Read Losing Streak (The Lane) Online
Authors: Kristine Wyllys
Losing Streak (The Lane)
Losing Streak
By Kristine Wyllys
Happiness doesn’t come without a price.
Rosemary Young knows the Lane. It’s where she grew up, raising a brother barely younger than she was. It’s where she served drinks, wearing a gaudy uniform in a low-lit bar to support her mama. It’s where she fell for a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Brandon Williams might’ve had a taste for gambling and been headed nowhere fast, but something about him made her almost forget every promise she ever made.
These days when Rosie walks the Lane, it’s on the orders of the man who owns it. The man who owns her—Joshua King. A bet gone wrong ties her to him, serving as the collateral Brandon didn’t have. For Brandon the guilt is a white-hot brand, but Rosie can’t bring herself to regret it completely. The safety of those she loves is worth the sacrifice.
Now King’s called Brandon back to town early and given Rosie one last job to do before they’re free. Nothing—not even King—will keep Brandon from Rosie, not after three years of simply existing without her. And before it’s all over, everything that had been done in darkness will come to light and nothing in their lives will ever be the same again.
67,000 words
Dear Reader,
September might herald the end of summer fun and the vacation
season, but the one thing you and I both know, as avid readers, is that we can
always escape the daily grind thanks to books! This month, Carina Press is
placing extra emphasis on the mystery genre, with the last week of September
dedicated to not only our entire backlist of mysteries, but also four brand-new
frontlist releases in four different subgenres of mystery.
Within the mystery program, we welcome debut author Ricardo
Sanchez with his novel
Elvis Sightings
. In this unique mystery that
absolutely delighted our team from the first moment we read it, Floyd is a
private detective who lives his life the way he thinks Elvis would have wanted
him to—fast and hard in a sequined jumpsuit—and if he can avoid the billy clubs
of government agents, a Viking reenactment and the amorous attention of the
bearded lady sheriff, he just might prove, once and for all, that Elvis is still
alive.
Rosie Claverton brings us the second book in The Amy Lane
Mysteries (a series that has some of my favorite Carina Press covers!). Welsh
amateur sleuths Amy and Jason return in
Code Runner
, with Jason framed
for the murder of a gang runner. When his prison transport is broken open, Jason
is caught between the police, the gangs and the mastermind behind Jason’s
downfall, while Amy races to prove his innocence.
In
Mistress of Lies
, a historical mystery by Holly
West, a young beggar girl claiming to be Isabel Wilde’s niece—previously unknown
to her—shows up unexpectedly and reveals that Isabel’s brother Adam was
murdered, compelling Isabel to take up an impossible task: discover the truth
about her brother’s death, twelve years later.
And joining these three in the mystery category, with a new
release in her Patience Price Mystery series, Julie Anne Lindsey brings us
Murder in Real Time
. When a popular reality show host is murdered
at the local bed-and-breakfast, Patience’s small town is overrun with grieving
fans, paparazzi and a gunman who puts Patience in the crosshairs.
If mystery isn’t your favorite genre, we have nine new
releases in September in romance subgenres. Starting with contemporary romances,
first up is
Breaking His Rules
by Alison Packard. If you love the
friends to lovers trope as much as I do, you’ll love this story of two good
friends pretending to be a couple at a coastal wedding, who find things get
passionate when their true feelings rise to the surface.
Rebound flings are supposed to have soft landings, but one
sexy cop is about to fall hard in Christi Barth’s fun romantic caper
Love on
the Boardwalk
. And in Emma Barry’s
Private Politics
, when a
glamorous non-profit fundraiser becomes entangled in a political scandal, she
turns to a savvy DC blogger for help clearing her name. As their hearts and
ambitions collide, they find that everything in Washington comes with a
price.
If you like contemporary romance with an edge, reach for new
adult romance
Losing Streak
by Kristine Wyllys. Rosemary Young was just
another bartender until her boyfriend, Brandon Williams, lost a bet, leaving
them with no choice but to sell their souls to the Lane’s crooked king.
Author Stina Lindenblatt returns with
Let Me Know
, a
contemporary romance with a new adult flavor. College freshman Amber Scott is
propelled into the media spotlight when love letters she supposedly sent to her
stalker surface prior to his upcoming trial.
