The Complete Rockstar Series

by Heather C. Leigh

  Tommy turns from Ewan to point at me, once again doing a bang up job of whipping the crowd into a frenzy.

  “Aaaaand in the red corner, standing six foot three inches, weighing in at ninety kilos or two-hundred pounds, we have last year’s London Underground seventeen and under bare-knuckle boxing champ, Dax Daaaaaavies!”

  Wild shouts come from all sides of the warehouse. The men (and quite a few women) who bet on me call out their cheers of approval. Mingled in are a few boos and hisses, but I could care less. I’m going to shred this prick and I’m going to do it quickly. Yep, I’m a fucking cocky bastard, but I’ve earned every bit of it.

  We step to the center, tap gloves, and it’s on.

  Kate

  I’ve been in love with Dax Davies since the moment I laid eyes on him in year three of primary school at the tender age of seven. Sadly, I’m not sure if he even knows that I exist.

  Now, we’re in our final year of school, newly turned eighteen, and he still hasn’t said more than a few words to me here and there and when he has, it’s only because we shared a class so he didn’t have a choice. He’s on an entirely different level of existence than I am, beautiful, perfect, girls throwing themselves at him. It’s not surprising that he never noticed plain, boring Kate, the least girly female in school.

  It’s the first day back after the winter holiday break, so I’m desperate for a fix of Dax’s gorgeous face. I mentally cheer for myself because lucky me, this term Dax ended up in front of me in class. I can’t help but stare at his wide, muscled back, defined perfectly under his tight T-shirt, as we wait for Mr. Patel to take roll call.

  They always seat us alphabetically first thing in the morning. Since my name is Campbell and his is Davies, Dax either sits several seats behind me, or, like this year, the beginning of the next row. Obviously, I prefer him to be in front so I can ogle as much as I want without anyone knowing how pathetic I am.

  “Kate Campbell?”

  “What?” I jerk my eyes away from the back of Dax’s head and drop my hair, which I had been twirling in my fingers nervously.

  “Are you with us today, Miss Campbell? I’ve called out your name three times.”

  Mr. Patel stares at me from behind his wire-framed glasses with a bemused look on his face. Most of the class turns to gawk at me and I hear a few giggles from them, but it’s when Dax’s dark eyes meet mine that I feel the burning shame spread up my face and cheeks. He doesn’t look amused, he looks… well, hot, but he’s always hot, even with the dark bruise that spans the length of his jaw. No, scratch that, he looks… totally uninterested. Bored to death. By me.

  I shift in my seat, utterly humiliated. “I-I’m here. Sorry Mr. Patel.”

  Well, Dax certainly knows I exist now—as the class imbecile.

  Mr. Patel clears his throat and everyone quiets down, my stupidity seemingly forgotten. Dax has already turned back towards the front of the classroom, likely thinking I’m a total nutter.

  The bell rings sharply, dismissing us for first period. I wait for the room to clear before gathering my things and heading for maths.

  “Kate! Wait up!”

  My teammate, Tasha, comes dashing up the hall like a maniac, nearly crashing into me. We’ve done girl’s football together for ages so I’ve known her a long time. My mum says I’ve always had too much energy, been impossible to keep still. They signed me up for footy as an outlet for my insatiable need to be on the go.

  “Tasha, I’ve told you to stop drinking so much caffeine.” I almost never drink caffeine. I can hardly keep still as it is. If I drank my favorite tea with milk, I’d be off the wall.

  She throws her head back and laughs, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder. I smile wistfully. I’ve always wished I were more exotic looking like Tasha, with her almond-shaped eyes and creamy white skin. But no, I’m not flashy or girly. I’m just boring old me. Boring brown hair, too big for my face murky greenish-brown eyes, average height, average weight, average… everything.

  “I haven’t been drinking caffeine, silly. I’m just excited. All last term was footy this and footy that, around nothing but girls all the time. Now, since it’s off-season, we can flirt and find blokes to chat up and have fun.”

