“Well,” Ronnie says as he kicks off his black boots and unbuttons his jeans, letting them fall to the pavement and flashing the red and white swim shorts underneath. “We went to the beach and had a fucking awesome time.” The baby laughs as he kisses her on the face. “And we let Poppet's ashes out to sea.”
“I'm sorry, honey,” Naomi says but Lola just shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders.
“That's where she'd want to be,” Lola says firmly, her dark hair up in a high ponytail on the top of her head, her lips pressed into a resolute line. At twelve weeks, she's showing a little bit, a fact that makes me jealous as hell. Naomi still refuses to have kids with me, but we'll get there. I can be a seriously persuasive asshole. Or at the very least, I can be fucking relentless. “Let's talk about something else, shall we?”
“This shit is dope,” Trey says, coming outside with Sydney and Dax on his heels, scooping up the disgusting slop in his bowl and trying to feed some to me. Frankly, I'm still pissed that he and Naomi had sex that one time on the first tour. And I can hold a serious goddamn grudge.
“You put that near my mouth and I will destroy you,” I growl at him as he chuckles and tries to smile at Lydia. She actually laughs—probably at the hideous shape of his face. But whatever. You know, even if I have to look at his ugliness the rest of my life, I'm just glad he's not dead. He could so easily have been so many times over.
I mean, fuck, the whole reason Brayden Ryker sent us to those clubs was to try to incite the families to the sort of violence that happened at the Chapel with the fire and the snipers. Domestic terrorism or something is what he called it, some way to nail everyone involved, freeze their assets, and get his daughter back.
From the brief contact we've had with the man, I know that at least that part of this stupid story had a happy ending.
Naomi keeps one arm over her nipples as Lola sheds her sundress and climbs into the pool with Lydia. Once the kid's firmly entrenched in the water, she bares her boobs again and I swear to Christ that Trey is looking.
“Do you want your nuts torn off?” I ask him casually as he laughs and dribbles pear juice down his chin. Jesse's on a date with some guy, so he's not here right now, but if he were, he'd probably be throwing up. He has a thing about cottage cheese and Trey is seriously scooping spoonfuls into his mouth and groaning.
“You guys haven't been swimming without me, have you?” Blair Ashton asks as she appears at the open sliding glass doors in a white and red bikini, her wounds reddish pink but a fuck of a lot closer to healing than my own.
Oh yeah, and she ain't dead.
Brayden Ryker had his people move her when Paulette issued the order for her to be taken off life support. So I guess he's not a complete tool bag after all. He faked her death, but kept her alive. Good for him.
Dax gives her a kiss on the cheek and sips his beer, one arm around around Sydney's waist, their hideous fish rings gleaming in the sunshine. After a moment, he pauses and glances over his shoulder.
“I think someone's at the door,” he says and I shrug, scooting over to Naomi's chair and noticing that even though she tries to frown and pretend she doesn't want me there, her lips crook into a smile anyway and her nipples peak into hard points.
“Let the maid get it,” I say, but Dax just rolls his eyes and disappears into the shadows of the house. When he comes back, he's pale as fuck and … Brayden Ryker is at his heels.
Blair checks him out pretty fucking extensively, looking pretty goddamn turned on for a woman that was, like, dead not too long ago.
“What the hell do you want?” Ronnie growls, pulling his legs from the pool and rising to his feet. He looks like a bear with cubs, ready to maim. I'll have to make fun of him for that later.
“I brought you a visitor,” he says and I feel my chest cave in, my throat go tight.
It's Tyler, Travis' son, the kid with the freckles, the one that looks like a goddamn clone of my dead brother.
“Tyler, this is Turner Campbell,” Brayden says, steering the shy boy over to me with a hand on his skinny shoulder. The kid won't look at me, staring at the pool with a slight sparkle of desperation in his gaze, like he'd much rather be swimming than standing here in front of me. Poor Naomi's got her arm over her tits again.
“Hey Tyler,” I say, my voice ragged and broken. I have to swallow a good half-dozen times to get it right. “How's it going, buddy?”
