Whiskey Burning (Iron Fury MC Book 1) Read online

  Whiskey Burning

  BELLA JEWEL 2017

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  DEDICATION

  ~*WHISKEY BURNING*~

  WHISKEY BURNING | Copyright © 2017 Bella Jewel

  ~*ACKNOWLEDGMENTS*~

  PROLOGUE | SCARLETT

  -1- | SCARLETT

  MAVERICK

  -2- | SCARLETT

  MAVERICK

  -3- | SCARLETT

  MAVERICK

  -4- | SCARLETT

  -5- | MAVERICK

  SCARLETT

  -6- | MAVERICK

  SCARLETT

  -7- | SCARLETT

  -8- | MAVERICK

  SCARLETT

  -9- | MAVERICK

  SCARLETT

  -10- | SCARLETT

  MAVERICK

  -11- | SCARLETT

  SCARLETT

  -12- | SCARLETT

  MAVERICK

  -13- | SCARLETT

  MAVERICK

  -14- | SCARLETT

  SCARLETT

  -15- | MAVERICK

  MAVERICK

  -16- | SCARLETT

  -17- | MAVERICK

  SCARLETT

  -18- | SCARLETT

  MAVERICK

  -19- | SCARLETT

  SCARLETT

  -20- | MAVERICK

  SCARLETT

  -21- | MAVERICK

  SCARLETT

  -22- | MAVERICK

  SCARLETT

  -23- | MAVERICK

  SCARLETT

  MAVERICK

  SCARLETT

  TO BE CONTINUED....

  DEDICATION

  To Lance

  For believing in me and kicking my ass to keep writing even when I didn’t want to.

  For this awesome title. I suppose it’s pretty good 

  For always making me laugh, even if I occasionally snort.

  For loving me harder than I’ve ever been loved.

  For being the best damn thing to ever happen to me.

  This is for you.

  It’s always for you.

  ~*WHISKEY BURNING*~

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  WHISKEY BURNING

  Copyright © 2017 Bella Jewel

  WHISKEY BURNING is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events portrayed in this book either are from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or location is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ~*ACKNOWLEDGMENTS*~

  As always, my heartfelt thanks to every single blogger, reader and author that has supported my journey. From reading my books, to sharing them, to raving about them, to being there for me. Thank you. My career would be nothing without any of you.

  A huge thanks to Kylie from Give Me Books for organizing my reveals and blitzes. You do such an amazing job. No matter how many times I use you, I am always blown away by how efficient you are. Nothing is ever a drama. Thank you for giving me so much support.

  A massive thanks to Ben Ellis from BE Designs for this gorgeous cover. Not only did you come in at the last minute, you did an absolutely incredible job. I honestly have no words to explain how grateful I am to you for all the help you put in. I’m forever in your debt.

  A big, heartfelt thanks to Ready, Set, Edit for doing this book for me at the last moment. I really appreciate the time you took to help me out, and how patient you were when my kids weren’t well!! Thank you so much, lovely.

  And of course, to my admin, MJ, for ALWAYS keeping my page running beautifully. I couldn’t do it without you, girly. I love your teasers and your passion; thank you for taking the time out of your life to help this poor girl keep everything running.

  And, last but certainly not least, to my loyal readers. To each and every one of you that picks up my books and give me a chance. To the reviews you write, good or bad. To the time you take to make me a better person. You make this real for me; never stop giving such love and passion. You make our journey so amazing.

  PROLOGUE

  SCARLETT

  A tear rolls down my well made-up cheek, followed by another, and another. I don’t make any sound, I don’t even move, I just sit on the edge of the water fountain, the cool stone beneath my bottom, the trickling sounds of the water the only noise that can be heard. It’s dark out, the flickering stars and full moon shining light over the fountain, making it look like a magical creation of bursting colors. I slip a finger into the hole of my jeans; so many times my manager Susan has tried to get me to throw these out, and so many times she’s failed.

  They’re the only piece of myself I have left.

  It seems sometimes they’re the only piece of my life I have left that reminds me I’m still human, that beyond the make-up, the lights, the fame, and the fortune, I’m still just Scarlett. The girl who grew up in Nashville, the girl who loved to ride horses and play in her tree house. The girl who, once, had not one care in the world. These jeans remind me that I’m still a person, that deep inside me, there is still a heart beating, there is still breath in my lungs, there is still hope in my soul.

  “That’s the prettiest damned cry I’ve ever heard.”

  I jump at the sound of the deep, husky voice that seems to come out of nowhere. I thought I was alone here and, at the realization that I’m not, my heart begins to pound. I’m not supposed to be out alone, but I just needed some time to breathe, to think, to quiet my screaming mind. My eyes dart around the moonlit space, but I can’t see anyone. I blink a few times and then whisper at the voice in the darkness, even though I shouldn’t. I should really get up and walk away. I’m not supposed to talk with strangers.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here.”

