Six Guns and Six Strings: 13 Book Excite Spice Cowboys and Rock Stars Mega Bundle (Excite Spice Boxed Sets)

by Selena Kitt

  Muzza shook his head again. “Debbi, I’m not trying to say your mate’s lying to you, but I would bet my left bollock that Jag wouldn’t go after your drummer.”

  “Yeah? Well, I thought the same. I guess he had us both fooled.”

  Muzza shrugged. God, she was being hard work. He looked at Mindy, then back at Debbi. “I’ll tell you something not many people know,” he said. “When we were at school, Jag went out with one of the girls there. She was called Suzanne, and she was the best looking girl in the whole school. They were really into each other, but when her parents found out about it, they went ballistic. They didn’t want their precious girl wasting herself on a lad from where me and Jag grew up. So they decided to move themselves out of Manchester and sent Suzanne to a private school. Jag never got to see her again. Some of her friends reckoned he’d got her pregnant, but Jag said he hadn’t. Anyway, a lot of women have been and gone since Suzanne, but I have never known him to say anything nice about any of them.” Muzza nodded at Debbi. “Until you, that is.”

  Debbi just gazed back with a blank expression and he couldn’t tell if she believed him, or even cared.

  He began to feel defeated. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but I wish you’d talk to Jan and get her to tell you the truth. I think what you and Jag could have together makes it worth it.”

  With that, Muzza kissed Mindy on the cheek and made his way to start to pack up their gear.

  * * *

  The journey to Nottingham the following day was uneventful. Jag was on the bus early and sat as far back as he could get without sitting with guitars on his knees. He listened to Neil Young’s Live Rust on his Walkman, held a magazine, and never looked up at the other passengers during the entire trip.

  Once they’d reached their destination, he stayed on the bus until everyone else had gone into the club. Then he left the bus and went for a walk, knowing Muzza would take his amp and guitar inside for him. It was a couple of hours later by the time he got back, and Simon approached him as soon as he walked through the door.

  “Jag, can I have a word?”

  “What’s up?”

  Simon looked around, spotted a spare table over to one side. “Let’s talk over there.” Without waiting for an answer, he walked away.

  Jag looked around but the only people in the vast room were strangers, presumably staff from the club. He pulled a chair out and sat down. “Yeah?”

  “I’ve just been speaking to some contacts on the phone. I’d sent them a copy of your tape. They’d like you boys to go and do a demo at their studio in London at the end of the month.”

  Jag sat back. “Wow!” Really, ‘wow’ was all he could manage. “What did the others say?”

  Simon shook his head. “I’ve not told them yet. Like I said, I’m just off the phone. They’re away getting something to eat.”

  Jag realised he was smiling.

  “But I wanted to tell you first, with you being band leader and all.”

  Jag was puzzled. “I’m not the band leader. We’re all equal.”

  “That’s not how it seems to me. You decide what you play.”

  “No I don’t.”

  Simon shrugged. “That’s not what I heard after Wood tried a few alternative lyrics.”

  “I think I have every right to decide what words get sung in my songs. That’s not being the band leader, but the songs I write are my own. If you want to write lyrics, put them to somebody else’s tunes.”

  Simon shrugged. “Fair enough. I was just trying to help.”

  Jag was instantly defensive. “I need help, do I? Are you saying there’s a problem with my lyrics?”

  Simon exhaled heavily. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. Forget it.”

  Jag knew if Simon’s lyrics were in his songs, then Simon would be entitled to a chunk of the royalties. He suspected this had been the reason behind Simon’s sudden urge to be a songwriter, but was too happy about the recording news to confront him.

  As Jag pushed his chair back and went to stand, Simon leaned forwards again. “My contacts seem to think that if you’re going to get an album out, it’ll have to be soon. According to them, punk’s had its day. The music world is changing. Synthesisers are where it’s at now.”

  “Yeah, if you’re Donna Summer. I think I’ll stick with the guitar, thanks.”

  Simon smiled, got up and walked away. Jag stayed sitting at the table for another twenty minutes. He couldn’t believe they were going to record a demo in London. They might actually get to make an album. This was everything he’d dreamed of, and yet he didn’t feel quite as thrilled as he should.

  The sound of guitars tuning up made him look up. Gash was on stage getting ready to do their sound check. Jag saw Debbi sitting on her amp, looking anywhere but in his direction. He would’ve loved to have been able to go and share his news with her. He decided to make himself scarce and let her do her job. He walked out the front door, sat on the car park wall in the sun and waited for the rest of his band mates to return.

  * * *

  That final night, Frenzy, first up and buoyed by the news of an audition in London, played with a lot of energy. They were tight, and even though the club was only half full this early, the crowd seemed to sense this was not an ordinary performance. As soon as the band was back in the dressing room, Jag showered and changed. He pulled Muzza to one side. “Any chance you could do me a favour and get my gear on the bus and back home?”

  Muzza looked puzzled. “Why? What are you doing?”

