Twisted Rhythm: A Dark Rockstar Romance (Twisted Rhythm Series Book 1)

by Lexxi Chase

  “I wanna ride you,” she whispered.

  Looked him sweet and seductively in the eyes as she ground her hips beneath him. He laughed and, smiling, got off her and laid down.

  Stretching his muscular arms above his head, his eager eyes locked into hers and he waited expectantly.

  “Ready when you are,” he said.

  Even as she rose and straddled him, in preparation for the long, hard ride, she scooped her cell from the edge of the bed and scrolled through her texts in defying apprehension, lingering on the last one. ...If ur w/ Wade I’ll slice u. Hypocritical, cheating prick, she thought, and smiling gratefully, deftly lowered herself onto Wade’s deliciously hard cock, leaned over and kissed him with hunger that refused to be filled.

  “Always knew you’d never get over me,” he moaned and smiled, and she gave him the ride he couldn’t force himself to forget.

  “Earth to Wade,” Jesse laughed, and he was jolted back to reality. His only partially eaten burger and half full beer. And Jesse, sitting across from him, amused he’d been floating in outer space.

  “Finish your shit man, we gotta get back,” as he guzzled the last of his own beer.

  Damn, reality’s nicer in my memories, Wade thought, but hurried to finish his lunch as Jesse stood.

  “On me,” Jesse said, as he sauntered to the register. “Looks like your havin’ a rough and confusin’ day.”

  But it was about to get crazier. Crawling into Jesse’s truck, he fumbled for his cell, chiming with yet another text.

  Hey Wade. Long time no speak. It’s Rachel. Ready to go to L.A.? I’m leaving in a few days. Wanna come?

  Chapter 12

  Jake arched his back, circling his arms smoothly to clench his hands behind him and then bring them forward as he leaned into the harsh neon glow. Taut muscles rippling down his back, across his shoulders and flexing down his strong arms, he braced himself sleekly against the bathroom vanity. Shit, he remembered, the roar of tonight’s exuberant crowd still ringing in his ears, he’d done this, stood like this staring at his reflection, so many times.

  While living and dangling on the edge, relatively homeless, working the streets of L.A., and way back, in Louisiana, still untarnished and hopeful and fantasizing of stardom and a life filled with victory and realized dreams. Gazing at himself, his long silky hair, deep stormy eyes and full sensual lips, until his familiar face dimmed and blurred. Waiting uselessly for answers that never came.

  He leaned closer. Marveled at the changes since he’d arrived in California. He was remarkably fit. Toned. Strikingly handsome and sickeningly rich. The false god of many, he was idolized by millions, despised by thousands, the envy of a large portion of his contemporaries and the paragon of even more.

  Brushing his long, sensuous bangs from his eyes, he realized hesitantly that he was jaded. Used to the attention and power accompanying legendary rock status and fame. Comfortable with money and esteemed possessions and the fulfillment of even the tiniest of his whims. Satisfied and satiated by drugs, limitless sex and the adoration and devotion of countless women. More than he’d even imagined. Better than he’d even dreamed. And then there was Amanda.

  Roughly shoving himself backwards, he groaned and sighed. Raking his long, shiny hair back with trembling hands, he slowly undid the buttons of his lavender silk shirt. Slid it carelessly down his shoulders, letting it drop from his arms. Skillfully shed his tattered, tight jeans and soft, form-fitting underwear. Yanked off his socks and jerked back the shower curtain with vengeance.

  The water was welcoming and hot, embracing and comforting as it massaged his skin. Cleansing my wounded soul, he thought, leaning forward into the cascading stream, bracing gratefully against the wall underneath the shower tap. But, purge and cleanse and purify as he might, the emasculating pain and depthless, unending sorrow remained.

  Goddamn bitch. Why the fuck can’t I just wash her from my life, eject her from my thoughts and memories, my heart and soul? He stepped back, hopeless, let the soothing water rain on his face, beat against his neck and chest. She’d be here in an instant, he scowled, just one quick call. Wouldn’t matter what I said, he thought. Wouldn’t even matter what I did.