  “Neither did I,” the voice rumbles. “What’s a girl with a voice like an angel and tears that are makin’ even my heart hurt, doin’ sittin’ out here alone? It’s not the safest part of town, darlin’.”

  Darlin’.

  His voice is rough, dangerous even. Yet, for some reason, I don’t feel afraid, not even a little. He has the kind of voice that would make you feel safe, like nothing in the world would ever touch you while he was around. It’s the kind of voice that tells you he would kill for something he loved. His voice is a comfort I’ve longed for for so many years. I don’t keep looking for him in the darkness, I just stare ahead and talk to the perfect stranger sitting somewhere on the water fountain with me.

  “It’s the only place I can get space,” I admit, my voice husky and soft from the tears.

  He makes a low sound deep in his chest. “Yeah, I know the feelin’. What’s your name, darlin’?”

  Darlin’. I really like it when he calls me that. And I don’t even know him.

  It makes my heart expand. It brings a comfort over me, making me feel at ease for the first time in a very, very long while.

  “My name is Scarlett.”

  He makes a humming sound. “Pretty name. How old are you, Scarlett?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “So young to be so sad. What’s got you cryin’?”

  I shift, pushing
two fingers into the hole in my jeans again. Everyone in the United States of America knows who I am. I became famous at the tender age of nineteen when I was picked up by a scout and signed by a massive record company. I became the face of country music and have spent the last four years living in the middle of that life. Music was once my passion, now it has become my worst enemy, a cloud hovering over my head, something I can’t escape from.

  I’m tired.

  “I’m Scarlett Belle.”

  I tell him my name, as if it’ll make some sort of difference, as if him knowing will make him understand. I hate the sound of my name, it’s so cliché, almost as if my parents called me that knowing one day it would sound good being shouted from a stage or look good flashing on a billboard.

  He goes silent for a long while. So long I wonder if he’s still here. Maybe he got up and left; I wouldn’t blame him.

  “No kidding,” he finally murmurs. “Should have recognized your voice. Nobody in America has a voice as sweet as yours. Hear you on the radio all the time, got the voice of an angel.”

  That was once a compliment, now it just brings heavy sorrow over my chest. I lower my head, my blonde hair falling down beside my cheeks and cascading over my shoulders and breasts. I’ve often prayed for my voice to be taken, for something to happen so I could no longer use it, at least then I could walk away from this life with a valid reason.

  Right now, for me, there is no escape.

  “Yeah,” I say softly into the darkness, to a stranger I don’t know. “Thanks.”

  “You sound like you’re carryin’ the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

  I bite my bottom lip, tuck my hair behind my ear, and answer, “Some days I feel like I am. What’s your name?”

  “Maverick.”

  His name brings a small smile to my lips. It’s a name I’ve never heard belong to a person in real life, but I’ll also never forget it. “Can I ask you something, Maverick?”

  He chuckles, low and deep. “Anythin’, darlin’.”

  “Do you know what it feels like to be free?”

  He goes silent for a moment, then he answers in a low tone, “I’m free every day. There isn’t a single moment of my life where freedom isn’t touching me.”

  My chest aches for that kind of feeling, for that kind of freedom.

  “How does it feel?” I ask.

  He must think on that, because it takes him a few minutes to answer. “It feels like learnin’ to breathe for the first time, like there is no pressure on your chest, or in your heart. It feels like the binds that hold you down have snapped, and you’re able to just do whatever you want, whenever you want. It feels like flyin’.”

  I swallow the thick lump in my throat. “I wish I knew what that felt like. I’d do anything.”

  “Don’t give up hope, maybe one day you’ll find the freedom you desire. Maybe you’re just not lookin’ in the right places.”

  “I don’t know where to look,” I admit. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

  “Look beyond what you see. Stop starin’ at what’s right in front of you and gaze past it. You might just find what you’re so desperately seeking.”

  I fall silent, and then, beyond the water falling behind me and the soft sounds of the breeze trickling through the trees, I hear the sounds of leaves crunching as he walks away.

  For the first time in a long time, I smile.

  I smile for the stranger who sparked some hope inside me.

  -1-

  SCARLETT

  I bring my knees up to my chest and stare out the back of my tour bus as we make our way to Los Angeles for a show tonight. The sun is setting on the horizon bringing in beautiful yellow and orange colors that light up the scenery as if it’s on fire, as if it’s burning. I start humming a tune, nothing old, but something new. As my eyes scan over the freedom beyond the windows of my bus, I feel a warmth travel over me. I wonder what it would be like to just disappear into those mountains, beyond that sunset, to a world where nothing makes any sense, but that’s exactly how you’d want it to be.

  “Beyond the sunset, she sees freedom burning,” I hum, feeling something gathering in my mind, something new, something real and deep.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve sung from the heart.

  Mostly, I sing what they want me to sing.

