Rising West: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 1)

by Alyson Santos

  I’m more determined than ever to give her the performance of a lifetime. Do I feel badly about not telling her our plan? Sure, but I’m with Aaron now. We can’t risk a direct veto. What do they say about asking for forgiveness instead of permission?

  She can hate me afterwards. First, she’s going to shine.

  It takes a few minutes for the crew to swap out Chris’ gear for ours, and by the time the MC calls us to the stage, my adrenaline is firing with renewed force. The others are jacked as well, and I shoot one last confirming look at Aaron who’s flexing his wrists and shaking out his arms at the kit. He nods back; there’s no retreat now. I wink at Liberty before turning back to the crowd and hooking my hand around the mic.

  “How you all doing tonight?” I say, more to draw an encore of the raucous applause from a moment ago when we were called up. For the record, we had way more whistles and screams than our predecessor. “How about that chocolate mousse, though? Can we get that on our rider?” I drill a look at the table of execs Liberty was talking to earlier and return a grin at their polite chuckles and “oh-you-joker” pointing. Then, I begin a loose strum of an A chord on my guitar. That’s right—A. I glance back at the others where I’m met with three knowing smiles and an alarmed look from Liberty. Wrong key!! her panicked look tells me. I wink again and turn back to the mic. “If you don’t mind, we’re going to do something a little different for you tonight. You may all know one of our favorite songs called ‘No Friend of Mine’?”

  A chorus of cheers erupts from the audience, and I rest my gaze on the table sitting three away from ours. Chris’ smile looks ridiculous. Mannequins pull off “pleased to be here at this moment” better than he does.

  “Well, I guarantee you’ve never heard it like this.” I can’t look at Liberty as Aaron launches into the new rhythm of ‘No Friend of Mine.’ Our boss is a pro, though. She doesn’t even miss a beat before her smooth arpeggios join the intro. Mitch jumps in with his distorted guitar, and I rip the mic off the stand to give my all to this explosive anthem to betrayal.

  “Hey you, with the punk-ass stare

  Pretty sure you’re nowhere near my parallel

  Hey you, it’s criminal, your love of minimal, shifting subliminal cynical reactions you keep on tap

  Pour me another, while you cry me a river

  I’ll toast those violins all day

  You think you invented cold and pretentious?

  Wait ‘til you see me play

  Cuz I’m so sorry, did you say you’re sorry?

  You’re no friend of mine

  You picked the wrong kind of sucker, maybe with luck you’ll

  Find a new friend to betray.”

  I throw in extra runs, passion, and all the slick vocal tricks Chris Lundstedt could only dream about. Forget the birds and trees, I want the whole damn sky tonight and own it by the time I slam the mic back in the stand and pull my electric into position. Mitch is already grinding his to build into the bridge when I unleash my full rage on my guitar. Aaron lets go as well, smashing the drums in almost frenzied glee while Tivo puts on a clinic with the bass. Liberty… Her face is a mask of severity when I allow myself the slightest peek back. Is she pissed or focused? I have no idea, but at least she’s still on stage this time. If she notices my attention, she doesn’t acknowledge it, glaring down at her keys with a fury that could be anger or total absorption.

  Whatever. A challenge for later.

  For now, we transcend.

  Liberty doesn’t say a word to us for the rest of the night. Not during the riotous ovation, not during our walk off the stage, not even after the label execs lose their shit over getting us into the studio as soon as possible to cash that audio-gold in for actual dollar bills. When the night ends, still without a word, my phone buzzes with a text from Aaron.

  Don’t worry. She’ll get over it. If not, you could always go solo and sing about birds too.

  I crack a smile, but little else, as Liberty continues with her sweet-as-pie reception of everyone in the room—apart from her own band. At least there was no sugar for Chris either, since he and his new lady walked out halfway through the first chorus of our song. He probably realized he’d been served, forgotten, and is already a has-been. Little consolation, though, since we don’t exist either as the lights come up and the guests start separating into the going-home group and the afterparty crowd.