Switching gears to three books outside the contemporary
romance genre, I’d like to turn your attention to Tyler Flynn’s newest male/male
historical romance,
Hunting the Spy
. Nathan Kennett is hunting down a
traitor who is selling the secrets of England’s defenses to the French
rebels—could it be Sir Peter Ross, the man he loves?
Don’t miss the final book in Jeffe Kennedy’s fantasy romance
Covenant of Thorns trilogy. In
Rogue’s Paradise
, our scientist heroine
discovers the origin of the fae and of her own nature, and whether she can make
true love actually work. And it’s not too late to catch up with the first two
books in this fantastic trilogy,
Rogue’s Pawn
and
Rogue’s
Possession
.
Eleri Stone’s
Gun Shy
has a wonderful
Firefly
-esque Western feel in a paranormal romance world. When
criminal boss Gideon Moore sends men to steal the fort’s dwindling supply of
Reaper cure for sale on the black market, Jane Fisher offers to guide Lieutenant
Lyle Dalton through the shady side of Storm King Territory in an attempt to
recover the serum.
And last this month, we’re thrilled to present
Shattered
Bonds
, the final book in Lynda Aicher’s Wicked Play erotic romance
series. At the same time, we’re sad to see these characters go, as Lynda has
captivated us with the emotional ups and downs of the relationships between this
compelling cast of characters. Don’t miss this book, in which everything could
change when the past comes back to destroy the members of The Den. Look for
Game Play
, the first book in Lynda’s new erotic romance trilogy, in
spring 2015.
Coming in October 2014, Dana Marie Bell returns us to the
world of Maggie’s Grove, we welcome co-authors Eileen Griffin and Nikka Michaels
and their incredible male/male romance duology, and R.L. Naquin is back with her
urban fantasy Monster Haven series.
Here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love,
remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Editorial Director, Carina Press
Dedication
To Bill.
“Screw ’em, kid. I’m proud of you.”
Thank you for letting me borrow from your story.
But mostly thank you for letting me be one of yours.
Acknowledgments
Writing has always been an intimate thing for me. It’s always been me alone in my cave, playing with imaginary people in my head. So throwing the doors open has been weird and almost unnatural, but mostly magical. I will be forever grateful for everyone who came in, kicked off their boots and hung out with me. You all have made this a wonderful and exciting adventure.
To my editor, Deb, thank you for always pushing and pulling and poking until you got me to bleed my very best. My hands have been clumsy but you never cringed at them. You’ve been absolutely brilliant to work with.
To the folks at both Carina Press and Harlequin, thank you for every ounce of support and all you put in to me and my crazy Lane kids. It’s been a dream.
To my Plus One, Nina, you walked every dirty, shadowy inch of the Lane with me and let me come hang out in your orange grove. We’re daughters of the labyrinth, born under crooked stars, and you’ve made it absolutely fantastic. Now get your coat.
To my loveliest of lovely betas: the rocketship Rachel, Alissa, Micah, Sahara and Rachel S., you guys are the best.
To my group of 2014 debut NA girls, thanks for making this journey even more amazing as well as side-clutchingly hilarious.
Big, big thanks to the greatest stripper who has ever stripped, Dejah Shea. You’re awesome and a good sport and your hair is glorious.
To all the bloggers in general, and Nicole in particular, sonnets should be written in your honor. Shrines should be built. Thank you so much for your reviews and your enthusiasm and basically making me feel like the real deal.
Thank you to Pam, Aunt Boo, Aunt Julie, Aunt Maria, Dad, Tara, Nana, my mess of siblings and the rest of my insanely large, supportive, crazy family for being mine by marriage or blood or simple claim. Your noise has always been my favorite soundtrack.
Mom, Da and Grandma, I love you all so much. Thank you for always being the loudest.
To my sister, Kortny, having you made writing about a sister’s fierce love and devotion easy. Every dark I’ve ever known has been filled with your voice. Thanks for being the reason I never feared it.
To my husband, thanks for making me eat and wrangling our kids and never minding when I call you Betty. Ours might not be a love that books are written about, but if I had it to do all over again, I’d choose you every time.
My wild beasts of boychildren, out of every story everywhere, you two will always be my favorite.
Rapid-fire round: Ariel, Bonnie, Jaime, Sarah, Ashley, Nicole, Kyle and the old NLA girls, thank you for showing so much support from day one. To the readers of
Wild Ones
and now
Losing Streak
, thanks for giving me and mine a chance.
