Page 38 of Broken Instrument

Of course, she isn't, dumbass.

Why would she be here?

She didn’t know I was performing tonight.

And even if she did… I rejected her.

The hurt in her eyes flashes through my memory, but I shove it aside and continue scanning the crowd. Anything to keep from picturing Hadley’s pouty red lips drooped into a frown when I pulled away from her all those weeks ago.

My attention catches on a pair of familiar faces, one of which is currently eye screwing the other while slipping a tiny bag of white pills into her palm. My eyes narrow.

“Thanks for coming out tonight, everyone,” I announce into the microphone, my pulse pounding in my ears as I attempt to rein in my anger. “As I’m sure you can tell, my voice still needs a little endurance training, so I’m going to have to cut this short, but you guys are awesome. I’ll be here next week.”

The stairs creak beneath my weight as I step off the stage and head toward the bar where a certain underaged teenager is busy flirting with a guy twice her age.

“Am I interrupting something?” I ask, wedging myself between Hadley’s niece and the asshole dumb enough to sell her something right under SeaBird’s roof. If Chuck or Ashton saw this, the guy would be finished.

“Hey––” Mia starts, but her mouth snaps shut as she takes in my glare.

“Do you mind?” the asshat interrupts.

We’ve never really spoken, but I recognize him from some of Marty’s parties. Gages in both ears, his hair slicked back, and his weak jaw ticking as he dares me to stick around instead of leaving him alone with the young girl beside him.

My fists clench at my side. “Actually, yes. I was about to take your friend home.”

He scoffs. “Go finish your little show. The girl and I are leaving.”

With a low chuckle, I lean closer to the asshat and say, “Do you want me to call the cops for propositioning a minor and selling her drugs, or do you want to walk out of here with your balls intact? Choice is yours.”

Pixie growls beside me, her hackles raised as she holds her ground by my side.

He shifts to his left and looks at Mia again but avoids getting too close to Pix, obviously weighing the pros and cons of fighting for her but decides she isn’t worth it.

As he gets to his feet while making sure to keep the barstool between him and my dog, I mutter, “That’s what I thought.”

“Sorry, Beautiful,” he tells her. “Your buddy’s right. I gotta go, but you know how to reach me––”

I step between them and cock my head to one side, daring him to stick around and see what happens. “Get the hell out of here.”

He lifts his hands in surrender and walks out, leaving me with a very pissed-off Mia to handle.

“Thanks a lot, asshole,” Mia seethes.

The slinky strap of her red top slips off her shoulder, and I glare at the exposed skin.

She follows my gaze but doesn’t bother to slip it back into place as she challenges, “You’re not my––”

“Yeah. I know. Now, walk with me to my car, or I’ll call the cops on you myself.”

“Oh, so the other guy can’t take me home, but you can?”

I roll my eyes and grab her arm. “Don’t lump me in with that asshole. We might not know each other well, Mia, but you’re still a child. And if your aunt, let alone your mom or dad knew you were here––”

“Yeah, well, my dad isn’t here, is he?” she spits, her dark-rimmed eyes narrowed into tiny slits.

I tug her toward the exit and catch Chuck, SeaBird’s owner, staring at me with hard eyes.

“She’s my friend’s niece who happens to be underage. I’m taking her home,” I explain as we slip past him. “Put my guitar and shit in the back. I’ll grab it later.”

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