Dirty Like Jude: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 5)

by Jaine Diamond

  And definitely, something had been fucked up since whatever went down between them. According to Con’s intel, they’d both been fucking Amber, then only Dylan was fucking Amber and Ash had turned into a one-man gong show overnight, drinking and fucking his way through the Lower Mainland.

  I’d been meaning to check in with Dylan on this for a while now. But ever since a certain sexy-as-fuck woman had pretty much hijacked my attention, there’d been a few conversations I’d been meaning to have that had fallen by the wayside.

  “No,” Dylan said. “It’s not like that. If Ash wants back later, just let him in.”

  “Alright, brother. Felt like I had to mention it.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  I wasn’t sure he did. He might actually be a little pissed at me for even suggesting Ash might be unwelcome, but oh-the-fuck-well. It fell under my job description to make sure no one unwelcome was welcomed. But I was only gonna mention it once.

  This moment on, I’d happily keep my nose the fuck out of Dylan and Ash’s bromance unless Dylan ever brought it up.

  I clapped him on the shoulder as I stood up and headed over to check on Zane.

  He was standing just off to the side, behind a wall of amps, smoking weed—alone.

  I happened to know that no one in the band mind-fucked themselves before a show like Zane did. It was why he pretty much always smoked up right before he went onstage. I wouldn’t call it stage fright, exactly. More like he psyched himself out somehow, tore himself down, right before he built himself back up. Nerves, maybe. Some kind of self-doubt.

  He never talked about it, but I could see it.

  I wasn’t even sure if the rest of the band really saw it. It wasn’t something I’d mention to Jesse. Jesse and Zane liked to needle each other’s weak spots, and Zane didn’t need any needling over this.

  Brody saw it, and the both of us did what we could to make sure Zane was solid before he went onstage. For my part, that meant clearing people the fuck out of his space to give him room to deal with whatever shit was going on in his head, have his smoke, and mentally get where he needed to get.

  “Happy fuckin’ New Year,” I said, giving him a little punch on the shoulder. “You ready for this or what?”

  “Always ready, brother,” he said, but he looked distracted as fuck. “Who’s that guy?” He tipped his chin and I followed his gaze, down behind the stage… and saw Maggie standing with some of the crew and a couple of my security guys.

  “Maddox. He’s with me tonight.” I looked at Zane, watching him watch Maddox and Maggie talking. “He’s a King. You’ve met him.”

  “Right.” He smoked his joint, his jaw kinda rigid. “Keep an eye on her, huh?” He didn’t say her name, but I knew who he meant.

  I watched as he put out the joint on the side of an amp and flicked it into the dark—just as the lights out front dropped and the crowd noise swelled.

  “You know,” he said, “lots of fucking drunk assholes at this thing.”

  “Sure, brother.”

  He turned toward the stage just as Jesse walked by, smacking me on the shoulder and giving Zane a shove.

  Zane shoved back, just lightly. Jesse had his guitar slung on and did a little air guitar riff on it, then walked out onstage. The crowd exploded. Dylan and Elle followed him out. Seth went next, and I patted him on the back.

  “Hey,” I said, as Zane started after them. When he glanced back at me, I told him, “Make ’em happy out there.”

  It was pretty much what I told him before every show. Since day one, that was pretty much the summary of Zane’s job at a Dirty show.

  Make the crowd happy.

  And Zane Traynor was damn good at his job.

  “Always do,” he said.

  Then he headed out onstage.

  I sighed.

  It wasn’t exactly the first time Zane had asked me to keep an eye on Maggie at a show or wherever. Or asked me about some guy she was talking to.

  Who the fuck is that dickwit?

  Did you see that fuckwad with Maggie?

  Can you tell that asshat to move the fuck along?

  I was getting used to these questions.

  I didn’t love what they told me, because they told me shit I really did not want to know.

  Shit I did not want to have to deal with.

  I watched from the side of the stage as the band kicked into “Get Made.” Great, heavy, sexy song to start their set off and set the tone for this event.

  Then I headed off to do my rounds.