  A motorcycle appears in my line of sight, snapping me from the lyrics building in my head. I know whoever is on it most likely can’t see me because of the tinted glass on my bus, but I can see him as he nears. I bring my face up to the glass and peer out. He’s wearing an open-faced helmet, and he has the most breathtaking face I’ve ever seen. I can’t see his eyes through the dark sunglasses, but there is something about his features and how they’re put together that tells me he’d take my very breath away if he were to take them off.

  Chiseled jaw covered in dark stubble, full lips, a slightly crooked nose, dark hair pushed down over his forehead and curling out from the helmet, skin soft and olive. He’s wearing a dark leather jacket and, as he gets closer, I see it has a number of different things written on it, mostly in the form of patches. The first thing my eyes train in on is the patch that reads ‘Iron Fury MC’. On the other side, there are a few other random patches—I can’t read them from here.

  He’s a biker.

  The thrill that has me bringing my face closer to the glass.

  I’ve never seen a biker up close. They’re everywhere, of course, and everyone knows about them, but I’ve never been right near one. I wonder how it feels to just ride that bike, the wind in your face, the road taking you wherever you want to go. My heart longs for that feeling.

  I zone in on his hands curling around the handlebars of the dark-blue motorcycle he’s riding. He’s got thick rings on his fingers—skulls, I think. He’s a big man, and I know beneath that jacket and those blue jeans that fit him so well he’d be muscled, probably tattooed. Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my time on the road. He’s alone, sitting relaxed on his bike, seemingly without a care in the world.

  His fingers raise off the handlebars and wiggle in my direction. I jerk back. Did he just wave at me? How can he see through the tinted glass? I move forward again, and his lips twitch in a smile, I can’t help it, I smile back and my hand raises just a little, and I wiggle my fingers back. His smile turns into a grin, showing me a set of gorgeous dimples and straight white teeth. I hold up two fingers in a peace sign, just to see if he’s really watching.

  He does the same thing back.

  My cheeks flush, and I watch the stranger following my bus, wondering who he is, wondering why he’s out here, all on his own. My smile gets bigger and I reach down, grabbing my guitar and running my fingers over the strings. I glance at his patch again and slowly keep singing.

  “Through the burning I see fury, so wild and carefree, and, oh, I wonder what it would feel like, to have him next to me.”

  “Scarlett.”

  I spin around at the sound of Susan’s voice coming from the doorway. I glance at my manager who I love to hate. She’s good to me, but she’s also hard and strong and doesn’t allow for any kind of misbehavior. She’s on my back everywhere I go, making sure I’m always poised and in perfect order, there has never been, and probably never will be, a scandal about me. She makes sure I’m at my best every second of every day.

  “We’re an hour off L.A. When we arrive, you’ll have an hour to yourself before you have to do a pre-concert interview, then you’ll go straight into wardrobe, we clear? You have a late show tonight, so you’ll need to be refreshed.”

  I nod. “Yes, okay.”

  Her eyes narrow at my guitar. “What are you working on there?”

  I glance back out of my window, but my mysterious stranger has gone. My heart sinks a little.

  “Just a new song,” I say, staring at the sunset once more.

  “That’s good, we’re wanting to release a new album this year. There are other young and ri
sing stars out there, you’ll want to keep your name front and center.”

  I look back at her, and force a smile. “Yes, that sounds good.”

  She raises a brow. “Have you gone through your list for this evening’s concert?”

  I nod. Can she see the emptiness in my eyes? Does she notice my pain when she looks at me? And if she does, is she just choosing to ignore it? “Yes, I’m familiar with all the songs and their order.”

  “I’ve advised the band, they’re ready and on schedule. Have you eaten today?”

  I stare at the middle-aged, attractive woman and nod once again. “Yes, I’ve eaten.”

  Her hazel eyes scan over me and she nods her head, tucking a strand of loose black hair from her perfect bun away and straightening her blouse. She always looks the picture of perfection, poised and sharp. I don’t think there is a great deal that could break her, or hell, even make her angry. She’s always together.

  “And how is everything else?”

  I flinch at her question.

  She notices the flinch but says nothing, she just keeps her eyes on me, waiting for an answer, expecting an answer. She won’t leave until she gets one.

  “Everything is fine. I’m doing fine.”

  She nods. “Good to hear. We have the best security, so no need to worry yourself at all. Just focus on your show and your fans, and leave the rest up to me.”

  “Thank you,” I say, staring at her and smiling.

  She nods, giving me a small but sharp smile. “I’ll leave you to it. Get some rest, you’ll certainly need it.”

  When she’s gone, I push up from my spot and walk into the bathroom, stopping at the mirror. I stare at the reflection looking back at me, and I no longer recognize it. I’m the picture of perfection when it comes to country music with my long, thick, blonde hair that’s always curled, my big brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and my petite, sculpted face topped off with full lips. I’m small and curvy, but not too curvy, and I can rock a pair of boots.