Finally, while working on
Losing Streak
, we lost my father-in-law. He was a lion of a man, a wonderful guy and a quiet, determined hero. His fight with cancer was long and both heartbreaking and humbling to witness. It’s easy, I think, to romanticize the deceased, but everyone who had the honor of knowing him will agree he was truly one of the good ones. The world will always be a little less for him leaving it.
“My tongue will tell the anger of my heart
,
Or else my heart concealing it will break.
”
—William Shakespeare
Contents
Chapter One
“Hey! You planning on working tonight or are you just going to keep swiping at that same patch of wood?”
I glanced up at the wild-haired brunette scowling at me, a bucket of ice dangling from one hand, the other posed on her narrow tweed-covered hip. You almost had to be a boy to make the behind-the-bar uniforms at Duke’s look good. The V-necked white shirt and suspenders paired with a newsboy cap looked great on, say, Jackson, but not so much on our bar-back Bri Martin or me. Too much chest, maybe. At least in my case. Too much hair in Bri’s. Between the two of us, she came closer to pulling it off, though. Mostly because she was practically shaped like a boy.
“I’m fine,” I replied. Around us, voices blended until they blurred as their owners shouted to be heard over one another, and one of the two baby grand pianos lifted up above the floor on a makeshift stage. Combined, it created a chaotic symphony that might have been overwhelming to any of Duke’s newcomers. But it wasn’t to me. It was a soundtrack, a familiar song on a worn record that I’d spent too much of my life listening to. It obviously wasn’t a distraction of any kind for Bri either. Her eyes flashed down to the group gathered around Jackson, waiting to have their orders taken, and a smile flirted with my lips. I knew what would be coming next. Lord knew we went through it nearly every night that she and I worked together. She didn’t give up, however, I’ll give her that. That kinda blind determination could be considered admirable enough, I supposed.
“Joshua came in about twenty minutes ago.” Her voice lowered to just above a whisper when she glanced back at me. This was different. I merely arched an eyebrow, earning myself a glare. “So don’t you think you should at least try to look busy?”
“Joshua and I have an understanding.”
The look she gave me was simultaneously both skeptical and curious.
“Yeah? And that is?”
“As long as I look pretty I can do whatever I want.”
She was torn between amusement and aggravation—they danced across her pretty features, battling for dominance. I found myself almost hoping she’d tip toward the irritation and try to press it further, really try to get in my ass about my lack of trying like she hadn’t ever before. She looked as though she was capable of doing it. As if tonight was one of those nights where she hadn’t met with any trouble so maybe she’d make it herself. As though the moment needed a track to set the mood and help her make up her mind, Duke’s piano player, a scrap of a boy named Andrew, moved on to Johnny Cash’s “A Boy Named Sue.”
“Maybe you could do it for Jax then,” she said in a far too casual voice, tipping toward me on the balls of her feel, just enough that I knew it was intentional but without actually getting into my space. Only a little aggressive. A quiet growl, a whisper of a warning. She was attempting to remind me that she wasn’t the type to run from a confrontation, nor was she afraid to create it. “That way he’s not forced to pick up your slack all the time.”
There was a place down deep inside me—but not deep enough, not nearly deep enough—where a beast lay slumbering restlessly. But now it was stirring. It perked its head up and sniffed the air before letting out a returning growl, as if it sensed that I might actually let it out tonight to play. It always wanted to play.
And I kinda always wanted to let it.
“My slack, huh? Is that what Jackson does? Pick up my slack?” I kept my voice low, no point in attracting unnecessary attention, but it was enough. Bri’s eyes, so heavily made-up only to be our errand girl, narrowed to slits.
“Only every damn night, yet you still walk with half the tips either way. And he doesn’t say a damn thing about it because he’s too good. He lets you do it because he thinks that’s the right thing to do. You take advantage of that, Rosie. You take advantage of him.”
The beast was snarling in earnest now and it tested the bars I used to keep it mostly locked in. They were fragile, so fragile, made of flimsy necessity rather than anything actually solid. It took work to keep them in place. Especially since I so rarely wanted to.
“Listen here, little girl.”