  Later, while Dirty was still onstage and I was still doing my rounds, I headed out back to find Piper talking to a few of my guys in the alley. He was wearing a plain black motorcycle jacket, and I pulled him aside.

  “Thanks for leavin’ your colors at home,” I said, with somewhat mock gratitude. “I know it fuckin’ pains you.”

  Fuck if I could remember the last time I’d seen my brother wear any kind of leather without Kings shit all over it—but last thing I needed was him or anyone else showing up in Kings colors, drawing attention, twitching up the police and causing drama at Roni’s event. She’d worked too hard for that shit.

  “Thanks for invitin’ me,” he said, with the same mock gratitude right back. He was smoking a joint and offered it to me, but I declined. “Your girl put together a good show?”

  “Yeah. Band’s happy. Brody’s happy. Everything’s goin’ smooth.”

  “Good.”

  I took a big breath. No point dragging out the small talk. “I’m stayin’ Nomad. If you guys’ll let me.”

  Piper stared at me. And right now, seeing him like this, just kinda dressed like a normal dude… he seemed just like some normal dude, and not the VP of the West Coast Kings.

  My brother.

  “You know we’ll let you, brother.”

  “I’m goin’ on the road with Dirty.”

  “Yeah.” He looked fucking disappointed. Sad, actually. I hated putting that look on his face. “Not like I didn’t know.”

  “You knew?”

  “If you were staying, you would’ve told me long ago.”

  Well, fuck.

  He shrugged, as if to say Whatever, but I knew this was important to him. Piper had done about everything over the years, short of actually chaining me to the floor, to make me stay. “I know it’s a tough decision.”

  “It is.”

  He looked at me for a minute, considering. “You’re not stayin’ for her?”

  I gave him a dark look that said, None of your fucking business.

  But truth was, I was going for her.

  Roni was one of my primary reasons for going on the road with the band. Because stepping into it with her—bringing her into my life—meant I had to protect her from MC shit in every way I could; same as I did with Jesse. She’d be welcome at the clubhouse. She’d be with me in every way.

  But the less I was involved in Kings shit, day-to-day, the better it would be for both of us.

  And the safer it would be for her.

  “She’ll be on the road with me,” I informed him, “sometimes. And when she’s not, she’ll be here. And if I ever call you up and ask you to look in on her or help her out with something—”

  “Then I will,” he said, in all seriousness. “You know I will.”

  “And you’ll drop your attitude toward her.”

  His eyes narrowed. And yeah, I knew people didn’t talk to Jeremy “Piper” Grayson this way. But he was my brother, and I did when necessary.

  “Just lookin’ out for you, brother,” he said.

  “She’s not the enemy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re not gonna disrespect her or call her a slut or make any mention of the time you fucked her at that party and then tossed her away like trash.”

  “Brother—”

  “She wasn’t trash. She was seventeen. I don’t wanna hear you say an ugly word about her, ever. She’s with me now. She’s not public property and she’s not so
me club slut you think you can pass around. She’s mine.”

  “You done?”

  “For now.”

  Piper tossed his joint into the shadows. “Am I allowed to take bets on how soon she ditches your cranky ass?”

  “No.”

  “Then I guess I’ll see you both at the table next Christmas.”

  “Yeah. If your ungrateful ass gets an invite.”

  His eyebrows went up, and amusement flickered over his face. Piper always came to the Orphans’ Potluck, and no way Mom was gonna ban him on Christmas Day, so it was an empty threat. He knew it. But he got my meaning.

  “How ’bout I apologize to her for bein’ a dick. That increase my odds?”

  “Be a start,” I grumbled.

  Piper grinned, his dimples slicing into his cheeks.

  What the fuck now.

  I turned to follow his line of sight… where Roni had just popped out the back door to talk to Con and Bane, looking hot as hell in her silky blouse and tight skirt and high heels.

  “Just surprised you managed to lock that down, little brother. Wild Card Webber,” my brother mused. “She get prettier? Or did I just get more sober?”