  And he thought as he always had, this was precisely the problem. The reason for and scourge of their toxic, explosive relationship. As much as she hungered for his brutal, sensual domination, he craved his depraved, addicting control. We’re fire and ammo together, he remembered telling her in her tiger house the day after his trial, and he sure as hell didn’t need a replay of that caustic dalliance, or even worse, a repeat of their so-called heinous and barbaric final incident.

  The hot water riveting him, he struggled in the face of doom. Shut his eyes tightly and sweetly remembered. Amanda’s luscious, irresistible body, soaked with blood and their intermingled sweat as he beat her. Mostly with his fists but also, that scandalous night, with his whips and motorcycle chains. And face down, naked and spread eagle, her wrists and ankles bound tightly to his bed posts by his colorful scarves, Amanda lied with almost her dying breath. Despite his certainty of what happened. Despite his unwavering conviction to wrench the truth from her, even if it destroyed him, even if it killed her in the process.

  Jake lunged forward, clawed at the shower controls until the water rained harder, hotter, battering his chest and lower, his dick and balls. Cheap piece of white trash whoring tramp, he’d raged, tangling his shaking hands in her sweat-and-blood-soaked hair. His anger re-erupting. His pride and ego and agony lacerated. Until he exhaustingly attained the only quiet within those three maniacal days.

  Curled up on the carpet in the corner, slowly rocking and sobbing, his back against the wall. His precious, now empty bottle of Jim Beam clutched in his quivering hands. But, even empty, it had been a great use to him, as was shockingly revealed at his trial.

  What no one knew, including Amanda, Jake thought as he splashed body wash onto his chest and arms, was that even he was stunned by the depth of depravity and debauchery Amanda drove him to. Never in his life, before meeting her, had he done much more than tie or shackle a willing sexual companion. He’d barely ever raised his hands or fists to a woman, and even then, his punishments had been relatively mild, minor, and his emotions and reasoning had never spun out of control. Like the tangled web he’d woven with Amanda.

  Soaping his stomach and then taking his cock in his hands to wash, Jake unwittingly closed his eyes again to remember, and dream. Her silken, flawless skin, long shiny soft blonde hair, warm enticing lips and shimmering, dazzling bright blue eyes. Her touch was always golden. Her whispers and moans always exhaustive accelerant to his slow burning fire. In her pure, boundless submission, she imbued him with power and strength incomparable to any of his past girlfriends or lovers, filled him with supremacy and significance he’d never found and couldn’t get anywhere else, even center stage.

  As the memories washed over him, so did the anger and pain, and he was disgusted to discover his dick was hot and hard and throbbing in his hands. Fuck that stupid conniving cunt, he thought, abruptly spinning the water temperature controls to cold, and stood shivering and gasping for elusive breath in the freezing, pummeling rain.

  Finally cooled, he emerged from the shower a tentatively restrained man. Grasped a towel and dried himself quickly, and towel dried his dripping hair. Only to burst out of the bathroom to find a new and nearly unwelcome obstacle. He’d forgotten she was even there.

  Lounging on his bed, the slim blonde looked up abruptly from the magazine she was leafing and exclaimed, “Wow! You sure know how to make an entrance.”

  “So I’ve been told,” he snickered and headed for the bar fridge and liquid rescue.

  Leaning naked against the dresser, head thrown back as he thirstily gulped down nearly half a can of Heineken, he was well aware of the groupie’s hungry eyes on him. Guess she’s thinkin’ she struck gold, he thought, and smirked as he laid down his beer.

  “What’s your name again?” he asked,
not out of rudeness but because he literally forgot.

  He’d picked her out of the long and hopeful lineup backstage. So much on the menu. Never enough time to decide.

  “Misty,” she smiled, sitting up on the edge of the bed to await the desires of tonight’s best catch, her best accomplishment yet, if truth be told.

  “Real name?” Jake questioned, continually amused that even backstage buffet felt the need to think up sexy and exciting names.

  “No,” she laughed, resignedly. “Wendy, but that doesn’t sound as good. I thought of Windy but that sounds kinda stupid.”

  “Hmmm,” Jake absently grabbed the TV remote and flicked through channels and scanned the guide.