  I’m not sure which I’m supposed to be, and linger, trying to read the other guys for clues. They seem just as lost. Aaron just ended the stalemate by inviting us back to his room when Liberty charges toward us and grabs my arm.

  “You guys go,” she barks at them. “You.” I’m very familiar with the bullet stare she fires at me. “You’re coming with me.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Mason proposed today! I mean, it wasn’t so much a romantic hot-air-balloon-sunset-beach-champagne-and-roses kind of proposal as a practical pitch from Mr. Problem-Solver himself, but still. Mason’s matter-of-fact, “we should get married, babe,” was as panty-melting as any of that crap anyway. Why? Because that’s Mason. He sees a problem; he fixes it. Crisis. Breathe. Deal. You can almost see those words flashing in his head when he gets knocked down. It’s one of the many things I love about him. For all his self-doubt, he still never hesitates to jump in and save others. I actually think it’s going to be good for him to have me and Brooklyn to protect now. I don’t know where he’d be if he didn’t have to fight for the sake of someone else.

  Oh, and you might be wondering how I answered his unexpected proposal. Well, pretty much the only way you can respond when the love of your life says “we should get married, babe.” You punch him playfully in the arm and say, “sure thing, sport.”

  LIBERTY

  “I know it was you,” I snap, pushing Mason into the room. “That song was your idea!” I slam the door behind him and cut off his defense with a kiss. He only startles for a second before dissolving into it. His surrender is a drug, though, and now I’m totally lost.

  Gah! He tastes like sex, that chocolate mousse from dinner, and every delicious, forbidden fruit, all wrapped up in one disgustingly hot package. I just wanted a kiss—needed one—but that small taste only lit my fire. I rake my fingers in his hair, fighting to absorb him into me. Too many layers separate us. Forget the kiss. I need him naked. Now.

  I’m already ripping off his tux jacket when I realize he probably should have a say in this. I didn’t mean to attack him—it’s just—he doesn’t know what it was like to watch him all night. To stand behind him as he owned that stage and poured out his soul for me. He can’t possibly understand how incredible it was to forget about Chris for those few minutes, because how could I think about anything else when Mason eclipsed him? The entire room was his, every witness in that place, and all I could think about was getting him back here. Consuming him. Ripping his clothes off and shoving him onto a bed. I couldn’t even look at him or speak to him all night out of fear I’d lose control right there on the ballroom floor.

  By the way he returns my kiss and hardens against me, he must have been suffering too.

  “I know there are a million reasons not to, but can we worry about that tomorrow?” I breathe against his neck. “Please, Mason. Just one time.”

  I have his button-down open, and I’m pissed he has an undershirt beneath it. How many layers did this man have to wear tonight? He helps me free him of the shirt, but I’m too hungry to wait for the rest. I lock my hands around his neck to secure our kiss while I drag him toward the bed.

  “Say something,” I bark out, pushing him down. “Say you want this too.”

  “Of course I want it—”

  Good enough. I tug my dress over my head and love the way his speech stalls and his eyes widen in awe. I hover over him for an extra moment to let him get his fill. Clearly he didn’t know this was a braless dress. He, though, still wears way too much fabric.

  “Why are you still dressed?” I hiss, prowling toward him. He falls bac
k on the mattress with a smirk that totally distracts me from my mission. Now, I need to taste that too, and soon we’re back to swallowing each other whole. Multi-tasking. You’re good at that, Lib.

  We separate just enough for me to yank his shirt over his head, and yeah, the sacrifice was worth it. I straighten for a better view and decide that Mason shirtless on a bed, propped up on his elbows with a sexy grin and messy hair is pretty much the standard of perfection. But I’m an artist, and true artists are never satisfied.

  I fumble for the button on his pants and damn. Thankfully, he helps me with this part because I suddenly lose half my IQ. When his pants come off I transform into a freaking animal, driving forward on instinct and attacking him with the urgency of a woman who’s never known hunger before. I’ve had sex. I’ve enjoyed it. But need it? No. Not like this.