  “Christ, you’re an asshole,” I muttered, starting to walk away. “And don’t go smilin’ at her. Keep your damn dimples to yourself.”

  11:58 pm.

  “Come on! Are you kidding me?” Roni scolded me, waving me over as I strolled toward her. “I thought you were gonna miss it.”

  “No chance.”

  I’d just walked into the VIP room, where she was waiting on me. It was an enclosed room with a giant one-way window overlooking the nightclub floor and the stage below. The lights were off so we could see everything down in the club, and we were the only ones in the room. Because that was part of Roni’s deal when she planned out this event.

  The VIP room was closed.

  When Dirty went offstage, they’d go park their asses in the club right alongside the fans. We’d roped off some tables for the band members and their dates and a few other guests, a seriously limited VIP section, right down beside the dance floor, and I had a whole team of guys down there, some in security shirts and some in plain clothes. So it would feel like everyone in the room was partying with the band.

  All Roni’s idea, and it was a good one.

  As I approached the window where she was waiting and practically bouncing up and down, Dirty had just rocked out the last notes of their final song of the night. A Dirty classic, “Dead Crazy.”

  Some lights had come up over the stage, illuminating the band as they put aside their instruments and hugged each other. Dylan tossed drumsticks into the crowd. Zane peeled off his sweaty shirt and tossed it to his admirers.

  The show was done.

  The crowd was going crazy.

  Total success.

  I glanced at my girl, who was applauding even though no one could hear her or see her but me. The lights spilling over us from the club lit her up in a sexy red, violet and blue glow, flickering over her pale skin and dark hair. And the world’s happiest grin curved those sexy lips.

  So gorgeous.

  Zane grabbed his mic and asked what time it was, and people screamed. Elle held up her iPhone so he could see the screen and Zane shouted, “GET READY TO KISS SOMEONE ’CAUSE THIS SHIT IS GOING DOWN, FUCKERS!”

  Someone backstage was handing bottles of champagne to Dylan, and he handed a couple to Jesse.

  Seth took Elle’s hand.

  I grabbed Roni’s hand and pulled her close to me. She beamed her gorgeous smile on up at me.

  “HERE. WE. GO!” Zane shouted.

  And then a shitload of voices joined in as he started counting down.

  “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!…”

  But I didn’t need a countdown. I just laid a kiss on Roni.

  “Five! Four! Three! Two! One!”

  Midnight.

  “HAPPY MOTHERFUCKING NEW YEAR MOTHERFUCKERS!”

  Zane’s voice roared through the room. I was still kissing Roni.

  I heard some laughter and mic feedback and no doubt the band was hugging and kissing and dumping champagne on each other.

  Then I could feel the shift as the lights started to go down again; even though my eyes were closed, I could tell the whole club got darker. But this was no “Auld Lang Syne” moment. Almost immediately, a deep, resonant, repetitive beat started rising.

  Roni broke our kiss and bounced excitedly. “Oooh, here she comes!”

  I followed her gaze to the stage. The band was just clearing out, bodies disappearing into the dark as the lights gradually dropped off. Until only one light, a cluster of spinning beams, shot down through a sudden, rising fog—on Zane, standing center stage. He was spraying champagne on the front couple of rows of screaming fans.

  “You’re in for a treat, kids,” he growled into his mic. “The beautiful, unstoppable DJ SUMMER.” Then he tossed the mic and disappeared into the rising fog as he headed offstage.

  There was a screech of feedback, then someone turned off the mic.

  A repeating echo of Zane’s voice rumbling DJ SUMMER faded out, as a couple of famous lines from one of Dirty’s biggest party anthems, “Love Struck,” rose, louder and louder, along with a heavy Jesse Mayes guitar riff; it was Elle’s voice, then Zane’s voice, repeated over and over…

  Good girls?

  We got any good girls here tonight?

  Good girls?

  We got any good girls here tonight?

  The beat kept rising, Elle’s and Zane’s voices looping around and around, and the crowd kept screaming. A woman’s silhouette appeared and then Summer ran up the steps to her deck, which had been set up at one side of the stage.