  Nothing wrong with the oh-so-willing entertainment before him but, surprisingly, he wasn’t in the mood to suck or fuck. Not yet anyway.

  He crossed the room and sprawled out on the bed, finally settling on a forensics show, one of many making the rounds these days, and one he particularly liked because of its visual dramatizations on what not to do if you wanted to commit the perfect murder.

  Misty sat in nervous silence, alternately looking at the TV and eyeing Jake. Struggling to think of something interesting to say, vacillating about what to do or whether she should do anything at all. She sighed in relief, but only for a moment, when Jake broke the silence.

  “So, Misty,” he slowly accented her name, “why’d ya come back here with me?”

  Dumbfounded at the question, she’d never been asked it before, she shifted uncomfortably as she strained for the ultimate answer. One that would captivate Jake. One that, at the very least, would keep him from tossing her out the door. I want to fuck you, was all she could think of, and torturously, couldn’t decide if she should just say. But he stared at her, waiting, and she had to say something.

  “You invited me,” she said, smiling.

  Jake snickered. They’re all the fuckin’ same, he thought. Ask and ye shall receive. Request and it’s all yours. Laid out for you like an emperor’s buffet. No groupie ever crossed him since his rise to fame. No, he mused, good girls did what they were told. Bad girls did it better. Even Amanda obeyed his wishes most of the time.

  Disgusted she’d invaded his thoughts once more, he sat up abruptly and tossed the remote. Startled, Misty edged back on the bed. Had she said the wrong thing, she panicked, nervously fingering her long blonde hair. But Jake just sat there, eyeing her intently, long still-damp hair half shielding his storming eyes. Then finally, thankfully, he spoke.

  “Got some weed?”

  “No, sorry,” she apologized and Jake reached for his cell on the pillow beside him.

  Christ, he really needed something to mellow him out. Chill and get that bitch outa his mind. Zack answered jovially.

  “What’s up, my man? Thought by now you are.”

  “Got any W?” Jake asked, skipping the pleasantries.

  “Sure,” and he rushed over with the goodies.

  Handing Jake a few joints, Zack couldn’t help gaping at the blonde seated expectantly on the bed.

  “You lucky prick,” he laughed quietly as Jake walked him to the door. “That’s the one I wanted but ya always get the best dang.”

  “Want her?” Jake asked, making no effort to lower his voice. “Take her.”

  “Huh?” Zack gasped, surprised. “Ya already done?”

  Before Zack could say more, Jake called over to her.

  “Zack’s got what ya need, baby. Misty, why don’t ya take him back to his room?”

  Zack’s hopes crumbled, however, when he saw Misty’s face fall. She was first class, elite entertainment and A-list to her always meant the best member of the band.

  She stood hesitantly, fumbling for words but managed to say, “Uh, well, if you’re busy Jake, no problem. Then I think I’ll just get goin’ home.”

  Her profound disappointment was evident as she gathered her things. Jake was pissed, however. Try to do someone a good turn and leave it to some skank to get in the way. He stepped towards her, voice raised.

  “What’s the problem?” he leered.

  Misty’s incredulous gaze turned to panic even as Zack stepped in.

  “No problem here, Jake,” he blathered. “No harm, no foul. Misty would rather get goin’, that’s all.”

  But Jake glared at her, eyes storming, his eyebrows turned up in rage.

  “I’m sorry Jake,” she whimpered. “I was just hoping...”

  “Shut the fuck up!” he screamed.

  Quiet, she could see Zack mouthing, eyes wide in apprehension, and shaking his head, from the corner of her eye. Christ, Zack thought, another blowup, but kept his mouth shut this time.

  Jake grabbed Misty’s arm roughly, and even as she winced in pain, shoved her towards Zack. He found his voice again.

  “Fuck, Jake. I don’t want her that bad. Besides,” he lied, “already got someone in my room.”

  Jake eyed Zack suspiciously as the three of them stood in silence, planted like statues at the door. What the hell was up with Zack these days anyway, he wondered. He just wasn’t himself. And even so, sloppy seconds had never bothered him before.

  “Haven’t even touched this sweet young thing,” Jake laughed, but Zack shook his head.

  “Nah, it’s OK. No worries,” and slunk out the door.