“Remember how we talked about Mr. Campbell being your new guardian?” Brayden asks, and my mouth falls open.
“Are you … serious?” Naomi asks from behind me, tearing off her shades and grabbing her bikini top, putting it back on with these ninja like movements that keep her nipples hidden.
“Why don't you go put your feet in the pool?” Brayden asks and Tyler scampers off, joining Lola and Lydia at the edge of the sparkling water.
“Dude, what the hell is going on?” I ask as Brayden takes my abandoned chair, dressed in a tight white shirt, a pair of copper shades perched on the top of his ugly red hair. He looks happy though, like a completely different man than the one we had to put up with.
“The Hardings are gone, the Hammergrens are in prison, and the Washingtons have no claim to Travis' kid. We did a DNA test and were able to prove that he was indeed related to your friend. Fortunately, we had his DNA profile from the investigation surrounding the car accident, so we were able to make a clear comparison. This is, in fact, Travis Gaborone's son.”
Treyjan gets this wet look in his eyes and turns away, disappearing back into the kitchen as the rest of us sit there in silence for a moment.
“And according to his will,” Brayden says, looking strongly in my direction, “you're his next of kin.”
“What fucking will?” I ask as Naomi groans and puts her forehead against my sun warmed back.
“You know, like how you were my power of attorney even though I never filled out any paperwork?” she whispers and I blink stupidly against the revelation.
“Are you seriously helping us here?” I ask and Brayden smiles tightly.
“I said I would, didn't I?”
“You were a fucking asshole,” I growl, but all the man does is shrug. “You let Trey get shot, let Poppet die, you—”
“Made me believe my best friend was dead,” Dax snaps from behind the man, looking over at Blair with an obvious sigh of relief and this gentle smile. I wonder if Sydney ever gets jealous of those looks? But nah, she's Crazy fucking Sydney. I bet she doesn't.
“Well, Tyler needs a place to live and someone to look after him. I know he'll be safe here. Plus, based on the rules of inheritance, he's the heir to the portion of Spin Fast that belonged to America and Paulette. As soon as he turns eighteen, he'll be a majority stockholder. Until then, the assets are held in trust and there's a contract in place that prevents any majoring restructuring of the company.”
I have no clue what that means for either of our bands, but somebody must be working over there because both Amatory Riot and Indecency have new managers, decent ones this time. We're shooting a music video next month actually. Blair is back on keyboards, but I don't think Lola gives a fuck. She seems to like being a mum as she puts it. I get it. She had a crap mom, wants to be a good one. Well, I had a crap dad and I want to be a good one. If Naomi's not ready for a baby yet … I glance over at Tyler and smile. I'll do fucking right by Travis, and I'll make sure his kid grows up to be as good a man as his dad.
“What about Cassie?” Dax asks, glancing away and then back at Brayden, those gray eyes of his hard as steel. “Hayden's daughter.”
“She's gone to live with Hayden's father and brothers in Oklahoma,” Brayden says and I swear, I see Dax lose ten pounds off each shoulder. Mr. Ryker stands up then and brushes at his jeans. “Now, if you don't mind, I have a daughter that I've barely seen in years. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Here's my number,” Blair says, passing him a piece of paper with a bright smile. “If you need to get a hold of us for
any reason …”
“Jesus Christ,” Dax mumbles, reminding me of Treyjan for a second there, like an angry jealous asshole brother.
“Thanks, I'll be in touch,” he says and then he disappears into the house to let himself out the front. For a while there, it's nothing but silence, the wind kissing the palm trees and teasing my back with loose strands of Naomi's hair.
“I'll make some burgers or something,” Ronnie says after a moment, handing Phoebe to me as I wrinkle my nose. “Change her diaper, Arkansas.”
“Fuck you,” I say but he knows I'll do it, if only to prove to Naomi that I can. I'm not too rockstar to clean up shit. I tuck the baby into my arms and feel Naomi's mouth press a kiss to my shoulder.
