The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7) Read online

I’d known the Forbidden Nightclub existed for a little over a year now, and in that time I’d lived all of my happiest moments there. I’d gotten to perform there for my first time and return every Friday night to play again. My band had grown a name for ourselves and gathered a crew of followers because of that place. It was at Forbidden that I’d experienced that first punch of intense longing the moment I’d seen a stranger across a crowd and wanted to know everything about her. Hell, I’d learned I had a brother within its walls. The place felt more like home to me than the studio basement apartment where I rested my head each night.

  When I drove past the club twenty minutes later and scoped out the parking lot to make sure a black Barracuda wasn’t on the premises, I came back around the block, pulled in and parked, satisfied the guy I was avoiding wasn’t inside.

  I wasn’t scheduled to work tonight, and I kind of wished Pick would give me more hours so I’d have something to do on my off nights, but a beer and a little company sounded good. I needed some positive chi around me to absorb so I could boost my own morale.

  Quinn and Knox were working the bar. Out of all the club’s bartenders, they were the two quiet ones. With the mood I was in, I wasn’t sure I’d be the best conversationalist tonight, so they were actually perfect choices for companionship.

  “Hey, Asher,” Quinn greeted with his friendly, boy-next-door grin. “How’re the auditions coming?”

  “Shitty.” I slumped onto a stool. “How’re the wife and kid?”

  His smile bloomed with pride, and yep, that was exactly the kind of exuberant energy I needed. “Zoey seems a hundred percent better, and the doctor thinks we can take J.B. home in another week.”

  “That’s great, man.” His wife had given birth to a severely premature baby a couple months back. It was nice to hear both she and the kid were making a complete recovery. I should’ve been happier that things were working out for them.

  Instead of the cheer, however, a bitter ball of loneliness swelled inside me. Why couldn’t I find someone the way Quinn had?

  A bottle of Angry Orchard appeared in front of me right before Knox flipped off the lid and strolled away.

  “Thanks,” I called to his back, grateful he knew exactly what I needed. I picked it up and took a long pull.

  God, that tasted good. I sighed and relaxed into my seat. Quinn went to help a customer at the other end of the bar, and I contented myself with my alcohol while both guys milled about me and did their thing.

  Behind them, shelves of assorted bottles glinted in the low blue lighting overhead. It gave the atmosphere a calming effect that soothed a restless part of me. If I could’ve just sat there and lived on that stool for the rest of my life, I would’ve done it.

  I closed my eyes and tipped my face forward as I rested both elbows on the countertop, letting the sound and smell of Forbidden seep through me.

  But apparently, my peaceful reverie wasn’t meant to last.

  “Asher?” A familiar voice had me jerking my head up and my eyes snapping open wide.

  Instantly on edge, I swiveled toward the call and gaped in horror at the man who approached.

  “Shit! Where did you come from?”

  Pick, my boss and as of three weeks ago my older half-brother, slowed his approach and cocked an eyebrow. “Uh…my office?”

  Damn, I should’ve known he’d still be around this early in the evening. It was his club; why wouldn’t he be around? But I’d been so sure I hadn’t seen his Barracuda out front.

  “Did you get a new car or something?”

  “Actually, yes, I did.” He squinted at me. “Why? Were you trying to avoid me?”

  “What?” I snorted as if that were a ridiculous suggestion. “No.”

  He knew I was lying. Pick had a way of eyeing a person that let you know he could read every thought in your head. I kind of admired that about him, even though it also intimidated the shit out of me. Hell, just about everything there was to Pick Ryan impressed and unsettled me in equal measures.

  It was eerie as fuck—as well as astonishing and yet utterly overwhelming—to know I was related to such an intuitive yet pleasant guy.

  If I could’ve handpicked anyone on earth to choose as my biological big brother, it would’ve been him. He was just one of those personable, laid-back guys who accepted you for who you were and watched your back without you even asking him to.

  And yet, the whole brother thing rattled me to the core. Me and “family” had never meshed. I just had this sinking feeling I couldn’t shake that if I let him actually be my brother, it’d all go to hell.

