The Enforcer (Chicago Bratva #3) - Renee Rose Page 0,21

as kids. Falling in love. Breaking up. Grieving. Plunging into depression. Checking herself into mental institutions. It was an endless cycle of full and broken hearts. She and my dad separated and got back together nine times when I was little. When she finally divorced him because he was a cheating bastard, we thought things would calm down, but they didn’t. She recreated the same drama with a string of new men.

I’m not like her. I’m the opposite. I hang out with a guy. We hook up. Things get weird. I experience this inner nudge, this restlessness that tells me to cut things off before they go any further.

Flynn is a total man-whore. I’m not like that. I’m not just out for sex. I do crave real connection. I need to like the guy, to feel the spark, to find him entertaining and smart. But I don’t know, after a few months, I get itchy and feel penned in. I always find something that makes me want to end it.

Dahlia, our baby sister, is the only one of the three of us who seems to know how to be in a lasting relationship. She and her high school boyfriend went to college together in Wisconsin and are still going strong.

“Wait, so did something happen?” Flynn just won’t let it die. I seriously want to shove my boot up his butt right now.

All three of my bandmates stare at me expectantly. They’re not going to let me dodge this question.

“Yes!”

They all grin at me like goofballs.

“And?” Lake prompts. I’m pretty sure he and Ty have always wanted to hook up with me but know that I have no interest and also that Flynn would kick their asses all the way to Tokyo.

“Why are you guys being such girls right now?” I demand. “Since when do I share my sex life with you?”

“We’re being guys. This is locker room talk. You’re the one who hangs with guys, Story,” Flynn reminds me.

It’s true. Just by default of the amount of time spent together, these guys have become my best friends.

I really need to get out more.

And that thought instantly produces more thoughts of Oleg. Because he’s the one who changed up my rhythm. Threw me off my game. He left a sense of emptiness and longing in his wake that I’m having a hard time recovering from.

I did start to write a song, though. A hot, push me up against the wall kind of song. But I’m not ready to reveal it yet.

“It was hot,” I admit.

“No shit.” Ty tries to sound casual, but there’s a warble in his voice like he’s disappointed to hear it.

“Blister in the Sun,” I say to put the topic to bed and start rehearsal. I pick the start of the Violent Femmes song on my guitar.

“Hang on.” Ty scrambles for his drum sticks, almost missing the cue.

And then we’re into it. The music. The thing we all adore. It’s our addiction and our lives.

I don’t know why suddenly it doesn’t feel like enough.

Chapter 5

Story

He didn’t come.

I scan the Saturday night crowd for the eighth time, looking for my big Russian.

He’s not here. I can’t believe it.

“How are you all doing tonight?” I ask the crowd, faking my enthusiasm to be with them.

There’s already a decent crowd of our regulars here, and they cheer their welcome with over-enthusiastic vigor. “Story! We love you!”

I chuckle into the mic. “I love you, too.”

I don’t feel like playing the set list I put together. At Rue’s, we usually play a mix of covers and original pieces. We have enough of our own songs to do an all-original show, and we do when we get booked other places, but playing at the same place every Saturday, it gets old. People like to hear covers mixed in. They get excited about them.

My fingers play a few notes on my electric guitar.

Flynn laughs softly into his mic. He recognizes the song before I even do.

Fuck. It’s “Paint it Black” by the Rolling Stones.

I’m not that disappointed by Oleg’s absence. But the song choice says differently. I shrug and go for it even though the rest of the band won’t know what the hell we’re doing. The two of us grew up filling in with our father’s classic rock cover band. It’s why we have a huge repertoire to pull from.

Ty and Lake get on board fast enough as I take them through my version of the song, which makes our growing audience go wild—possibly