  Jag shrugged. “I’ve taken two weeks off work, so I thought I’d spend the rest of this week wandering round. Never been here before, so I thought I’d have a look. Maybe do a bit of walking in Sherwood Forest.”

  “You’re alright, though?”

  Jag laughed. “Course I’m alright, yer fanny. Don’t get all fucking touchy-feely and start having periods on me.”

  Muzza laughed. “Fuck off, I’m just asking. I know you liked her, that’s all.”

  “Yeah. But that doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “So, are you leaving after the last-night party?”

  “Thought I’d give it a miss, mate. I’m going to find a taxi and get a decent night’s sleep in a room for one. I’ve had enough of sharing my space with your body gases.”

  Muzza’s face split into a wide grin. “Excellent. Looks like Mindy will be getting the sort of send-off she deserves now we have ‘a room’.”

  Jag smiled and slapped him on the arm. “Make her suffer, mate.”

  He walked out of the club and into the warm night, along the side of the club and right at the end of the street.

  A bunch of youths in punk gear stood outside the front door of a pub, evidently being refused entry. A couple of them saw Jag approaching and made their way towards him. Jag recognised the shorter one as the lout who’d been thrown out by the police in Birmingham — the one who’d broken the glass and been the subject of his and Debbi’s first conversation. The kid was wearing a t-shirt featuring The Riot.

  Jag usually didn’t bother getting involved in other people’s arguments, but decided to tell the youths they’d be welcomed at the club, and they’d also be able to catch some of the support bands. He walked toward them. “Lads, why don’t you just–”

  Before he could finish, the taller youth punched him in the face. “Keep your fucking nose out, yer cunt,” he snarled.

  Jag wished Muzza was with him – he was the best person Jag knew to sort out trouble like this. Jag knew that the wise option would be to walk away. There was no reasoning with these louts. But he was still angry about how things had turned out with Debbi, and maybe this underlying aggression caused him to respond in a way that was out of character. He swung a foot and kicked his attacker in the balls. Then the youth he’d recognised from Birmingham punched him in the stomach and Jag doubled over, winded, his stomach feeling hot and cold at the same time. He dropped to the ground and kicks rained in on his back, legs and arms as he curle
d himself up on his side. He heard the youths running away, laughing and chanting.

  When Jag tried to sit up he felt too weak, the heels of his hands sliding across the pavement without any grip. He rubbed his stomach, which was still hurting, and felt a hot wetness. He realised he was sweating, knew what he’d find when he looked; his palm was covered in blood. The youth hadn’t punched him — he’d been stabbed. Jag started to shiver, and just before he blacked out, he saw an elderly man bending over him.

  * * *

  Back in the club, Muzza watched Gash from the side of the stage and later Mindy joined him at the bar while Fresh Scabs were doing their set. Muzza was just about to take a sip from his drink when he was punched on the arm. He looked up, ready to hit back twice as hard, and saw his brother Graham grinning at him.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Muzza asked, smiling broadly himself now.

  “Thought I’d come and see your last show,” Graham said, nodding at Muzza’s glass as he waved a five pound note at one of the bar staff.

  “Lager, cheers. You’re too late. We were first on tonight.” Muzza pointed to Mindy’s glass, ordered a pernod and lemonade for her, and Graham went to get them all a drink.

  Everyone from the other bands came to watch The Riot’s last show. They were absolutely brilliant and the entire place was jumping. Muzza danced with Mindy and when he looked over to the other side of the mosh pit, there was Graham with Jan, the drummer from Gash. Suddenly Muzza knew what had happened, and he dragged Mindy off towards the bar.

  “What’s wrong?” Mindy yelled.

  “We need to find your mate!” he bellowed, but the music was too loud for Mindy to hear him.

  Muzza stalked around the bar until he saw one of the roadies, “Where’s Debbi?”

  The guy shrugged. “With Kelly.” He pointed towards the mosh pit. “In there somewhere.”

  Muzza looked into the throng of jumping bodies and knew he’d never find her. He got himself and Mindy another drink and waited until the band finished. As soon as he saw Debbi he hurried over to her, dragging Mindy by the hand behind him.

  Debbi saw them coming and the smile disappeared from her face. “What now?”

  “It was my brother Graham,” he said.

  “What was?” Debbi looked towards Mindy, who shrugged in equal bemusement.

  “It was Graham in our room — mine and Jag’s room, that is. The night you went back to Liverpool, Graham brought down some more of our tapes. He was going to drive back after the show, but I told him he could have my bed, because I knew I’d be in your room with Mindy.” He watched as Debbi digested this information.

  Mindy spoke first. “And you’ve only just remembered this now?”

  “I forgot all about it. But I’ve just seen him and Jan all over each other. They must have met after the show on Saturday.”

  Debbi was shaking her head. “So where did Jag sleep?”

  Muzza shrugged. “In his own bed, probably. But he gets up early, and he does a lot of walking. Chances are, as soon as he got up and left, Graham phoned Jan and told her to go to his room.”