  I had too much to lose if Pick ended up telling me to get lost. This place and what I had here were my entire life. My job, playing on Forbidden’s stage with my band, my friendship with him and all the other guys who worked here, and just…well, all of it had become the most important things to me. I didn’t know what I’d do without everything he’d already given me.

  Pick continued to watch me with those omniscient brown eyes, which he must’ve picked up from his dad since our mom’s had been green, like mine.

  “Prove it,” he murmured. “Tag along with me.”

  “Huh?” I blinked at him as if he’d spoken a foreign language.

  An amused grin cracked his face. He hitched his head toward the exit. “I have somewhere to be soon. Why don’t you come?”

  “Why?” I winced as the suspicious-sounding word left my lips. What I really should’ve asked was where. But Pick answered me anyway.

  With a careless shrug, he said, “Just to hang out.”

  The offer was tempting. It was the exact kind of companionship I’d been craving only minutes ago. But I didn’t dare hope, wouldn’t fall victim to the lure. It would end badly. It had to end badly. Any and every familial thing in my life ended badly. Why would this be any different?

  “Oh, Jesus.” He rolled his eyes and slugged his arm against mine. “Quit overthinking it already. Just get your ass off the stool and come with me.”

  “But…I have to finish my beer.” Yeah. That sounded…lame.

  Pick glanced at the countertop in front of me. “What beer?”

  I spun to check on my drink, but it was gone, only a wet ring left on the bar where it’d once sat as Quinn tossed a bottle in the trash that looked suspiciously like an Angry Orchard.

  “So let’s go already.” Pick nudged me again.

  With a reluctant groan, I slid off my seat. I told myself I was only doing this because he was my boss; he could fire me if I was subordinate. But honestly, I was curious. No matter how certain and afraid I was that starting a brotherly relationship with him would end badly, I wanted to know more about this guy who’d come from the same womb as me. I secretly did ache to have him as family.

  It had all started with a stupid song I’d written about my mom and how she’d given up her first child, abandoning the baby boy at the hospital only hours after he was born and then going on to live a miserable life until some asshole—aka, my father—had beaten her to death. Then I had to go and sing it on stage with my band. And the people who’d heard it just had to tell me it reminded them of Pick because his mom had abandoned him at the hospital when he was born, which led me to wonder if Pick might’ve possibly been that child, and then further led me to do the epically stupid move of mentioning the little coincidence to him. He, in turn, ran off and got a blood test done, and boom…here we were. Fucking blood-related brothers who shared a mother but had different fathers.

  After working for him for as many months as I had, I thought I knew him well enough, but now…now I realized I barely knew a damn thing.

  Like the fact he was into restoring old muscle cars.

  As he led me outside toward a maybe 1970s model blue Mustang with a white stripe running down the hood, I let out a low whistle. “Nice ride.”

  “Thanks.” He unlocked my side for me. “It wasn’t even running when I came across it. I traded out the original 302 for a 351 and installed a new heating and a
ir system before I got her purring again.”

  I understood basically nothing he’d just said, but I nodded like I did as I climbed into the passenger seat.

  “Next, I’m going to work on the interior and paint job.”

  Nodding some more, I ran my hand along the tattered seat under me. “I had no idea you knew how to fix up old cars.”

  He glanced at me as he started the engine, and damn, I wasn’t a car expert, but even I knew the melody of this one coming to life sounded good. Pick might’ve called it a purr, but to me it was more like a deep satisfied growl, like the sound a guy might make while stretching his muscles on a soft mattress after coming hard and deep inside a soft eager woman.

  “Sure. It’s kind of my thing. I worked at a garage right up until I came to own Forbidden.” He canted his head as if he couldn’t believe I didn’t already know that.

  I hadn’t. Honestly, it was startling and a little unnerving to learn he’d been a mechanic. His father had been a mechanic. That’s one of the few details I knew about his sperm donor, outside the fact the guy had been killed at nineteen on the same day Pick had been born. That, and my mother had referred to him as Chaz.