Bri’s eyes flashed with uncertainty at my tone but it was quickly shoved aside by the burning of her sudden and righteous rage. Bri hated few things more than being made to feel like someone was trying to assert any kind of control over her.
I’d learned that early on, saw the way she stiffened and the fury that would cloud her face when it happened. Of course I’d filed it away immediately. You never knew when information like that would prove useful. “You may live under the same roof as us, but don’t assume, for two seconds, that you know anything about what Jackson does or doesn’t pick up, or ever talk to me about taking advantage of someone. You got that? If anyone here takes advantage of anything, it’s you letting him lift bottles so your underaged ass can get shitfaced.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but I cut her off with a finger pointed in her face. “No. You listen and listen well. My brother may consider you his best friend or pet or whatever, but that doesn’t mean I have to. And I won’t if you keep trying to insert yourself into shit you know nothing about. You understand me?”
She hesitated only for a moment, and in that pause I could see that she wanted to keep pushing, because that was what Bri did at the best of times, push just to see what happened, just because she was curious. She especially wanted to now that she was having her buttons pushed. Every instinct she possessed said to lash back out, to not stand for it.
Something in my expression must have made her think twice, however. Or maybe she was worried that if she did shove forward too hard and too far, I’d make her leave that tiny room next to mine and take refuge on the streets once more. Maybe in that rare moment she stopped and thought before plunging ahead, visions of cold concrete corners flashing in front of her eyes, and she didn’t want to go back to that, didn’t want me to send her back to that, no matter how angry she was.
Not that I would have. I needed her part of the rent money and I wasn’t nearly so stupid that I’d cut off my nose to spite my face. But she didn’t need to know that. Sometimes it was best to let people think the absolute worst of you.
Kept them from trying too much.
Finally, she gave me a curt nod.
“Good.” I attempted a smile but I could feel that it came out more like I was baring my teeth. Just as well, really. “Now go wash some cups or something. Remember—Joshua is here.”
She didn’t like that, my telling her to run along, but there was truth in what I said and she knew it. I might have been able to get away with some mild insubordination here and there, but she was too new, too expendable, to do the same. The look she shot me as she moved away was as dark as the room beyond the bubble of light that bathed only us behind the bar.
I shoved the still-snarling beast back down as far as I could. It didn’t want to go and I didn’t really want to make it. But Jackson was finishing up with his last customer and I could tell by the way his body was slightly angled in my direction he’d be making his way over to me as soon as he was through.
I was so very rarely wrong when it came to that boy.
“What was that all about?” he asked, leaning back a little against the frosted-glass shelves behind us. Only Jackson could manage to ask a question like that without any ounce of judgment or concern laced in it.
“Oh, you know.” I shrugged, mirroring his stance. “Girl talk.”
“Right.” He drew the word out just enough that I knew he didn’t believe me, but not enough for it to be mistaken as outright rudeness. “So, you hear that Joshua came in? He’s in the back.”
“Yep. Talk of the night practically.”
“Huh. Yeah, well you know the rumor is he’s looking to fire someone.”
I didn’t know that, actually. I hardly ever knew any kind of Duke’s gossip. Jackson always did. Sometimes he’d fill me in. Mostly he knew not to bother.
The look he was giving me was pointed and I shook my head.
“Don’t even start. It won’t be me. It’ll probably be Frank Sinatra up there on the stand. Should be him anyway. How hard is it to find someone that can actually carry a tune in this town? God, he sounds awful.”
Jackson pulled a face. “He does. I can’t even tell what song that’s supposed to be.”
“It was Cash. I think it’s Elton now. Hard to say.”
“I’m not even sure he knows at this point. He might have when he started, but dude got lost on the way somewhere. I hope he doesn’t try serenading a girl to get her in bed. Shit would not end well.” His eyes, just as blue as my own, but brighter, somehow, clearer, met mine. “Still, you know, just in case—”
“Hey.” I nudged him in his side. “Knock it the hell off. Whose job is it to worry?”
He grimaced. “Yours.”
“Exactly. And I said it’s fine, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, yeah. All right.” He looked out at the floor but I knew, in the way I always knew, always had to know, that he wasn’t really seeing anything out there. Not the shabby, mismatched tables or our two pretty servers forced into ridiculous flapper dresses to match the rest of Duke’s insufferable 1920s speakeasy getup. It matched the insufferable street it was located on, bar-lined and too full of the type of people who called it “Drunk’s Lane” or “the Lane” with a boozy sort of pride. “You, uh, going to Mama’s tonight after you get off?”