  We had been walking towards class, but after that comment I stop to face Tasha. “Firstly, we still have football, just not as much. Practice starts next week. Secondly, you can flirt and find a bloke. I’m not interested. I need to get out of this town.” It’s a partial lie. I do want a bloke, a specific one. Only he doesn’t want me. Letting out a huff, I continue down the hall to the maths classrooms.

  “Hey.” Tasha grabs my elbow, pulling me over to the side of the hall so we don’t block traffic. She lowers her voice and leans in close. “He’s an idiot to not notice you, Kate. You’re bloody gorgeous, smart, and fucking brilliant on the pitch. Either forget about Dax or make a move. I’ve heard he’s a cold, soulless bastard anyway. This is our last term together and we’re going to have some fun if it kills us.”

  While I’m glad to have a friend like her who knows what I’m thinking even when I don’t say it, hearing her insult Dax ruffles my feathers a little. Yeah, he seems unapproachable and icy, but there’s something there. I just know it.

  Regardless of how she feels about him, Tasha always lets me prattle on and on about Dax Davies and his magnificence and never once makes me feel stupid or obsessed—even though I’m ashamed to admit I’m both. “We’re going to have fun, huh?”

  “Yeah.” She grins.

  I pull my hair out of its elastic, run my fingers through it, and immediately whip it right back up in a ponytail. Nervous habit. “Right. You’re right. We are.” I’m not sure if I’m convincing Tasha or myself.

  “Good. I’ll see you at lunch. Lucky us, they’re welcoming us back with that dodgy shepherd’s pie you love so much.”

  I wrinkle my nose at the thought of eating the horrid school lunches for another term. Oh well, could be worse. I could be eating nothing for lunch—something I’ve had to do many, many times.

  “See you then.”

  When I reach my class I notice that my streak of misfortune continues—making a fool of myself during attendance, dodgy lunch, and to top it off, Dax is already seated in the back row of my maths class, running one of his huge hands over his short, dark blonde hair. His round, well-defined bicep flexes as his arm moves, making my mouth practically water. Brilliant, I’ll be spending the entire term thinking about Dax and his perfect muscles, sitting behind me. I’ll probably fail maths whilst I daydream.

  Make a move or forget about Dax. Yeah right, not a bloody chance.

  Dax

  “No, no, no! Lad, are you payin’ any attention to what yer doing? He’s gonna leather you if you lower yer right hand!”

  Aggravated, I take a step back into the corner of the cage, praying that my temper will lessen. I know my dad’s angry—really angry, because his Scottish brogue is so bad it’s almost unintelligible. That says a lot since I grew up with the sorry prick. I should know what he’s saying after eighteen years.

  “Look at me, ya numpty!”

  Gritting my teeth, I control my face before I turn towards my old man.

  “Freddie, take a break,” he snaps at the bloke I’m sparring with, never once breaking our eye contact. Fred silently exits the cage, disappearing somewhere in the massive old warehouse my dad uses for his underground fight club. You wouldn’t believe how widespread and organized the illegal fight scene is in London. There are tournaments and everything.

  My dad steps over until we’re nearly chest-to-chest. I’m a huge bastard, six foot three and over fourteen stone. Dad? He’s tall enough to look me right in the eye. If he were younger, I could possibly be scared of him.

  Who am I kidding? I am scared of him, or at the very least greatly intimidated.

  My dad only knows one way—very controlling, very painful, and absolutely terrifying. He’s a decent man, mostly. It’s just that he puts fighting
over everything else, including us. Plus, if there’s one thing I absolutely loathe, it’s being told what to do.

  Unconsciously, I shift my gaze away from his dark, piercing stare. Faster than you’d think the old man could move, his hand whips out and catches my chin, yanking it until I look at him.

  “Face me like a man, lad. Never let yer opponent see weakness.”

  Opponent… what a joke. He’s my fucking father. He’s supposed to be on my side. He’s the only man on earth that can intimidate me. With everyone else, I’m fearless.

  Rule 2—Never let your emotions show.

  He stares for what feels like forever, searching my face for something. Looking in my eyes as if they hold the answers to all of his questions. I wait, not daring to move an inch. You never, ever flinch.