  Okay, fine. She’d told me plenty about Chaz, the guy she’d considered her one true love, but it’d mostly been shit a seven-year-old boy didn’t want to ever hear about his mom. So I’d blocked most of her sexually explicit stories from my memory banks. The mechanic thing though, I figured Pick might get a kick out of knowing cars were in his genes. If I were him and knew nothing of my origins, I’d want to know.

  But for some reason, I didn’t enlighten him. I wasn’t ready to go down that road, too leery where it might lead. However, I knew he was all fired about the brotherly bonding idea. He was ready to travel the shit down that road.

  And yep, the first thing he said as he put the car into gear was, “I was thinking maybe we could tell everyone.”

  “Hmm?” I played dumb. It was a stupid, useless stall tactic that got me nowhere, but anything to prolong the inevitable sounded good right about now.

  He didn’t pretend to think I had no idea what he was talking about. He carried on as if I knew exactly what he meant…since I did. “I mean, I have a feeling everyone pretty much knows already. I told Tink, of course.”

  When he glanced at me, I shrugged, completely unsurprised. Tink—aka Eva—was his girlfriend, though most of us called her his wife already. They had one of those rare, close, bonding relationships I’d never seen in play before I’d come to Forbidden. But it was the type where both parties shared everything. So I’d already figured he would’ve informed her.

  “And I’m sure she mentioned it to Reese.” Eva’s best friend and first cousin. “Who would’ve blabbed to Mason.” Reese’s fiancé, who also happened to work behind the bar at Forbidden with me. “And you know he probably told—”

  “The rest of them,” I finished lamely. Scrubbing my face with my hands, I tried to beat down the panic, since there really was no reason to panic…but I felt panicky anyway. I just couldn’t help it; this shit was beginning to get way too real for me.

  “Exactly,” Pick was saying with a shrug. “So, I was thinking why not make it official and public so everyone doesn’t have to keep pretending they don’t know.”

  I lifted both hands, horrified to find they were beginning to tremble. “Look, can we just…I don’t know…put off any big announcements for a while?”

  Pick’s disappointment came with a five-second pause of silence. I bit the inside of my lip, hating that I’d given him an answer he didn’t want to hear, but hell…I wasn’t ready.

  Finally, he said, “Sure,” in his easygoing way, but I knew he had wanted more from me. “You need some time to adjust to the shock. I get that.”

  God, did he have to be so freaking understanding about it? The guy was so noble and nice and had such good intentions; it made me feel shittier because I couldn’t get down with all this touchy-feely family shit as freely as he could. I knew I wanted the same thing he wanted. I did want to be his brother and have one of those close relationships any pair of good brothers had. I just couldn’t—

  “I’m sorry. I know I’m wigging out about this more than I should. But I just don’t…I don’t have the best of luck with the whole…family thing. Which…” Damn, I was such an idiot, “I know, sounds really stupid since you obviously don’t either.”

  “Actually…I’ve had remarkably good luck with the family thing lately.” His gaze strayed to his sun visor where a snapshot of a sexy blonde and two little toddlers grinned back at him. A sharp pang of envy ran through me. He had the most devoted girlfriend and two kids any lucky bastard should have. And what was even cooler was that they loved him right back with the same intensity.

  Pick glanced at me, his eyebrows raised. “That includes you.”

  I sighed and sank lower in my seat, feeling even worse and undeserving.

  But he didn’t let me stew in my guilt. Pulling into the driveway of a nice, suburban home with a For Sale sign sitting in the spacious front yard, he put the Mustang into park and killed the engine. “But we’ll keep it quiet for a while if you prefer. No problem.”

  “Thanks,” I answered distractedly as I eyed the place. It was exactly the kind of home I’d always dreamed of growing up in but had never even lived in the same neighborhood as.

  When I couldn’t stand the curiosity any longer, I glanced at him. “Where are we?”

  Pick eyed the house with the same kind of yearning I felt inside me. “Tink and I have been house hunting.”