“Yeah.” I frowned, letting my head fall back to rest on the shelf behind me for a minute while I considered the distorted bottoms of the higher-end bottles above me. “Gotta check in, don’t I? Make sure she’s okay after her latest round today.”
Jackson nodded, a little too stiffly, and I knew what he wanted to say without him having to actually say it. I both loved and hated that ability. It came with so much obligation.
“You’re planning on going to Fury’s tonight with everyone else, aren’t you?” I straightened, pushing away from the wall completely. “Just go. Don’t worry about it.”
He mirrored my movements, shooting me an uncertain look, and for just a second I could almost see the kid he’d once been under the face of the almost-man he’d grown up to be.
“You don’t think—” he started before I cut him off.
“—Fury’s parties are stupid? Hell, yeah, I do. Hell of a lot of effort for people we see practically every day. Personally, I try my damnedest to stay away from everyone here when I leave. But you don’t need to feel bad about going, aside from your choice of company. Mama would want you to go. She doesn’t want you giving up your life for her.”
She has me for that
, I didn’t say, nor did he.
He probably didn’t even think it.
“Right. No. You’re right.”
“Of course I am. I always am,” I said with a wink before nodding toward one of the servers heading in our direction. The lights behind us caught the sequins of her dress, in a flashing, nearly hypnotizing way, judging by the way the male occupants of the room watched her swinging hips. “Better go grab Miranda’s order.”
Unlike Bri he didn’t get pissy. He just slipped into that easy, flirty grin of his and was moving to fill Miranda’s tray before she’d even finished talking. I watched them for a minute, the curly-haired baby brother who looked so much like me yet acted so different, blindly charming everyone he came in contact with. Bri was right. He was good. Good at everything, really, and sometimes I found myself wanting to be jealous, more than the stabs of it I occasionally felt, because it didn’t seem fair that things were so uneven. It was hard, though, to feel anything too negative for too long toward the boy I’d shared a childhood with. Whom I mothered like he was my own because, in a way, he was.
I had the rest of the world to direct that toward.
For a lack of anything better to do, I picked up an oily rag and went back to wiping the bar down in a slow, mechanical sort of way. It didn’t really need it—it couldn’t get much cleaner than it already was—but it made me look like I was doing something without actually having to do anything. I was working, but not really. I could justify taking half those tips, only not. I’d fill orders only when I really had to. Besides, we’d get more if I limited my contact with the customers anyway. We all knew that.
Only my peace didn’t last. It never did for very long. There was always someone around all too willing to fuck it up the first chance they got.
“Come here often?”
My head snapped up to glare at the boy who’d slipped in front of me without me having realized it, a cocky smile on his face as he ran a hand through slick, gelled hair. He wasn’t entirely bad looking, best as I could tell in the dim light. Nothing to make me straighten up and take note, but not awful. He looked a lot like every other boy who came into Duke’s on Sunday nights. A college boy, probably, most likely pledged to a fraternity. One who believed in khakis and cheap beer like my mama believed in Jesus and the saints she prayed to.
I had no real use for boys in general and frat ones in particular. Well. No more use than they had for me.
I narrowed my eyes at his expectant expression, vaguely aware that not too far down from us, Jackson had stopped mid-pour and was watching me closely. Maybe even holding his breath, hoping that whatever was going on didn’t end with a mess and another customer being dragged off by our hulking bouncers.
It was good to hope for things sometimes. No matter how impossible they were.
“What kind of line is that?” I snapped, seeing no use in easing toward that tone. Boys like this one didn’t need the encouragement and anything but instant and complete rudeness was encouragement to them. “That shit ever work for you?”
His face fell slightly, but I had to give it to him. He recovered almost immediately, that cocky smile reappearing so quickly and thoroughly it was as if it had never gone away in the first place. I had a strong feeling that his were parents who gushed over C report cards, setting him up for a lifelong delusion that he was better than the average he so obviously was.
“Sweetheart, I don’t need lines. I don’t even have to work. Not to get a bitch in bed or once I have her there.” Frat Boy finished off his speech with a slight chest puff and what I’m sure he thought was his best smolder.