  Without so much as a glance towards her, Jake crossed the room, peeled off his robe and slithered back onto the bed. Misty stood frozen by the door.

  “Still goin’ home?” Jake crooned.

  Her pride and ego wounded, Misty fidgeted for a moment and then, looking at Jake, so captivating and charmingly arrogant, tall and muscular and seductively warm, she threw her things back onto the chair near the door and rejoined him on the bed. Absolute best decision she ever made in her life, she told herself later, when exhaustingly leaving the hotel.

  “What the fuck is it with women?” Jake asked, curiously smiling. "You always want the one you don’t have, and even when you got the one you want, he’s not good enough.”

  Still somewhat dazed from the argument at the door, it took her a minute to absorb what he’d just said.

  “Everyone wants the one they don’t have, it’s natural,” she said. “I don’t know about other women but when I’m with who I really want it’s way more than good enough.”

  “Oh really?” Jake asked, curling to a sitting position, slowly sweeping the hair from his tired eyes. “So, you wouldn’t fuck around if you already had the guy you really loved.”

  “No!” Misty exclaimed, and realized as she answered that this really wasn’t about her at all.

  “This is about Amanda,” she said.

  Jake winced, wearily closed his eyes, and flopped back defeated on the bed.

  “Yeah,” he groaned, “Guess this is about Amanda.”

  What the hell am I saying, he thought, even as he admitted it. Even as his heart jolted, seemingly rattled in his chest and skipped a beat or two as he struggled with his emotions and tried frantically to reign in his pain. But there was no escaping his agony and the stark realization that Amanda dominated his mind, that enticing and toxic memories of her congested his spirit, and that her actions - past, present and future - deeply, intrinsically affected him to the very core.

  He lifted his head and stared at Misty. A girl he didn’t even know. A piece of ass he, in all honesty, didn’t give a shit about. Yet here she was, a virtual stranger made confidante in the lavish, exclusive confines of his much-coveted hotel room, a voracious disciple bearing witness to his private broodings and bleak uncertainty.

  “What the fuck do you know about Amanda?” he rasped.

  “Nothing,” she replied quickly, “Only what I’ve read on the internet and,” she hesitated, “in her book.”

  Jake’s eyes flashed.

  “Ya read Heart of Steel?”

  “Yeah,” she said nervously, “Really ‘cause I wanted to find out more about you.”

  Jake smiled, sat up and slowly switched position,
crawling sleekly towards her to end up poised on his stomach in front of her, his long brown hair flowing and curling in her lap as she remained perched on the edge of his bed.

  “And just what did Amanda’s self-serving Bible tell ya about me?”

  Misty stared at him in near terror, and disbelief. He must know what Amanda wrote about him, she thought. He must know what she wrote he said and did. But, eyes expectant and delving, Jake gazed up at her skeptically, and waited for her response. Judging by what she already knew about Jake for certain, Misty knew not to irritate him or truly piss him off.

  “Well,” she shifted nervously, electrically aware of his soft hair cushioned in her lap, “she said there was so much more to you than people know, that you can be really caring and deep and sensitive.”

  “And?” Jake prompted.

  She squirmed.

  “Um, she did say that you were really mean to her sometimes.”

  “Mean to her?” Jake reeled, laughing.

  “I mean...” she stumbled, but couldn’t find the words.

  Jake sat up and slithered to a sitting position behind her, leaning over her, his hot breath gently tickling her neck.

  “Don’t ya think that mean to her is a bit of an understatement?” he asked.

  “I guess,” she mumbled, then sighed deeply as his strong hands massaged her shoulders and neck.

  “Ya don’t think there’s another side to the story?” he crooned, leaning more heavily into her, running his hands down her back, then wrapping his strong arms around her.

  “Well sure,” she exhaled, “I saw your rant on YouTube the other night.”

  “Rant?” he leaned back and she turned to face him.

  “Uh, yeah. The stuff you said. When you google it they call it a rant.”

  “I know what they call it,” he smirked. “I’m not new to the internet. And not the first rockstar to rant,” he smiled, then added, “So what’s your esteemed opinion about all of this, about what I said?”