  I zipped my attention to the yard. Then pointing, I dropped my mouth open, completely incredulous. “And you’re considering this one?”

  He glanced my way. “What? You don’t like it?”

  “No, I…I do! It’s amazing. I just…nothing. That’s cool, is all. House hunting. Wow.” I couldn’t tell him I might commit unspeakable crimes to live in a place like this. That seemed a bit dramatic, so I just pushed open my door, dying to see what the inside looked like. I didn’t get to see the insides of nice, suburban homes very often.

  “So…why aren’t you doing this with your Tinker Bell?” I asked as he followed me with much more reservation toward the front door, where a realtor was waiting to greet us.

  I glanced back when he didn’t answer. Pick sent me a chagrined, embarrassed wince. “I kind of pissed her off when I vetoed everything we’ve looked at as soon as I stepped out the back door and saw the yard.”

  I sent him a curious glance, but he waved me silent. “Long story. To say the least, we’re looking for houses separately. After she checks them out, she gives me a list of her favorites until I find…the one.”

  “O…kay,” I said slowly, thinking that an odd way to house hunt with your significant other, but whatever.

  “Mr. Ryan?” the realtor asked, eyeing me politely.

  “Oh! No, not me. Him.” As I pointed toward Pick, I realized we’d probably have the same surname if my mother had never abandoned him.

  No, scratch that. We wouldn’t, because I wouldn’t exist if she hadn’t abandoned him. She would’ve been too busy raising a baby she actually loved and never would’ve met my worthless, drug-dealing father. They wouldn’t have started their unhealthy…whatever it was they’d had, and I never would’ve come along.

  She’d probably still be alive today too.

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I glanced across the pristine yard while Pick and the realtor introduced themselves, and I tried not to feel guilty about being alive while my mom was not. She’d been the one to make all the decisions that had led to her demise; I was just a product of them.

  I repeated that to myself a lot. Not that it ever made me feel better. But what could I do now? What was done, was done.

  “And this is my brother, Asher.”

  Jolted by the label, I turned back to the conversation at hand and sent the realtor guy a tense smile. “Hey.”

  He introduced himself as Brian and the
n led us into the house, immediately explaining every feature.

  It smelled…homey. I liked it.

  I wanted it.

  “As you can see, the trim is a beveled oak stained with—”

  “Where’s the back door?” Pick cut in, obviously not at all concerned about the trim.

  “Uh… The, uh…it’s this way,” a puzzled Brian answered. As he showed Pick where, I paused to take in the oak trim, deciding, yeah, I even liked that. Having beveled trim was nice. If I ever had my own house, I’d fancy trim the fuck out of it.

  Then I turned to follow the other two toward the back.

  The three of us crowded out the exit and into a yard that had me drooling, envisioning barbecues and luaus, swimming pools, maybe a trampoline next to a kid’s swing set.

  But Pick set his hands on his hips and frowned. “Nope.” He turned back toward the house, telling Brian, “Sorry, but this isn’t it.”

  The realtor and I shared a confused glance before I called, “Wait. What? You seriously don’t like this?” I splayed my hand out to encompass the lush, spacious yard, completely confused. This yard was the freaking bomb diggity. My new brother was completely whack.

  Pick paused to shrug. “It’s nice, sure. But…it’s not the place I’m looking for.”

  Jesus, no wonder Eva didn’t want to house hunt with him anymore.

  When he started back toward the back door, I shook my head. “Don’t you want to see the rest of the inside?”

  “Don’t have to. This isn’t it.”

  “Well, I want to see it,” I insisted.

  Pausing again to glance back at me, Pick did another one of his creepy stare things, where he looked inside you and dug around in your head, pulling up all your deepest, most-achiest desires. Finally, he nodded as if he understood. “Okay.”

  So we checked out the rest of the empty rooms in the house. Brian had long ago given up on feeding us details as he wrote something in a notebook in the front room—probably that his client was impossible to please—and we finished the tour ourselves.

  “You’re totally insane if you don’t like this place,” I murmured as we entered the last bedroom.