  Debbi closed her eyes and stayed still for several seconds. When she opened them she looked really sad. “Where’s Jag now?”

  Muzza shrugged. “He left as soon as we’d finished our set. He didn’t want to stay for the party. He’s going to stay over here for a couple more days, walking round Sherwood fucking Forest or something.”

  Debbi shook her head. “Well, I don’t think there’d be any point in me speaking to him anyway.”

  Muzza was shocked. “Are you serious? He really likes you.”

  “Not after what I did, he doesn’t.”

  “Why? What did you do?”

  Debbi smiled a humourless smile. “You don’t want to know. But trust me – he won’t want to see me again.”

  Muzza shook his head. “No offence love, but I think I know him a bit better than you do. I’ve known him since I was five and I can assure you — he’s really keen. There may’ve been a lot of women, but there were only two that ever meant anything to him. And you’re one of those.”

  Debbi frowned. “I don’t think I will be now.”

  Muzza smiled. “You’re wrong. He won’t care what you’ve done. He just cares about how you make him feel. We’re playing in Stockport next Tuesday night. Come and see us. I promise you, Jag’ll be very happy to see you.”

  Debbi looked uncertainly at Mindy, who squealed and put her arms around her friend’s neck. “It’s even better than Casablanca!”

  Debbi smiled and realised she was crying.

  * * *

  The following week, Mindy drove Debbi to Stockport in her old Vauxhall Viva. After parking in a multi-storey at the end of the street, they made their way towards the club. As they approached, they saw the ‘Show Cancelled’ sign on a board on the pavement. Debbi was certain Jag had decided to drop out because he didn’t want to see her. When they got inside, there was a DJ playing music and the dance floor was about half full. There was no sign of any of the guys from Frenzy.

  The girls got themselves a drink and were just wondering what to do next when Muzza came through the door. He looked awful. He was pale and hadn’t shaved in days. His eyes were red-rimmed. The girls made their way over.

  Mindy put her arms around him. “What’s happened?”

  Muzza took a couple of deep breaths. “Jag…Jag was stabbed in Nottingham that last night of the tour.”

  Debbi’s stomach went instantly cold, and she thought she might faint. She couldn’t speak.

  Mindy was the one to ask. “Is he going to be alright?”

  “Dunno. He’s in a coma.” He shook his head, tears forming in his eyes.

  Debbi was dimly aware of the DJ changing records and came sharply back to life as Sound of the Suburbs started to blast from the speakers. Tears spilled over. “Which hospital’s he in?”

  Muzza sniffed. “City Hospital. I’m driving over tomorrow morning if you want to come.”

  She nodded. “We’ll take a guitar so I can play him another song I’ve been working on. He’s bound to wake up and show me a better way to play it.”

  The three of them stood and listened to the song, moist-eyed, but with hopeful smiles making their way back on their faces.

  About the Author

  Delores Swallows has many dirty thoughts, and during his free time he writes them down in the form of stories. Born and bred in the northwest of England, he has a commoner’s accent and a bit of a crush on his future queen (Kate, not Camilla!).

  His stories often feature petite brunettes, high-heeled shoes and voyeurism. He claims he didn’t realise these were obsessions until someone pointed out how often they appear in his work.

  If you would like to give feedback on his stories or contact him, you can do so via e-mail deloresswallows@gmail.com or twitter @deloresswallows

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  The admin at Facebook don’t like his pen name, but he does have a profile under the name of Delores Jones, and that profile has a page in the pen name: www.facebook.com.deloresswallows

  Check out his website for free short stories, blog and info on all his current and upcoming stories: www.deloresswallows.com

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  ROCKSTAR - Rock Candy by Daizie Draper

  1

  Alexa – 1 Burning Marshmallow

  Only one step in the door off of the kitchen and I get a scowl from Danny with a very growly, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Sheesh! It’s spring break! Nice welcome home, idiot.” Finally noticing him in his full domestic glory, I snickered. Much to my horror, the cocky rock god can be sexy at times when I’m smashed or bored or really needy and not concerned with whom, just when. He’s pretty jaw-dropping on st
age too with his moans and twisted lyrics that are metaphorically and sometimes outright naughty. But any ounce of sexy he owned was hidden by a downright-laughable apron. He’s usually in tight-ass jeans and his go-to muscle-hugging t-shirts, so the switch-up to frill struck me as funny.

  Wrists-deep in a mystery mound that kinda looked like dough, he glared at me, as if his rude greeting weren’t boorish enough. “A head’s up would’a been nice, Alexa.”

  “What’s the big deal? I have to vacation somewhere.” I curled my lips in. I could ruin him right now. One shot, baby. InstaRuin. The complete destruction of Danny Zane would be on my phone, just ready to be weaponized at a moment’s notice. My trigger finger literally itched to score such a sweet piece of potential blackmail. “Plus, I also have to work.”