“I love you,” she tells me and I grin.
“You want to make one of these with me, Knox?” I ask again and she rolls her eyes, sitting back in the chair and tucking her shades back in place.
“Don't push it, Campbell,” she says, but she's still smiling when she says it.
“Let's get some music going,” Sydney says, dragging Dax along with her—probably so they can fuck in the hallway on their way to the wall panel that controls the sound system. If it's not me and Naomi, Ronnie and Lola, or Kash and one of his girlfriends fucking in a random public area of the house, it's Dax and Sydney. There is a lot of goddamn sex that happens here. At least it's big enough that even if Ronnie's kids are here, we can put them far away from the action.
“Brayden Ryker is hot as shit,” Blair whispers, taking that extra chair and leaning back against it. I notice Naomi watching her with a sweet, relieved smile before she glances away and takes another sip of her beer.
“Please don't start dating him. I don't think I could handle having him around all the time.”
“Hey,” Trey says, appearing back outside without his nasty food in hand. “You want to take Tyler upstairs with me and help him pick out a room?”
I smile at my friend and stand up, my other friend's baby cradled in my arms.
“Yeah,” I say with a smirk, drawing a pair of shades from my pocket with one hand, Phoebe tucked against my chest with the other. I slip them on my face and head over to the edge of the pool to call Tyler. It'll be a tough transition, I'm sure, and there's always the fear that the Hammergrens did something to poison this kid. I mean, his bio mom was America Harding.
But he's also got Travis in him, too, and if there was ever a good man that walked this earth, it was him. We can do this, all of us together.
“Come on, buddy, and we'll find you a swimsuit,” I say as he stands up and smiles at me, the shape of his mouth a fucking clone of his father's. Treyjan takes his hand and we start to head inside, pausing as Naomi calls out to me.
“Hey, Turner!” she shouts, grabbing something from her bag and tossing it in my direction, nowhere near the baby, so of course I have to bend down and pick it up.
It's a fucking pregnancy test.
“We're having a baby?!” I shriek, and I think I almost scare the kids.
“I've been really shitty about taking my pills, but I haven't pissed on it yet, so I don't know. I just thought you might be curious.”
Fuck yeah, I'm goddamn curious.
I grin at her and toss the test back, not at all surprised when she catches it easily in two hands.
“Jesus fuck,” Trey whispers under his breath, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me inside before I get too caught up in staring at my woman and melt into a fucking puddle on the marble floors.
So … that's like, it.
What else is there to say? Obviously Trey needs a girlfriend desperately because I'm not sure how much more of his clingy ass I can take, but otherwise there it is. This is about as domestic as fucked-up people like us get, two rock bands living in a mansion together with a bunch of random kids. Oh, and Sydney got a fucking cat. But we're still weird, and we still do blow too much, and I'm still going to tear my shirt off and get sexy as fuck in that music video.
The roots of our hard rock past are just buried too deep to dig up, okay?
Love, murder, intrigue, sex, music.
That's the story of our fucking lives, baby; that's the tale of our hard rock roots.
In the midst of the sunshine and the laugher, our music just keeps on playing.
The End…or Not. ;)
Dear Reader,
I cannot even tell you how thrilled I am to have been able to write this series, and how privileged I feel to have readers like you decide to come on this ride with me. I hope you've enjoyed your trip through the crazy world of Amatory Riot and Indecency, and I look forward to seeing those of you who are interested in Trey's story to see what comes next for the bands.
As always, if you're enjoying this series, could you take the time to leave a review? Indie authors count on readers to let the world know what they like. The success of Hard Rock Roots is partially up to you! I wrote this series with heart and infused my soul into the words, so I love to hear from others when they feel a connection to the story.
P.S. The next book, Screw Up, will feature Treyjan Charell as a main character and will essentially be a stand-alone novel meaning it has its own beginning and end, the plot and romance being resolved in a single volume. You will definitely see all the other characters in there, too. Each of the next Hard Rock Roots books will be released three months or less apart from one another!