  He narrows his gaze. “Did you have a shag?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Did you get fucked?”

  I shake my head, hardly able to move with his thick fingers still squeezing my chin.

  “Did you have a wank?”

  “Dad! No!”

  Horrified, I try to pull my head out of his tight grip, but it only makes him clamp down harder. His normally light eyes are nearly black as he scowls.

  “You know the rules, aye?”

  “Yes.”

  Of course I know his bloody rules. They’ve been beaten into me since I was a kid.

  Rule 3—No fucking, shagging, wanking, sucking, or getting off for seven days leading up to a fight.

  You want your reward? You better win.

  Dad shoves me away by my chin, making me stumble back, disgust clearly written all over his face. “I want ya ready for Friday night, Dax.” My dad’s thick finger points at me, “No slappers, no fucking, keep yer hands off yer dick.”

  I nod, swallowing down the rage that boils in my gut. He’s a fucking genius. He wants me furious, determined…an outright demon in the ring. He knows the best way to get results is to keep me angry and horny.

  “Go’n do the bag. An hour. Not a minute less.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t bloody argue with me, lad!”

  The venom in his voice keeps me from talking back. Silently, I leave the cage, stalking over to the heavy bag in the corner, and start punching it, pretending it’s my father’s face I’m hitting instead of cracked old vinyl.

  As I do the various punches and kick combinations, each one in a specific order long ago committed to memory, I allow myself to imagine getting out of this place to have a life of my own. Where I get to choose what I do, who I fuck, and where no one else will have a goddamn say.

  For now, I go along with dad’s way simply because it’s easier. The money is good and I get pussy brought right to my feet. Regardless, I cannot wait until my gig Saturday night. It’s the beginning of my plan to leave Hackney, and the club, behind.

  Sweat is pouring off my face and body, making it difficult to see, but I keep pounding that sodding bag, too stubborn to back off and let my dad think he’s broken me.

  “Oi!”

  I give the bag one last good whack before snatching up a towel to wipe myself off. I need my brother giving me a pep talk like I need a second cock—It seems like a good idea until you realize it’s fucking useless.

  “What do you want, Ethan?”

  “Hey! Who put a goalpost up your arse?” He holds his hands up in mock offense.

  I glare at my oldest brother. He can be so fucking stupid sometimes. Of all of us, Ethan is the only one who looks like dad—dark hair, light eyes, intimidating as fuck all. The rest of us are big like them, but blonde with dark eyes like our mum.

  “Let me guess. Dad, of course. Who else would have you this aggro?” Ethan chuckles under his breath, but there’s no humor in his tone. “You have to ignore ninety percent of what the old codger says, Dax.”

  “Easy for you to say. He’s not riding your ass like he is mine.”

  I strip off my fingerless bag gloves, tossing them aside to grab my drink. Too late, I see Ethan’s hand whipping through the air.

  “Ow!” My instinct is to rear back and punch my brother after he slaps the back of my head, but I suppress it, knowing Ethan will give as good as he gets. “What the hell was that for?”

  “Because, you stupid knob, we share a room. Or have you forgotten?” My only answer is a rude grunt. “I work here with him every damn day, Dax. At least you have school and your music as an escape. You don’t hear him getting on me because you’re not here all the time.”

  “School,” I scoff. “Yeah, that’s a real relaxing break from the club, Ethan. Stuck with a perpetual stiffy while surrounded by girls that I can’t fuck for fourteen days out of every month.” Scowling, I grab my water bottle and drink most of it in a few large gulps.

  My oldest brother’s gray eyes soften, reflecting an age much wiser than his twenty-two years. “Trust me bro, take advantage of the freedom school gives you while you’re there. This…” he spins around with his arms spread wide, “is no paradise.”

  Well crap. If this is the best it’s going to get, I need to get moving on that plan.

  Kate

  “This is so exciting! I’m so glad I wore this dress, it shows off my body perfectly.”

  I stifle a giggle when Tasha hides her face and rolls her eyes so I can see it but Willa can’t. Willa is… well, let’s just say she only thinks about one thing—herself.