  Mason’s smile grows as I shove him back to the mattress, and the way he surrenders to my aggression makes me think he’s imagined this moment as well. Maybe a lot. Maybe as much as I have, and now I keep picturing that bowtie—not in a frilly circle around his neck, but open and snaked on the floor where I tore it off.

  “Liberty?” he asks when I climb off him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Where’s your wallet?”

  “My wallet?”

  “Do you have a condom in there?”

  I jut out my hip impatiently as he relaxes into thought, amused. “Yeah. Just… I’ll get it.”

  “No!” I hiss, raising my finger in warning. “Don’t you dare move.”

  He laughs, holding up a hand. “Okay, okay. Geez.”

  I fish his wallet out of his pocket and find what I’m looking for. Three, actually, which I interpret as a sign that he’s been considering this too and our night is only beginning. Then I scoop the bowtie ribbon off the floor. He hated wearing this thing so much. I wonder how he’ll feel about it now.

  He hasn’t moved when I return. Obedient. I like that. A lot. He owned me on that stage an hour ago, and I’m determined to take my turn. I want to savor the moment I make his need match mine.

  He eyes the tie in my hands, and by the twitch in his boxer-briefs I’m pretty sure he’s game.

  “I think we did it wrong before,” I say, scaling his body again.

  “Yeah?”

  I nod and shove his chest back to the mattress, straddling him.

  Sea-green embers flare up at me. Hunger, longing, maybe a little fear.

  I lean down and brush my lips against his. “How long has it been for you?” I whisper, running my hand down his left arm.

  “I don’t know,” he says, his gaze flickering away before it lands back on mine. “A while.”

  “Days? Months?”

  He shakes his head, sucking in a breath when my fingers latch around his wrist.

  “Yeah. Maybe years. I’m—”

  I cut him off with another kiss as I drag his wrist above his head.

  “What’s the sun, Mason? When you say you want the sun to rise in the west, what does that mean? No poetry this time.”

  His eyes cut back to me, search me while I press my left hand down his other arm.

  “It means I want what I can’t have.”

  “What can’t you have?”

  I bring that arm up to meet the left.

  “Everything. I can’t have everything.”

  “No?”

  I wrap the tie around his wrists, secure the knot, and realign my gaze with his.

  “Says who?”

  MASON

  My heart pounds in my chest. She can’t possibly know. No one knows about Katrina’s signature phrase: Says who? The line she’d throw at me every time I’d get lost in doubt. Oh you can’t do that? Says who, Mason? Says fucking who?

  I stare up at Liberty now, wondering what sick game the universe is playing with me. Game or final message to slap me across the face? How long is the punishment supposed to be for failing the woman you love? For letting her die when you’re the one who’s not equipped to survive? How long will I ignore the signs that maybe I’m done paying for something that wasn’t my fault?

  “Mason?”

  I blink at Liberty. So beautiful, so everything I wanted a second ago, a day ago, really since the moment we met. The one who is so full of life she reminded me what I’ve been missing. And here we are. My body is primed and ready. My head too. My heart, though. Where does my heart stand in all of this?

  Liberty releases a sigh and reaches up to loosen the tie.

  “Wait, don’t,” I say, surprising both of us.

  Her gaze snaps back to mine, her fingers stalling on the restraints.

  You can’t love again, Mason.

  You’re not allowed to be free.

  No one gets to have everything.

  Says. Fucking. Who.

  “I want you, Liberty. I want this. Help me let go?”

  Once we let go, holy hell, we let go. In the bed, in the shower, and when the condoms are gone we get especially creative. I have her on the dresser now, my tongue and fingers doing the work as she guides me with desperate groans and a death grip on my hair.

  “Don’t stop!” she gasps out. “Right there!”

  Done and done.

  I love that she knows what she wants. I love that she doesn’t hesitate to communicate it or chase after it. And yes, I fucking loved being tied up under her while she did all of those things. We’re definitely exploring that more at home.

