The Dust and the Roar Read online

  Her eyes glimmered with water, lips parted. “Wreck—”

  “Bloom, Isadora.” I kissed her hand. “Open up to the sun, baby.”

  She hugged me hard. “You’re incredible.”

  “Then I guess you better hold onto me, huh?” I smacked her ass and went back to my duffle, zipping it up.

  Her gaze shot to my bag at the sharp sound of the zipper. “When will you be back? Sunday night?”

  “More likely Monday night.”

  “I’ve been to these parties before,” she said carefully. “I know—”

  “I know you know. But you know me, right?”

  “I know you used to screw a married woman.”

  “Whoa.”

  “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  “That was a long time ago, Isi. You can’t get mad or worried about shit that happened in the past, before us … or we’ll be here all day.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “Were you a virgin when we first—”

  “No.”

  My head slanted. “If this is a fight now, woman, you got to fight fair.”

  “Fine.”

  “Let’s get basic. Since you and me started up, I haven’t been with anybody else, in any way. Meaning, no touching, no kissing, no nothing.”

  She folded her arms. “Okay.”

  “How about you?”

  “I haven’t been with anybody else either. No nothing.”

  “Good.”

  “Good.”

  We stared at each other. We were two kids who’d gotten all the candy they’d bartered for from each other and now weren’t sure what to do with it.

  “I realize you can’t share a lot of club stuff with me, and that’s cool. I get it,” she said. “But you don’t me tell me much about yourself. You give me little pieces here and there, but not—”

  “Says the girl with the ex-husband.”

  “I deserve that. But you? You’re like a fist,” she shot back.

  “A what?”

  “A fist curled up tight. Strong and powerful,” she replied. “Once in a while I can peel back a finger and get a peek of what’s inside, what you’re holding onto so damn tight, but then you go and curl your fingers back up, and it’s gone.”

  “Have I ever said or done anything to make you not trust me?”

  “No, but—”

  “Did your ex cheat and lie? I’m not him, Is.”

  “I know you aren’t him. I know.”

  “I’m coming back from that run, babe. Coming back to you.”

  She was in panic mode all right, but there was truth to what she’d said. I always hedged talking about myself with her. We were past that, weren’t we? We weren’t just fucking and hanging out anymore. It was more, and we both knew it. We both felt it.

  I had to give her something. I should.

  “My mom cheated on my dad,” I said, the words boulders being shoved through my tiny window. “I don’t think she ever loved him like he loved her. She was never happy, always wanted more of something else, whatever that was. Did she even know? I’m not so sure. She left us for this rodeo rider and ended up having a kid with him, another boy. But that didn’t last too long, and she dumped the kid on his dad and took off again.”

  She shifted her weight. “Wreck—”

  “I’m unfurling for you. Taking a step in a direction.”

  “Okay.”

  “The buffalo toy you found? That was his.”

  “Your brother?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Miller.”

  “Miller.” The name flickered across her face like rays of warm sunshine on cold skin.

  “My mother sent a Christmas card a while back. She’s in Oklahoma now. Married with two new kids. That’s good, I guess. I’m impressed she’s stuck it out this long.”

  “You don’t see her?”

  “No.”

  “Do you talk to Miller? Do you see him?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not in touch?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you want to find him?”

  “And do what?”

  Her eyes widened. “Say hello, see how he’s doing? He’s your brother.”

  I averted my gaze. “Yeah, maybe someday. I guess.”

  “Someday, you guess,” she repeated, her teeth raking across her bottom lip. “Thank you for sharing all that with me.”

  “Baby, this is me telling you I’m with you, and you own me,” I said, stopping her with my voice, whatever words I had to use. I wanted to see what was down the road for us, I did. “I don’t want anybody else.”

  She planted a kiss on my lips. “Women must come on to you all the time.”

  “Yeah, they do.”

