a cocky smile before he snags another beer from behind the bar. He pops the cap on the edge of the old wood and hands it to me without breaking my gaze.

I press the chilled glass to my lips and draw the cool, sweaty moisture across my cupid’s bow before licking my lips. All the time focused on the bright blue intensity of his irises. “Bottom’s up, sweetheart.”

A single drip escapes down my neck, tickling at the hollow before disappearing between my generous cleavage. The icy rivulet does nothing to cool my flaming skin. It may well be his finger dragging down the length of my naked body while his hand grips my throat. All I can focus on is being held under his boot as he fucks my ass without mercy. My brain works overtime, imagining how he’d make me his bitch and demand I call him Daddy. The thought has me hotter than an erupting volcano.

My mind is in a trance, flooded by dirty thoughts, so I don’t notice how close he is until his mouth grazes my earlobe.

“I’ll tell my mama you did her song proud.”