Tonight, he had caught himself several times stopping in the middle of whatever he was doing to just stare across the bar. At the dark-haired woman giving that drum set her all. Pouring her heart and soul into every beat of the sticks against the drums or cymbals. Every stomp of her foot on the pedal of the bass drum or Hi-Hat.
Even from across the room he could see she mustered up every ounce of energy she had to put it all into her playing.
Her band, her music, wasn’t just a way to make money, but for her, a way of life.
Fucking witchcraft.
There was no other excuse for him to be so fucking mesmerized by the tiny, powder keg of a woman who kept herself guarded.
Closed-off.
When she finally came to stand in front of him with her pale skin still covered with a light sheen of sweat and dark half-moons under eyes, she didn’t have to say a word.
He automatically dug into his pocket and pulled out his apartment key, holding it out to her. “Here. You saw where I pulled out the clean towel from last time.”
She snagged the key from his fingers and fisted it like she was afraid he might change his mind. “You didn’t put away your laundry yet?”
“It’s waitin’ on you.”
She blinked. “You really want me to put away your underwear?”
His lips twitched. “It ain’t like you didn’t see me in them.”
“Men hide shit in their underwear drawer.”
“Ain’t gonna lie, you might be surprised by what’s in mine. Just don’t dig too deep.”
The corners of her lips curved up the slightest bit. Almost a smile. Nothing like the one she wore while on stage beating the fuck out of those drums like she was beating back demons.
“You could probably put a hurtin’ on somebody the way you wield those sticks.”
“Not probably,” was all she answered.
He grinned at picturing her drumming a beatdown on some asshole who deserved it.
He wanted to continue talking to her because somewhere below the surface, below the armor she wore, was her true personality. She hid it for some reason.
It also seemed like it took an effort for her to make small talk. It didn’t come naturally for her.
Dodge had always been able to talk to anyone. That skill made him a good manager and bartender. More importantly, it helped save his ass while he was in prison. Hell, even out of it.
Maybe she only opened up when she was on stage doing what she loved most. Because with what he saw last night, and again tonight, it was clear her love for music was strong.
He wondered if she had the same amount of passion for anything else.
He also wondered who hurt her.
Because someone did.
He didn’t know how, when or why, but with the years he spent on his own, in prison, bartending, and even being part of the Fury, he’d learn to recognize the signs.
Even when someone did their best to hide it.
He reminded himself for the hundredth time, she wasn’t his problem. Her band wasn’t, either.
After tomorrow night, they’d be gone.
They’d continue on the path struggling musicians made, hoping for that lucky break. The one that only came to a select few. Syn and her band would only be able to live that life for so long before it took its toll.
But he wasn’t saying any of that to her because she’d shut him out like a cell door slamming shut. That closed door had protected him from the dangers of people wishing him harm. Other inmates in his case.
While her door was invisible, it still protected her from other people, too.
Not his fuckin’ problem.
“She who?” Micah’s question pulled him from his drifting thoughts. “I thought you no longer left them upstairs alone.”
“She ain’t up there for that.”
“What’s she up there for, then?”
Dodge rolled his damn eyes so hard he probably broke a blood vessel. “Christ. Never mind.”
He opened the hinged portion of the bar and took a sweeping glance to make sure she hadn’t slipped back downstairs without him knowing. He strode over to where the rest of her band were sitting at the table after finishing off more plates full of fried foods.
“You seen Syn?” he asked them.
“No, she didn’t go up to use your shower?” Nico asked, his tone concerned.
“Yeah, just wanted to make sure I didn’t miss her comin’ back down.”
“We haven’t seen her. Should we go up and check on her?” Rex asked with a furrowed brow.
“I got it.” He spun on his boot heel, but stopped mid-turn. “Told Possum as soon as he’s done with what he’s doin’ he can head back to the farm and you can catch a ride with him.”
“What about Syn?”
“She can hitch a ride with Tater if she ain’t done before Possum is.”
He didn’t wait for a response from any of them—mostly because he didn’t give a fuck what they thought about what he just said—and headed back toward the bar area and through the swinging door to the left of it.