The Next Sin (The Sin Trilogy 2)

I’ve played my violin a lot since returning from Edinburgh so I’m in tiptop playing shape, probably the best ever.

I’m desperate to feel anything other than the misery of living without Breck. Although I’m certain this isn’t a good substitute, it’s a start.

I hold up my JW and toss it back. There’s no way I’d agree to this if I weren’t buzzing a little. The whisky has clouded my judgment. “Okay. But you’re buying.”

“Understood.”

I have three more Johnnie Walkers for good measure as I do a run-through with Cody and his band in the back room.

“Damn, Wilson. This girl is good. We might need to use her to replace Digby on a permanent basis,” the drummer says.

“Ohhh, no. I’m not a performer. I’m only doing this because I owe Cody one.”

He looks puzzled for a moment before bursting into laughter. “You talking about busting my nuts?”

I’m laughing hard, and it feels good. Nice to laugh in place of crying for a change.

“Playing one song with us won’t begin to make up for that. Mmm,” he groans as he shifts his hips. “I’m still feeling that one.”

“I never apologized. I’m really sorry.”

I feel I owe an explanation for my reason but what do I say? Sorry, Cody. I was being trained to become a killer so I was a little overly responsive to being pounced upon.

“It’s okay. You got your message through loud and clear.” It’s been twelve years and I still hate that I did that to him.

The lead guitarist comes into the back room, interrupting our conversation. “Showtime.”

I skulk onto the stage with the four band members, violin in hand. Each guy takes an instrument while Mark, the lead singer and guitarist, goes to the mic. He introduces every member and lastly comes to me. “Digby couldn’t be with us tonight so Miss Bleu MacAllister has graciously volunteered to step into his shoes on a number we couldn’t possibly do without a fiddler.”

He plays a few chords to liven up the crowd. “‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia.’” I drag my bow over the strings since it seems like a cue. “This is the way it sounds when you put a Tennessee girl on a fiddle.”

We jump straight into the song, which is good. It means this will be over quicker.

The crescendo of the song approaches and Mark motions for me to take center stage. Shit. I don’t want to be seen. It’s bad enough being heard. It becomes clear he isn’t going to give up so I concede and move forward until I’m front and center. Not my forte.

I shouldn’t have had those whiskies.

I’m thrilled when the song ends. Without a word, I quickly sneak away from the stage and back to my table.

Ellison gives me another drunk clobber hug. “Bleu! I haven’t heard you play like that in years.”

She turns to her friends. “My sister is a total badass, am I right?”

Five drunken voices agree and shout comments about my playing.

Cody is back at our table as soon as his band finishes. “You did a great job. Thanks for being a good sport.”

“You can thank Johnnie Walker. I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise.”

“Why not? You’re amazing. It’s a shame to keep that kind of talent to yourself.”

Has Cody forgotten me entirely? “Have we met?”

Cody laughs. “I see not much has changed with the MacAllister sisters in twelve years. You still prefer to hang in the background.”

“I’m content with not being seen or heard.”

Ellison and her friends squeal loudly over some sort of nonsense. “There was only room for one attention whore in our family. She was there before me so I never had a chance.”

Ellison leans in between us. “Heeeey, Bleu. We’re tired of this place. We want to go hear the dueling pianos at Silky O’Sullivan’s.”

Oh God. I shouldn’t have agreed to come. I am not up for pub crawling. But I’m stuck.

I look at Cody and shrug. “You heard the boss.”

“I guess they’re in the mood for piano music,” Cody says.

Ellison’s not really a fan of the country scene either. I’m guessing her friends are the ones who chose this bar. “I think they’re more in the mood to troll for guys. The ones here aren’t Ellison’s type.”

“I see.”

I hug Cody. “It was really great seeing you again.”

“You too. Thanks again for bailing us out. It was really nice of you.”

“Then I can consider us even?”

“Yeah.” Cody laughs and his dimples reappear. “We’re even.”

I follow Ellison and her band of nitwits down Beale Street to Silky’s. We luck out and find a recently abandoned table. They order two divers, the bar’s specialty drink—a secret blend of libations served in a gallon bucket with no fewer than a dozen foot-long straws.

Oh lordy. As if any of these airheads need to suck on anything containing a gallon of alcohol.

I realize an hour into our excursion that our DD has been partaking in the divers and is wasted. What the hell? That means we have no sober driver to get us home. “Ellison. Ashley is hammered.”

“Yeah?” She’s completely oblivious to what that means.

“She’s supposed to be our ride home.”

“It’s cool, Bleu. She’s a nurse. She isn’t going to drive drunk and risk losing her license. We’ll just get a couple of rooms.”

Get rooms, my ass. There’s no way I’m sleeping with any of their drunken asses and waking up with crusty puke in my hair.

“I did not sign on for a drunken slumber party.”

“Chill, Bleu.”

Fuck this. “You know what? I’m not feeling great. I think I’ll head home.”

“It’s that damn medicine you take. Your doctor shouldn’t have increased your dosage. She’s dumber than snake mittens.”

Oh goody. The drunken buffoonery begins. “Stay. Have a great time with your friends. I’ll see you in the morning. And please be safe.”

I leave the bar and walk to the spot where taxis are lined and waiting for drunks in need of a lift.

“Hey, Bleu.” It’s Cody’s voice I hear in the distance.

He jogs up to me right before I get into the cab. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. Bar hopping is not really my scene.”

“I know what you mean. I only came out because we were playing. I rarely come to Beale anymore. I sort of got my fill of all this in the Air Force.”

It’s impossible to enjoy this type of atmosphere after you’ve experienced whisky bars in Scotland. It puts this place to shame.

“Need a ride?”

“Yeah, but I’m going to take a taxi.”

“No way. Let me drive you.”

He must not know we no longer live in Memphis. “Thanks for the offer but I live in Southaven now.”

“That’s not too far.”

“It’s over twenty miles to my house.” I don’t want to put him out.

He shuts the door on the cab. “A taxi will cost a fortune. I’m taking you home.”

I can see this isn’t an argument where I’ll be the victor.

“Okay. As long as you don’t try to talk me into joining your band. ’Cause I’m never stepping foot on a stage again.” Shit. That was brutal.

“I make no promises.”

Chapter Two

Sinclair Breckenridge

I’m in the background of Bleu’s life, as I have been for weeks. I have eyes on her at all times, even when they’re not my own. I safeguard her from harm. It’s all I’ve done since tracking my lass down in a small town in Mississippi, right outside of Memphis. I act as her protector from afar and she has no idea. She believes she’s hidden from The Fellowship—and me—but she couldn’t be more wrong. I’m always here, keeping a watchful eye on her and the MacAllister family.

I often need to be reminded that this is Bleu’s world. Every person she has contact with isn’t a threat but there’s an enormous problem wit

h that. I have no idea who’s friend or foe.