  Her eyes flared. “They’d have to be blind—tall, longish dark hair, those amazing blue eyes, powerful muscles, fantastic ass…”

  “Thanks, babe.” I smirked. “You know Mrs. Drake, Georgia’s mother-in-law? I think she’s real lonely, comes in for oil changes weekly. Brings me coffee and cookies from the Cafe every single time.”

  “Oh my God.” Isi laughed. “Really? I can’t wait to tell Georgia that one.”

  “My point is there are women everywhere: the club women, the girls who are there to party and score.”

  She slid a hand down my chest. “Oh, and let’s not forget you working at The Tingle.”

  “Yes, I’ve fooled around with a couple of the girls there in the past. But no more. The new girls come on to me, dance for me, proposition me. And I’m human, I get turned on. But—”

  Her eyes flashed. “Oh good, there’s a but.”

  “But I don’t give a shit. I choose to share my body only with you, my hands, my mouth, my cock only with you. Only you. Nobody else. There’s no question in my mind, it’s not something I wrestle with.” I tapped my fist against my chest. “Whatever is in here—lust, emotions, all my desires—all that’s twisted up in you, Is. I can’t separate it. I can’t. Only you, you’ve put it there. And I’m good with that, baby. I dig it hard. I don’t want to lose it. Not over snatch, not to fill my ego or show off to the guys or scratch an itch. I got nothing to prove. I want you.” She buried her head in my chest, and I let out a chuckle. “And your snatch.”

  She burst out laughing, and we held each other tight. “I get jealous. There, I said it,” she muttered. “I don’t want to be that girl.”

  My fingers tangled in her hair. “Hmm. This coming from the girl who hangs out with rock and rollers and probably has groupies.”

  A fist punched my side softly. “I don’t. And I don’t care about anyone else. They know I’m with you, and they like you.”

  “Good to know.”

  “You like that I’m jealous?” her muffled voice said.

  “I like you getting all pissy and territorial over me. Made me hard as a rock.”

  Her arms wound tightly around my middle, and she lifted her head to me. Her face had softened into a small smile, that smile that she shared with me when we were alone and had plans for me. Wicked plans. The blood rushed to my skin and heated there. My pulse tripped. We were on the edge looking over a cliff at a brand new valley we’d never seen before, and it took my breath away.

  She unlatched my belt buckle, tugged at my waistband. “Let’s do it.”

  “Do what?” I grinned. I loved hearing her say the word.

  “Fuck.”

  “I’ll be late for work, baby.”

  “Fuck work.”

  A laugh ripped from me. We grappled with each other’s buttons, zippers, fastenings. I pushed her back onto the bed, and she let out a grunt. She hooked her legs around my hips, and my hand slid into her slick heat.

  “Tell me you’ll be waiting for me,” I said, my fingers working her, my dick moving into position. “Tell me.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll be missing you like crazy.”

  I drove my rock hard length inside her.

  “And
I’ll be missing this cock like crazy.” She moaned loudly, her back arching off the mattress.

  “It’s all yours, baby. All yours…”

  We clung to each other, fucking with a passion that cut cleaner, sweeter, deeper than ever before. She was mine, and I was hers, and for the first time, I realized that this precious trust between us made us so much more.

  And I would do anything to protect it. To protect her.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  1985

  A long line of people snaked out the front door of Dead Ringer’s Roadhouse waiting to get in on a late Sunday afternoon. Today was the once a month Band Showdown where singers and bands would perform to win a coveted spot on a Saturday night show at the Roadhouse, a big deal, an important gig. This afternoon Isi and the Silver Tongues would perform in the Showdown to win a spot.

  It had been over two years since Isi formally joined the band, and they had become a local thing. They were getting regular gigs at bars in Deadwood and Sturgis now in the off-season and once at the Rally, and they even sang at Pete’s Tavern. They needed to snag a Saturday night show at Dead Ringer’s too.

  The Saloon was packed. Today was an unusually cold late spring afternoon, and people were stir crazy. If the roads were clear of ice and snow, we would be here, drinking, dancing in the sawdust, listening to live music.