Kisses.
C.M.
He's Such a Precious Little Screw Up
Forbidden love shouldn't feel so good.
A Brand-New Rockstar Trilogy From C.M. Stunich. Five Gorgeous Guys, One Tough Choice.
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A hot rocker boy with a sultry Southern accent. A Weeping Bones Motorcycle Club daughter turned assassin.
DESCRIPTION
Sold to a billionaire.
That's not my love story; that's my nightmare.
Dash Buchanan, lead singer of Pistols and Violets, risked his life to rescue me from that auction block.
Once upon a time, his father stole millions from my father's motorcycle club.
Now, the business he started with that money is worth billions.
Because of that, Dash and I could lose more than just our lives.
BDSM as a weapon.
Dash would be my Dom; I would be his sub.
It was the only way to get into their club, to make them trust us so we could save the others.
I just didn't expect to like it so much–or want it outside of our mission.
A hot rocker boy with a sultry Southern accent.
A Weeping Bones Motorcycle Club daughter turned assassin.
A billionaire auction gone wrong.
Revenge, sex…romance.
As dangerous as it is spectacular, as fierce as it is unexpected.
PROLOGUE
Adelaide
Seventy miles north of Las Vegas …
Seven Days Later …
The gun pressed tight against the back of my skull, a kiss of metal held in arcadian stillness. The wind swirled my hair against the barrel and whistled around me, ominous cries of pain that mimicked my sister's whimpering. I wasn't crying yet, but I couldn't blame her for shedding some tears—she'd already been shot.
I swallowed hard and tried to get past the taste of sand in my mouth. The gritty granules rubbed against my teeth and scoured my tongue, drying up what could very well be the last words sitting in my mouth. Why you? That's all I wanted to ask, all I needed to know. Of all the people in my life, why did it have to be him? As hard as I tried though, I couldn't speak. I tried to turn my head, but the gun changed my mind about that in an instant, pressing even tighter against me. It was like a violation, an assault.
A creak of leather sounded behind me before I could feel his breath on my neck. A droplet of blood, twice as scalding as the white sun above us, slid down my tattooed arm and pooled against the silver chain on my wrist. In the back of my mind, I imagined that I could hear the squealing of tires on the pavement, t
he growl of hogs in the distance. But that was all my imagination. Nobody was coming for us this time. My brothers had always said that one day, I'd bite off more than I could chew.
I guess I had.
And I'd taken Layla along with me.
“Let her go,” I pushed those words out in a whispered hiss, sand soaked saliva sliding over my lips and drying instantly in the sun. My mouth felt cracked and blistered from my fall; I didn't even want to know what my face looked like. Let's see, thirty miles an hour? Hard packed sand and dirt? Some rocks? Gravel. That hurt. That really, really hurt.
“Nobody's going anywhere. Not you, not her. Not even me. We're all going to sit here and wait.” I could hear the disgust in his voice. I supposed if I was in his position—ignorant and arrogant and stupid as hell—I'd have it, too. He knew it all. Everything. The sordid details of my existence for the past week. Out here with the desert sky looking down on me and the mountains' pointed glares, I had no reason to deny it. For years, I'd played it safe, not wanting people to look at me the way he was looking at me right now.
Guess I was getting what I deserved.
Seven days. That was all it had taken for my life to transform completely, set me on a path I never knew I'd be following. From lying to myself to seeing a crack form inside of me that would set all my dark truths and desires free. From hating what I'd become to relishing it.
And it all started with a boy—with an asshole.
CHAPTER ONE
Dash
I loved it when my ol' man called me into his office—mostly because I liked to screw his secretary.
“Fuck,” I groaned, grinding my hips against the petite little blonde's, twisting my fingers in a handful of her hair. She tilted her head back and gave me access to her pale, perfect throat. I ran my tongue along her skin, tasting the sweat that was beading there, eating up the proof that I was doin' this right, doing her right.
Get Hitched (Hard Rock Roots Book 9) Page 20