MySoultoSave by S W Vaughn Read Free Book Online

“You want some salt?”
    She half-turned toward him. “Do you ever make sense?”
    “Just thought it’d make your foot taste better.” He lifted
his chin in their direction.
    Cyana jerked stiff. She hopped down from the table and
pivoted, settling narrowed hazel eyes on Logan. “You’re short,” she said. “I
suppose that means you’ve got spunk or something. I hate spunk.”
    Despite feeling like the other woman had bitch-slapped her,
Logan smirked. “Good thing I left all my spunk in the car, then.”
    “See what I mean? Shit.” Cyana’s lip curled. “You just
better not sound like Miley fucking Cyrus. I’m going in.” She strode down a
slight slope at the end of the yard, opened a ground-level door that looked
like a back entrance to the garage and slammed it shut behind her.
    “Well,” Logan said. “I think she likes me.”
    Tex looked as floored as she felt. “Damn. I didn’t know she
was that pissed.”
    “Course you don’t. You never did speak woman, Tex.” Still
grinning, Reid rose and ambled across the yard with his gaze fixed on her.
“Don’t take it to heart, Spunky. It’s not you. It’s him.”
    Her nose wrinkled at the tag. She didn’t do pet names any
more. “It’s Logan,” she said. “And what did Tex do to her?”
    “Not a thing. I meant the illustrious Jacob, deserter of
bandmates and childhood sweethearts.”
    “Jesus. Her and your singer were involved?” She whirled on
Tex. “You could’ve warned me about that, counselor.”
    Tex held up a placating hand. “Hey, I kind of got the
impression she didn’t have feelings for him any more, after the voodoo doll
thing.”
    Logan arched an eyebrow. “Voodoo doll?”
    “Yeah. She gouged its eyes, yanked all the stuffing out, set
the mess on fire and flushed the ashes. Seemed like closure to me.”
    “Nope,” Reid said. “Only a woman in love can get that
violent. Closure would’ve been runnin’ to me for comfort.”
    Tex snorted. “In your dreams, man.”
    “The day I dream about Blue’s the day I hang up my strings
and become a priest. Or an accountant.” The smile he flashed could’ve made a
gaggle of groupies faint dead. “Well, Logan, let’s head in and hear what you
got. ‘Less you’d rather stand out here and feed mosquitoes all night.”
    “Sure.” At least her voice wasn’t shaking. Yet.
    Reid led the way through the door Cyana had used. Vague
memories of a long-ago practice space decorated in Early Struggling Musician
assaulted Logan—dim lighting, crumbling walls splashed with spray-painted
epithets, the occasional stained mattress propped against them, jumbled heaps
of equipment in various stages of repair that were always going to be awesome
gear when they got around to fixing them, discarded needles and condoms and
bottles and other assorted trash, the occasional audience of rats. At the time,
she’d thought it was cool.
    But Cyana’s garage was amazing.
    Strong, solid light filled the room. Carpeted floor,
acoustic ceiling tile, padded walls to trap sound. Amp stacks with headers.
Instruments stored on racks instead of leaned on walls or dropped on floors. A
massive sound board. Drum kit on a raised platform. Everything clean and whole
and organized. If the place was ever used to actually park cars, it didn’t
show.
    The setup intimidated the hell out of her. These guys
weren’t fucking around. None of the drugged-out punks she’d hung around with
since high school had ever come close to this level of professionalism.
Including herself.
    She almost turned around and walked out.
    “You okay, Frost?”
    Tex’s voice startled a breath from her, and she realized
she’d been holding it. “Fine,” she murmured. Cyana, seated on a stool with an
Ibanez bass in her lap, hadn’t so much as glanced up when they came in. Reid
was making adjustments to the board. She felt like the kid at the party who’d
only come because the birthday kid’s mom made him invite her. Hell, she’d been
that