Taming the Storm (The Storm, #3)

I swallow down the house-sized brick in my throat. Dumb question, but I have to ask, “So, Dina won’t be coming on tour with us?”


Zane drums his fingers on the table. “No. She ruptured her anterior cruciate ligament. She’ll be having surgery in the next few days.”

“And we can’t go on tour without a road manager,” Cale says, looking at me.

He knows the house rules as well as I do. This is as important to him as it is to me. Important to us all.

I swallow down. “Okay, so what’s going to happen then?” I try to keep my voice steady, but it wavers slightly.

Don’t postpone the tour. Please don’t postpone the tour.

“The tour will still happen. Jake is currently trying to find a replacement manager to go on tour with you.”

Jake Wethers, owner of TMS Records and lead singer of the biggest band in the world, The Mighty Storm.

With relief, I exhale the breath I was holding.

But I come up short again when Van asks, “Yeah, but will you be able to get someone on such short notice?”

Shit. I didn’t even think of that. We are supposed to leave on tour in a week.

One week to find a good tour manager. I don’t feel good about those chances. Most tour managers, especially the good ones, will already be booked up.

Zane’s eyes dart to Van, narrowing. “We’ll get someone.” His tone is harsh. He stands. “I’ll be in touch soon.” Then, he strides out of the room.





A Few Seconds Later—Studio, TMS Records, LA

“Shit! This is not fucking good,” Sonny says the second the door slams shut behind Zane.

“It’s gonna be fine. Don’t worry.” I pat Sonny’s hand, hoping that I sound more convinced than I feel.

“But how the hell is he gonna get a manager? Fucking impossible, if you ask me,” Sonny fires out.

“He’ll get us someone,” Cale says, sounding sure.

Sonny shakes his head. “I don’t know, man.”

“Cale and Ly are right.” Van stands. “He’ll get us another manager.”

Sonny throws him a confused look. “What? You’ve changed your tune. A few minutes ago, you were the one asking him the same goddamn question.”

Van shrugs. “Zane might be a jackoff, but he said he’ll get someone, and we have to trust him.”

Looking at Van and then Cale, I wish I could feel as sure as they do, but I don’t. I feel the same worry as Sonny. I’m just not vocalizing it. I’m doing what I do best, hiding my feelings and avoiding the problem.

“Screw waiting around to hear the news though. I’m gonna hit up some bars.” Van raps his knuckles on the table. “You guys coming?”

“I’m in.” Sonny gets to his feet. “Could do with a beer after that, and it’s been days since I had any *.”

“Days?” I lean forward. “What about the girl I made breakfast for this morning? You know, the one you hopped out on before she woke up.”

“Ah, yeah, I forgot about her.”

Does he actually have the memory of a goldfish?

“Sorry, Ly.” He gives me his best smile with his puppy dog eyes, looking contrite, as he runs a hand over his shaved head.

It’s hard to stay mad at Sonny.

And making breakfast for the guys’ hookups, especially Sonny’s, is not an unusual experience for me.

If Sonny brings someone back to the apartment, he has a tendency to duck out before they wake up. It’s his specialty. Then, I feel bad, and I end up cooking breakfast for the girl.

In many ways, my boys are too good-looking for their—and my—own good. But their looks do work awesome in alluring the female fans. The women just lap the guys up, and the guys let them.

Bunch of muts, but I love them like family.

Oh, Mut is my term for man slut.

Sonny is the worst. He’s just inch upon inch of muscular dark skin. He’s a total gym nut. Women don’t stand a chance. They love him, and he lets them. Repeatedly.

Cale is the stupid kind of beautiful—as in, it makes women go stupid over him. He’s not as much of a player as Sonny, but Cale gets around. Perks of the job, he calls it.

When I was younger many, many moons ago and Cale was just Dex’s best friend—before Cale became my best friend—I had a colossal crush on him. It was hard not to with his beautiful face and dark brown hair that fell into his chocolate brown eyes. And he has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.

But my crush quickly passed, and we’ve been best friends ever since.

And Van has the gorgeous brooding rock star down pat. Women flock to him like birds to bread. He’s less vocal about it, but he’s racked up more notches on his bedpost than Sonny. I know because I’ve made all the women breakfast. Van reminds me a lot of Jake Wethers—all tattooed, dark hair, striking blue eyes. I’m just hoping that Van has the same magic touch in the music world as Jake does.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re completely sorry.” I give Sonny an unconvinced look.

“Ly, you know I’m sorry.” He grins, flashing me his perfect pearly whites. “Cross my heart.”

“Do you even have one?” I joke.

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