A.J. Downey [Downey - Stoker’s Serenity: The Virtues Book IV

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Editing by Barbara J. Bailey

Book design by Maggie Kern

Cover art by Dar Albert at Wicked Smart Designs

To my dear readers who wanted more. Here it is. Also, to all my Metal friends. Your nobility is duly noted and inspiring. Like MC folk, you guys are a cut above. It was time that was recognized.

1

S erenity

The din of the concert venue was out of this world. I guess I hadn't expected it to be so loud as Linny drew me through the crowd by my hand, laughing.

I'd had to borrow her clothes. I didn't have anything she'd deemed worthy for a night out on the town and by worthy, I mean revealing. I wore a pair of tight-fitting jeans and knee-high black velvet boots. Those were at least mine... the boots. The jeans were a new purchase, and the top was Linny's.

Shiny and metallic, it was held up by strings around the neck and around the back like a bathing suit.

The shiny silver material fell like water, pooling between my breasts, which were quite a bit bigger than Linny's and by sheer force of will, seemed to defy gravity enough to make the top bearable.

Still, I felt all kinds of exposed, and the only thing that helped keep me from feeling like I was running around naked was the black velvet choker that was around my neck.

No ornament, just simple and black, to match the boots and dark jeans.

"Come on!" Linny cried. "Closer to the mosh pit!"

I rolled my eyes but acquiesced to her enthusiasm as the metal guitarist on stage shredded his solo into oblivion. The crowd, whipped into enthusiasm, rolled and roiled like the sea on a stormy night and my link to my best friend was severed.

Serenity! she cried out, but she was swallowed by the crowd and I was swept in the opposite direction, buffeted by a tide of muscle, sweat, leather, and chains.

I yelped in surprise as I was thrust up hard against a guy with a red Mohawk, practically shirtless, his tee in shreds around his waist, the guyliner dripping from his eyes like ruined tears from how hard he was sweating.

Hey, baby, what you doing out here? He grinned and I tried not to cringe at his discolored teeth. Meth mouth was something prevalent out here.

I was grabbed and pulled another direction, hands reaching, groping, and helping themselves to my body, a handful of my ass, a breast, even so bold as to grab me by the front of my jeans over my crotch.

I cried out and found myself fetched up against another man who crowed like a rooster, his head thrown back, and clearly drunk. He snatched a fistful of the front of Linnys silver shirt and jerked.

I screamed, my arms going up and covering myself as the strings holding the material to my body gave way, popping loose from their moorings and leaving me exposed for real. The cloth was dragged from my body, fluttering to the floor to be trampled under a mix of black combat and steel-toed work boots.

Hey! someone shouted, and a wall of leather moved in between me and my assailant. A scuffle ensued and I forced my way away from it, rounding my shoulders, hunching forward, moving my smaller frame between the crush of bodies whenever a gap or opportunity presented itself, working my way doggedly toward the edge of the undulating crowd, most of them oblivious to my distress.

Hey, hey, hey! Its okay! I heard just as thick leather, warm with body heat, enveloped my shoulders, and cut me off from view of any would-be prying eyes.

Tears slicked down my cheeks as an arm went heavy across my back, guiding me out of the mash of people. My white knight tucked me into the front of his much larger frame and bodily shoved people when necessary, moving us both out of the concert crowd and toward the front of the building where the bathrooms and the merch tables were.

Hang on, hold up; wait! The voice was warm, velvet with a core of steel and I froze, letting my long dark hair hide my face. I stopped in my tracks, my chest heaving.

The voice shouted over the top of my head, hands kneading my shoulders through the thick leather of his coat reassuringly.

Rory! Gimme a band tee!

What size?

I dont care! the voice barked. Just give me one!

Whoever Rory was, he flung a tee, and the person at my side caught it one-handed and thrust the warm cotton over the top of my right shoulder and into my hands. I struggled to grab the offer of more substantial cover without letting the coat that was my only shield for my modesty gape, rendering it ineffective.

Come on, this way, he urged and took me to the line of waiting ladies for the bathroom. He marched me past all of them and thrust me toward the door, telling a couple to leave me alone when they got upset.

Quitcher bitchin! Shes not going in there to pee, your spot in line is safe!

He stopped me with a shouted, Hey! and I paused, turning halfway, but still not looking at him. I kept my eyes fixed studiously to the wall, instead. Bring me back my jacket and cut as soon as you get that on, he called to me. I gave a curt nod and darted into the bathroom and away from the din, confusion, and dirty looks from the girls out there in line.

The atmosphere inside the beat-up bathroom was vastly different from outside of it.

The ladies in that bathroom were everything, helping me into the tee as I sobbed, listening to my story as I shook, and thrusting the mans jacket into my hands as they fussed over me and fixed my makeup so I didnt look so dreadful going back out there.

I stared at the colorful embroidery on the back of the patch, a giant orange octopus dragging a ship under the waves. Id seen it before, but on very rare occasions, out on the highway.