  The guys and I were at the bar on our third pitcher of beer watching people take a chance on the mechanical bull Biff had brought in a few years ago after the movie “Urban Cowboy” had made people want to be like Sissy and John Travolta.

  “It’s not a fake ID!” insisted a female voice by the entrance where Biff and three beefy bouncers stood guard. A good-looking, tall, blond girl flashed her eyes at Biff. She stared him down, held her ground, but it didn’t do any good. Biff only shook his head and handed her back what I assumed was a driver’s license.

  “Ruby Hastings, I know your daddy. He’s been coming through here for years, and I’ve been seeing photos of you since you were born. You are not eighteen, girl. Now get going.”

  Hell, she looked like she could be twenty years old. Fully developed in all the right places, a sharp look on her pretty face, long blonde hair parted in the middle and dark red lipstick on a full set of lips.

  Those eyes flashed again. Ruby wanted in and wasn’t giving up. “I am so.”

  “Go on, get. And don’t you dare come back until you’re eighteen.”

  She let out a long huff and rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath.

  “Hey, watch your mouth!” said Biff.

  Ruby shot him the bird, stalking out the front door with her two friends in tow. I grinned. How many years had it been since Noah and I had tried to get into Dead Ringers with our fake IDs? A long, long time ago. The memory didn’t ache the way it used to.

  “Oh come on, Biff, those girls were hot!” shouted Willy. “Maybe you need glasses, man? You couldn’t read the tiny numbers on her license right, is that it? We won’t tell on you!” We all laughed.

  Biff shot us the finger.

  Kicker joined us at the bar with a girl. “Jesus, it’s crowded in here. That’s good, right?”

  “Real good,” I replied. “Hey, Tina,” I greeted Kicker’s girlfriend, a new dancer at The Tingle.

  “Hey guys,” she said on a smile. She and Kicker ordered drinks.

  “What’s up with you, Kick? You look beat,” said Willy.

  Kicker passed Tina her pink cocktail and took a long pull on his beer. “My brother’s freaking out over the shit going on at The Tingle. Last week there was a surprise Health Department inspection. They gave us shit for the bathrooms not being clean enough, and the girls’ dressing room needing more ventilation. Then the cops showed up on a complaint that the booze is watered down. Pansy ass shit, but it keeps on coming. I’ll bet the fire department is going to show up next month to make sure the batteries in the smoke alarms are working, and if they aren’t, they’re gonna slap us with a fine. I’m telling you, it’s making my brother sick. He’s got an ulcer and back problems as it is,” said Kicker. “Now he can’t sleep at night.”

  “Fucking Shepherd,” said Willy. “Guess he’s pissed at us.”

  We’d managed to bypass the blockades and traps that The Shepherd had tried to set for us using his flock or the cops. Willy and I both had buddies from the army in Nebraska, and we’d gotten them to help us. My friend had a pet shop chain, and he would let us add our deliveries to his truck for transport through to Casper, Wyoming. Willy’s buddy was an older guy who had a great big trike and would go on frequent camping trips to Idaho with his wife, and he’d take our shit along for the ride and drop it off for us. Slowly we built other small networks that created a functioning chain. We were thrilled, Scout and the Colorado Jacks were happy. The Shepherd? Fucking irritated.

  * * *

  Along with a couple of the usual covers of classic rock ballads and songs, the Silver Tongues were going to perform their own material. They’d started focusing on their own songs lately. I headed over to the stage area where Isi and the band were setting up. “I’m nervous, but good nervous.” She hopped up and down on her toes.

  “You’re fearless, baby. You got this.”

  “I want them to like our new songs.”

  I brushed the side of her face with my thumb. “Your songs are amazing.”

  “You’re biased.”

  “All you have to do is give them the song. Share what you love about it with them. That’s it.”

  Her face relaxed. “Oh, honey.” She brushed my lips with hers.

  I handed her a small black box. “I got you this. For today.”

