Page 69 of A Little Broken

Officially, anyway.

Flexing my hands, I try to keep the influx of adrenaline from taking over my system at the opportunity Roman’s presenting me. What it means for my future in the band, and what it means for now. The rush from a good fight is something else. It’s addictive and more enticing than I care to admit. The only thing comparable is when I’m on stage, playing for thousands of people, and since that isn’t an option at the moment, the idea of opening the door for fighting to give me my fix is tempting. Maybe a little too tempting.

The thought niggles at the back of my mind as I turn back to Roman sitting on my couch. “I’m not interested in anything official. I only want to let off some steam.”

“So let it off.” He shrugs. “Come meet the guys. See what you think. See what they think. No commitment.”

No commitment. It shouldn’t surprise me that they want to see what I can do before they even consider giving me an opening. Not that I want one in the first place. The nephews are particular about who they invite to participate in their…activities. Whether they can keep their mouths shut. Whether or not they can bring in more bets. Whether or not they know how to put on a good show. Whether or not they can be trusted.

“What do you say?” Roman prods.

It’s a good question. One I should genuinely consider after my conversation earlier with what’s left of the band. When Roman mentioned a fight coming up at the bonfire, I wasn’t sure he’d be able to convince the nephews to let me in, assuming I was too close to the source of their family friction to be trusted. Or, maybe they’re more aware of IndieCent Vows’ inner workings—and the lopsided power dynamics—to know better.

“Does Judge know?” I ask.

“It won’t kill him,” he replies, proving he’s smarter than Judge gives him—or anyone else, for that matter—credit.

My mouth flickers with amusement. “That’s a diplomatic answer.”

“I learned from the best. So, are you in or not?”

“And it’s no commitment?” I push.

“Already said it wasn’t.”

“Then, why waste Jagger’s time?”

“Pretty sure Jagger will take any opportunity he can get to beat the shit out of someone.” He chuckles. “Even if it’s for free and without an audience.”

Apparently, it’s something we have in common.

Rolling my shoulders, I consider Roman’s proposition along with the band’s current situation. “Sure,” I decide. “Why not?”

“All right, I’ll let the guys know.” He rubs his hands together and stands.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I warn. “Even if Jagger decides to give me a spot, I’m not guaranteeing I’ll take it.”

“You change your mind?”

“I’m on the fence,” I return. “The band’s PR doesn’t like covering up my shit as much as they like covering up Dodger’s and Judge’s, and I’m not stupid enough to believe you won’t exploit the fact that I’m a rockstar to drum up bets. It’s too lucrative.”

“Hell yeah, it is,” he agrees without an ounce of shame. “But all right, man. We’ll play it by ear. Make sure everyone’s on the same page before we start putting out any feelers.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Anytime. I’ll send you the address,” he adds with a pointed look.

“I’ll be there.”

20

TATUM

Sometimes, I kind of want to smack my best friend because no matter how much I try to ignore it, I can’t stop thinking about what she said, especially after stumbling uponThe Count of Monte Cristoat Roman’s house earlier. Like seriously. What the hell? It’s like I’m being haunted from beyond the grave.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Rory warns, “but you’ve basically decided to cope with your lack of emotional intimacy by jumping into bed with any hot guy who says he’s interested, but seeing a guy who looked at you tonight the way I would kill to have a guy look at me, and yet you want nothing to do with him feels…empty, almost.”

“I’ve been empty for a long time, Squeaks. You know this.”

---