  “Ellie, you alright?” I elbow my newest, and somehow suddenly my closest, friend, bouncing my knees with anticipation. Ellie and I live in the same building so we’ve bonded by walking to school together or doing class work. Ellie turns in her seat to face me, her big blue eyes wide with anxiety.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she responds with a worried frown.

  I must be scowling because she adds on to her statement, sounding somewhat more convincing. “Really, Kate. I’m brilliant.” I watch her wipe her hands on the super tight jeans I made her wear.

  Fine. Hmph. She couldn’t be less fine if she were walking naked across the stage at the Royal Albert Hall.

  Not wanting to start an argument on our girls’ night out, I keep my observations to myself. Frankly, I’m just chuffed that she came out with us. Ellie is… reticent to say the least.

  The tube slows to a stop and Tasha jumps to her feet when they announce the station. “This is ours!”

  We file out, laughing and chatting about everything and anything. The excitement of seeing a live band at a popular London pub has us all wound up like little children on a sugar high. Most of us are just over eighteen, so this is our first chance to go.

  At the front entrance of the bar, we meet up with some of our other teammates and head inside. The Drunken Kitten is a noisy, jam-packed little place in a bohemian area of London, filled to the brim with people of all sorts.

  Tasha leans close so I can hear her. “Let’s get a good spot!”

  I nod at Tasha and grab Ellie’s hand, making sure to hold my pint up in my other so the crowd doesn’t jostle it.

  “Perfect,” I declare when we carve out a little section right near the tiny stage. “I’ve heard these blokes are talented.”

  “No, you’ve heard that they’re smoking hot,” Tasha says, laughing as she sips her lager.

  “Shut it, Tash.” If it were bright enough in here, I’m certain everyone would see how red my face is. “So what? Yeah, they’re supposed to be good-looking. Is it a crime to want to watch hot guys sing?”

  Willa comes gliding through the throngs of people, sidling up to us. “I’m so going to shag one of the hot musicians,” she announces.

  Ellie frowns at Willa, but the rest of us have learned to ignore her. Willa’s only here because she overheard one of the girls discussing our plans during football practice. Otherwise, not one of us would have dared to invite her.

  The lights dim causing the packed crowd to whistle and yell. After initially stumbling over his own feet, the first musician hops onto the small, ligh
ted stage. Right as it hits me that I recognize him, I spot another man with a guitar following close behind.

  Dax Davies.

  I’m struck dumb. Rooted to the spot like a total idiot. I’m so shocked I don’t even remember to fidget. In the background, I register that my friends are screaming for Dax and his friend Adam, and they’re screaming loudly. Everything after that becomes a blur. I’m sure there’s singing, clapping, hollering, dancing… I hear and see none of it.

  Instead, burned onto my impressionable brain forever, is the glorious sight of Dax in a tight white T-shirt, his ripped, sinewy bulk flexing as he strums his guitar. His jeans are frayed, the waist barely holding up on his narrow hips. I can’t tell if he’s any good at playing because the only sound I hear is blood rushing behind my ears as my poor heart works overtime to keep me on my feet.

  “Kate. Kate!”

  My unfocused eyes find Ellie, standing in front of me, blocking my view of Dax and his perfection.

  “What?”

  “I don’t feel well. Do you mind if we take off? My stomach…”

  I glance back up at Dax and my mouth goes dry at his magnificence. Then my eyes find a group of scantily dressed females congregating around the stage exit, Willa included. My stomach does a back flip, accompanied by a horrid feeling of despair.

  What’s the point of sticking around? So I can watch Dax snog someone else? Put those huge, talented hands on another girl’s body? I can’t compete with them. They’re all posh and gorgeous. Why would he want me when he could have one of them?

  My gaze drops back to Ellie. Christ, she really doesn’t look well at all. “Yeah. Let’s go, El.”

  What was supposed to be a fun night out has made me depressed as hell. Instead of having a laugh, I tortured myself for nearly two hours watching my walking dream get eye-fucked by every girl in the audience. I need to get it through my thick skull—Dax Davies doesn’t love me and never will.