  “Oooh, what is it?” Her eyes blazed.

  “Open it.”

  Isi tore open the small box and let out a gasp.

  “You like it?” I wanted her to love it.

  She took out the silver skull charm with the diamond chip in its one eye. I knew she’d never wear a “property of” vest like most of the old ladies wore. That wasn’t Is. Didn’t like labels. And I’d never force it on her. But this … this skull was the Jacks, and this skull was her rock and roll. I wanted her to wear a piece of us when she was performing. A piece of me.

  “Did I do good?” I leaned in closer, my lips brushing her ear, my skin heating as I waited for her to say something, anything. It mattered if she liked it or not. My gift, mine. It mattered a hell of a lot.

  A small noise escaped her throat as she put the long chain over her head, the skull falling on her chest. She kissed me hard. “I love it. It’s fucking fantastic. It’s perfect.” Her eyes glimmered, and my chest swelled with heat.

  She threw her arms around me. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I kissed her, squeezed that sexy ass of hers and left her with the band, high-fiving Stewart, the drummer, and wishing the guys good luck as I left them to it.

  An hour later, finally, the Silver Tongues took the stage. Isi’s eyes were lined with black, lashes long and full with mascara, lips purply red. She wore a white T-shirt she’d ripped open at the neck, a dark red bra that showed through, and an embroidered vest with silver and purple metal thread over the tee along with her skull necklace. Tight ripped jeans and the black, spike-heeled boots I’d gotten her for Christmas from Pepper’s. The crowd cheered, whistling and hooting.

  Stewart’s drumbeat filled the space, and Isi gripped the mic with a silver bangled hand and brought it close as the lead guitarist jammed hard on the opening notes. She sang.

  My babe was a fucking babe. Part beat, part punk, part I don’t know what, all of it her. Her deep, raspy voice delicious, vicious, vibrant. There was something raw and sensual in her sound that commanded the room. That voice rammed straight to my heart, drilling there, making my blood simmer with heat. Isi wove her magic spell with that song over all of us.

  I grinned to myself. I couldn’t wait to fuck her tonight. She’s going to ride me wearing only that bra, those boots, and the skull necklace. Oh.
Hell. Yeah. I gulped on the cold beer Willy handed me as we stood against the bar, eyes glued on my spectacular woman, listening, moving to the music. To Isi’s music.

  “She’s amazing!” Willy shouted over the music. “They’re a great band. They’ve come a long way.”

  My girl came to life on that stage, like that first time I’d heard her sing, but now there was a new strength, a new confidence that punched the truth of her lyrics, that hit the band’s rhythm, making it come alive in a different way. She was all ease and pure joy on that stage. She was a far cry from Madonna selling that “Material Girl” crap. Isi was real and raw.

  They played another five songs, Willy’s hand smacked my chest, his beer glass pointing to figures at the other end of the bar. I focused. “Seeds?”

  “Yep.”

  We hadn’t had a run in with the Demon Seeds since we’d raided their property and dealt with Cheezer. Scout and the Denver Jacks had made it clear to them that we were off limits, that payback had been struck. Both clubs had kept their distance, but we all knew that would only last so long.

  The band finished their final set, and the applause was deafening, but my attention was screwed tight on four Demon Seeds who included Vig, the prospect we’d shot. Fuck. They’d been standing in the center of the crowd and were now pushing forward. Forward toward the stage. Isi got off the stage with the band taking their stuff with them, and one of them went up to her, talked to her. And Isi seemed to know him.

  What the fuck?

  I took off, pushing through the crowd, Willy at my back, Mick alongside. “Hey.” My arm hooked around her neck, pulling her in close to me. “Great show, baby.” I kissed the side of her face. She didn’t say anything, her body stiff at my side, her eyes glued to one of the Seeds.

  I raised my chin at them. “What’s up?”

  The Seed tore his gaze away from Isi and glared at me, at us, his features crimping into something cold, bitter. The name “Claw” was patched on his colors.