  She bucks against me now, and I help her ride the wave as long as possible. Have I mentioned I love watching her get off too? It’s like playing the most intense musical bridge of all time. Slow build into an explosion that makes the entire song. The part everyone anticipates with chills, and shivers with ecstasy when it delivers. That’s sex with Liberty and why I have no clue how she intends to go back to normal after this. Because she keeps insisting this is a one-time thing. That she’s not going to be that girl, whatever the hell that means.

  She’s finally coming down again and tugs me up to meet her mouth in another long, lingering kiss. “We have a problem,” she breathes against my lips.

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t want this to end.”

  “Why does it have to?”

  “You know why.”

  “I do?”

  She groans and pushes me away. “Don’t make this harder, Mason.” Sliding off the dresser, she swipes her underwear off the floor on her way to the bathroom. I follow her, watching in confusion as she pulls a towel off the rack.

  “I’m serious, Lib. What am I missing here?”

  She scans me slowly before groaning again. “Can you put clothes on first? I can’t focus with you standing there like that.”

  For real? She’s serious. “And what are we focusing on?” I ask, coming up behind her. She yelps when I tug her against me, then groans as she melts into realignment.

  “You’re impossible,” she mutters, but her hand disagrees when it reaches back to massage me. I bring my lips to her neck and we make quite the picture in the mirror for the next few seconds. She pulls away suddenly, and soon I’m leaning against the vanity counter instead of her ass. Yep, she’s behind me now, also staring at our reflections in the mirror. We both watch her hand snake around my ribs from behind and travel over my chest to my tattoo.

  “Look at us,” she says, almost sounding annoyed. Her lips press into my shoulder as she continues to study our reflections. “Look at you. I mean. Seriously!”

  “What?” I ask with a laugh. Hell, I still have no clue what’s even happening right now. How this girl can go from full on mermaid dominatrix in that sexy dress one minute to awkward band nerd the next, I’ll never understand. She’s freaking deadly for a guy like me who’s into complex women.

  “You’re so beautiful, Mason. And talented. Tonight you were… I don’t know… magnificent!”

  “On stage or in bed?” I joke, because what the hell else do you say to that?

  “Both? And… ugh! It’s so ann
oying.”

  I still don’t know what to say, so I continue to watch her hand roam over my skin. She doesn’t want to stop touching me. I don’t want her to either, so why does this moment feel so final?

  “Why couldn’t I meet you first?” she whispers after a long silence, and it’s then that I notice the glisten in her eyes. “If I’d just met you first…”

  “Hey, hold on.” I pull away and turn her to face me, but she won’t meet my gaze. “What are you talking about?”

  She blinks and shoots her hand up to wipe away a tear. “I like you, Mason. So much,” she says, finally looking up at me.

  “Okay? I like you too. That’s good, right?”

  “No! It fucking sucks!” she snaps, shoving me away.

  She storms past me, once again leaving me confused and alone in a chilly bathroom. I feel like we’ve had more than our fair share of bathroom drama lately.

  “Liberty, what’s going on?” I ask, following her out. She’s already pulling on a pair of sweatpants from her suitcase when I emerge.

  Guess we’re finished? I swipe my underwear off the floor.

  “You won’t understand. You’re a man,” she hisses, yanking a t-shirt over her head.

  Oh hell no. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re a guy. The rules are different for you.”

  I meet her glare with one of my own. “Yeah? And how the hell am I supposed to understand when you won’t even tell me what’s going on right now?”

  She shakes her head, suddenly shrinking into herself, and I soften at the pain on her face. “I can’t be that girl, Mason. Don’t you get it? I can’t be the girl who breaks up with Chris and then jumps into a relationship with his replacement. And you don’t want to be the replacement either, do you? You deserve better than that. I was hoping tonight would get you out of my system, but if anything it’s worse, because now I know it’s not just about sex with us. You’re not just a rebound for me. Now I know I fucking want you and I can’t have you and it’s killing me!”