  She wore a silver bodysuit, unzipped low, with some generous cleavage, white fur boots and a sleek white sparkly wig. She raised her hand high in the air and the crowd did the same, clapping and screaming. She curled her hand into a fist and the fist stayed up in the air, holding, holding, as the voices kept looping…

  Good girls?

  We got any good girls here tonight?

  Then Summer dropped her fist like a hammer and the house exploded with lights and a heavy-as-fuck, insanely cool beat on a remix of “Love Struck.”

  Roni started rocking her sexy body in my arms.

  “I’m not gonna pretend to understand the whole DJ thing,” I said in her ear, but I pulled her round ass against me as she moved.

  Roni looked at me over her shoulder like I was crazy.

  I shrugged. “Not really my kinda music.”

  “Just give her your ears,” Roni said, “for the next three hours, and trust me, you’ll get it.” She looked out into the club. “Summer’s a master. She’s gonna mix in bits of songs you recognize, working her way into some really dirty, danceable ghetto funk, sampling in some rock to punch up the energy. Then when everyone’s danced their asses off to the point that she knows they never want to stop… she’ll hit them with some really heavy bump ’n’ grind, so they wanna fuck right on her dance floor.”

  “Other than the fuckin’ part, I have no idea what you just said.”

  She laughed. “Think of her as, like, a mad conductor. She’ll read the vibe of the room, the energy and response of the crowd. Pretty much like at a rock show, but she can adjust as she goes. She’ll pull back when it feels right, push harder when it feels right, bring the whole room along with her. It’ll all build to this ecstatic peak, and then she’ll run them right off the cliff with her when it’s time.” She turned in my arms and slipped her arms around my neck, pressing her curves against me. “It’s why people do certain drugs at a show like this. You pop a few pills at the right time, the high hits you right as the music peaks. And it’s like one giant orgasm.”

  “Huh. I’m startin’ to see the appeal.”

  “Plus, you get to dance.”

  “Nope. Sorry, babe. I do not dance.”

  “Is that right?” She pushed me back toward a couch. “Well, I do
. Sit your ass down.”

  I sat.

  She then started twisting her hips to Summer’s remix of “Love Struck,” which was full-on pumping through the club now, and the way she rolled her hips… Jesus and fuck. Girl could move.

  “Yeah?” she said, watching me as she ran her hands down her body. “You like that?”

  “Yeah. I like that.”

  “Then don’t move.”

  I wasn’t going anywhere.

  She swiveled her hips in little figure-eights and started unbuttoning her shirt. She did it slow, but there weren’t many buttons to delay the inevitable. She turned and peeled the shirt off one shoulder, then the other, peeking at me over her shoulder… and my cock swelled.

  She stripped the shirt completely off and tossed it at me. I caught it and as she turned back to me, smoothing her hands over her bra, she laughed at what had to be the stunned look on my face, losing her rhythm.

  “Wait, wait,” she fumbled, giggling, “I can do this.” She caught her rhythm again and I was hypno-fucking-tized.

  It was her hands that really did it. They wandered over her body, smoothing over her curves, and my dick hardened in response. The smile was gone from her face and her eyes locked onto mine as she drifted nearer.

  She hooked her thumbs inside the waist of her skirt and shimmied it down over her hips, let it drop and stepped out of it. Then she tossed that at me too. I caught it and held onto both of them, her shirt and her skirt, as she worked her way closer.

  When she was halfway to me, she turned around and bent over, her perfect ass in the air, and grabbed her ankles.

  “Damn,” I said.

  She came back up, arching her back and tossing her hair down her back.

  I had to shift my hips to try to find more room in the front of my jeans. Jesus Christ. Where did she learn moves like this?

  Then she smoothed her hands over her panties and did a slow, hip-swiveling turn to face me. Her hands continued down her thighs, down to her knees, and the next thing I knew she was on her knees, crawling toward me, hips rolling all the way, like a cat in heat. Her eyes were locked on mine and her cheeks were flushed. She looked amused… and turned on.