Bitter Notes (Second Sets, #1)

by Aly Beck

Kieran and I grew up together in the trenches of Central City. Once neighbors, now—he stares at me like we weren't friends hiding under the stars, talking about our tiny lives.

Even when we were little, I thought Kieran was my knight in shining armor—the hero who saved me over and over again from danger.

Ma always said I shouldn't touch poisonous things, but I can't seem to stay away from the bad boys who will bring me nothing but ruin.

If there’s one thing my ma taught me, it was to stay away from rock stars. They bring you nothing but heartache.

The beauty behind music never ceases to send goosebumps down my flesh and shivers up my spine. It takes me to another world, letting me leave the one I'm in. Music lives in the soul—hell, it lives in my DNA. Literally.

Kieran has always had that cocky, dark, and mysterious cloud hovering above him, luring me in. And that's my fucking kryptonite.

Rock stars and their dirty mouths and expert tongues hold me hostage and weaken my damn legs, proving once again to be my fucking kryptonite.

"We are far from fucking done," he hisses, snapping his gaze to me. "None of this is over," he gestures between us. "I'll be seeing you, River Blue West."

One day, I'll show my girl how to use those fists against everyone who decides to put their hands on her.

After losing a piece of myself here when I had to leave her behind,

I shoved the memories into my deepest, darkest part and incinerated them for eternity.

Each night I sat and cried, longing for the girl under the stars talking to the man on the moon.

There comes a time when the beatings become too much, and you stop longing for the one person you crave. Instead, locking the happy memories away until they fade into nothing more than a vague idea.

River Blue was always River Blue to me, never River West.

There's something about music that lifts us and connects us—whether we're making it or listening to it.

No one deserves her except maybe me. That River is mine. She's always had my name stamped on her ass as Kieran's property. I may have lost her for the past eleven years, but now I'm here to reclaim what's mine. And what's mine is her.

River Blue isn't the same girl I left eleven years ago. She's a fiery fucking treat, and I want another bite of what's mine. And this time, I'm playing for keeps.

Music is the life force keeping me going and alive.

You see, I’m not after love or affection because everyone around me leaves me, including Kieran. I’ll take good dick, maybe some dinner, but that’s it. No love is in the cards for this gal.

He was a pathetic excuse of a placeholder. Naw, my sweet River Blue, you belong to me. Always have. Always fucking will,”

From the moment River was born, so was her stubbornness.

Music brings us together, binding us in a friendship that will never fall apart. We may not always like each other. But we’re fucking brothers. As long as we have this. The chords. The melodies. And the words, we have it all—even River in the future.

Shit. I need therapy and dickaholics anonymous or something to keep me away from him.

“I really need to invest in holy water. Did your demon disappear?”

My eyes pop wide when she suggests…. I’ve been... “I’m not possessed, you little brat,”

I'm not an insufferable asshole all the time, just occasionally.

It's the facade I put on to deal with the world—

She’ll fall to her damn knees again for him. But for me? She'll light me on fire just to get warm.

“Fuck, I’m going to see how she is,” Kieran grumbles, swiping a hand down his face. “She’s a big girl,” I say, raising a brow. “I’m sure she’s fine.” “She will be in a minute,” Rad says, rubbing his hand together. “I’m about to gag her into next week,” he cackles, running back into the bar like a kid marching down the stairs on Christmas Day.

She's mine. All fucking mine. I'll tattoo my name on her ass if that's what it takes.

I'd happily let her destroy my dignity in one stroke.

And if I wasn’t an obsessed addict before, I am now.

There’s no way this woman is ever going anywhere else again.

Fuck everything else. This pussy? Mine. This ass? Mine. Fuck, she’s mine, and I ...

I want to bathe in her juices and fucking own them all at the same time.

We've lured her in. Almost too well. And we've become the suckers.

go. I’m a transfixed moth flying straight into the roaring flame, praying I don’t get burned. We all are. There’s something addicting about her that reels us in and begs us to stay.

Holy fuck. What a woman.

"Or you'll receive more than an ass slap, baby brat. I'll make you sorry for ever defying me." “I. Will. Fucking. Stab. You,” she growls with such malice my balls shrivel in my pants.

"Maybe I'd like that, brat. But for now, I'm taking you home."

"I swear my dick just throbbed and shriveled at the same time. Confusing ass woman. But fuck, I think I’m in love,"

When my haunting nightmares surface, I'll look at this moment and seek salvation in her warmth.

This obsession crashes down on me, and I can only think about her now. Her and our music. I let it settle beneath my skin and take me over.

By society’s standards, I’m one hundred percent a whore. But you know what? Society can suck my dick for all I care.

People love to remind me I don’t have a dick, but I’m not talking about the flesh flute hanging between my legs. I’m talking my soul dick. The dick that lives deep inside of me, not literally. So, suck my aura dick, society, and leave the name-calling out of your mouth.

That’s just the deep-seated hate women get for enjoying the same sexual experiences me...

Usually, no one gets to see this side of me. I hold it all in. No one takes an over-emotional woman seriously because, well—society is fucked.

“Since the accident, only one thing has kept me sane. Until today, though, I’ve discovered there are now two things that chase away the monsters haunting my mind and grant me peace.”

“Yeah?” I whisper as he leans in close, bumping his nose against mine. “Yeah,” he confirms, brushing his lips against mine and holding my body close. “You,” he whispers with a shaky breath, breaking me with his confession. “And music.”

Maybe Callum and I have a weird connection, after all. If I soothe his nightmares and he seems to pacify the anxiety always begging to ruin my life, we’re meant for each other in some fucked up way.