by Jayne Frost
DOWN TO YOU
Sixth Street Bands #5
JAYNE FROST
Sixth Street Press
Copyright © 2018 by JAYNE FROST
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by: Patricia D. Eddy — The Novel Fixer
Proofreading: Proofing With Style
Cover Design: Maria — Steamy Designs
Cover Photo: Storm Santos
Cover Model : Christopher Mason
Join my Reader Group!
Pre-Release Review Copies of the newest Sixth Street Bands Romances, exclusive content, and members only swag.
>>> http://bit.ly/2DytBKa <<<
Contents
Introduction
Sixth Street Bands Line-Up
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Epilogue
Jayne Said:
Acknowledgments
Also by JAYNE FROST
About the Author
The premise for this series began with a group of bands from Austin Texas, who rose to fame when Damaged, the original band from 6th Street, was cut down in a terrible accident. Through this tragedy, a new group of bands emerged to carry on the Damaged legacy. The media dubbed them The Sixth Street Bands. They became a family. And like all families, their lives, music, and day-to-day struggles became entwined. While each of the books in my series can be read as a standalone, you will see recurring characters woven into each story.
Reading order and a list of recurring characters on the next page.
Welcome to my band family!
TWIN SOULS MANAGEMENT
Taryn Ayers (#4 Lost For You w/Chase Noble)
Tori Grayson
CAGED
Cameron Knight ( #1 Gone For You w/Lily Tennison)
Christian Seers (#2 Fall With Me w/Melody Sullivan)
Sean Hudson (#3 Missing From Me w/Anna Dresden)
Logan Cage (#5 Down To You w/Tori Grayson)
DAMAGED
Rhenn Grayson —Deceased
Paige Dawson— Deceased
Tori Grayson (Rhenn’s widow)
Miles Cooper
LEVERAGED
Dylan Boothe
Beckett Brennin
Zane Martin
Conner Hart
REVENGED THEORY
Line-Up To Be Determined
DRAFTHOUSE
Line-Up To Be Determined
IN MEMORY
“And when you asked for light, I set myself on fire,”— Chris Cornell
I didn’t know you, but I loved you. Your music is the soundtrack of my life. Sleep well, find peace, and rock on.
And for Jeff, the love of my life … all of my life.
If I’m the words, you’re the music.
Prologue
Eight Years Old
Laurel sniffled and squeezed my hand as we followed the cop up the steps to the porch of the big house. Even though it was dark, and I couldn’t see a thing, I knew it was nothing like our house. Our house didn’t have a porch. And it was on wheels. Mama always said that one day we’d live in a house with no wheels. An apartment, maybe.
But not now.
Laurel squeezed my fingers. “Logan?”
I wiped my nose on the shoulder of my T-shirt before looking down at my little sister. “Yeah?”
Big blue eyes locked onto mine. “I’m scared,” she whispered. “Where’s Mama?”
Gone.
But I couldn’t tell her that. Laurel was only four. She wouldn’t understand. She wasn’t big like me.
“Be a big boy. Watch your sister.”
That’s the last thing Mama had said before she jumped out of the car.
And then …
The bang exploded inside my head, and I shuddered, blinking hard to hold back the tears. Because eight-year-olds didn’t cry. I wouldn’t let anyone see me cry. Not even Laurel.
“She’ll be back soon,” I lied, pulling her closer when the porch light flickered on. “Just … be quiet, ’kay?”
Laurel nodded, turning those frightened eyes to the big man in front of us. With his hand on the butt of his gun, the cop leaned forward, whispering to the lady in the fluffy robe who answered the door. I only caught a few words.
Tragic.
No suspects.
Deceased.
“I really appreciate this, Tessa,” I heard him say before glancing over his shoulder and motioning for us to enter.
I stubbornly held my ground, but not my sister. Laurel moved blindly, drawn to the lady with the kind smile and the smell of cookies that wafted onto the porch. Our trailer never smelled like cookies. Not even when Mama went to the store and bought one of those plastic tubes of dough and cooked it in the tiny oven.
“Please, Lo,” Laurel whined, looking back at me as she tugged my arm. “Maybe she got some food in there.”
My stomach turned, but I nodded at my sister. And then I hung my head and followed her into the house. Past the policeman with the sad eyes and the blood on his shoes. My mother’s blood.
Sitting up with a start, I blinked and looked around the dark room. “Mama?”
And then it came back in a rush, and I knew she wouldn’t answer. That she couldn’t answer.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I gripped my hair, willing away the image of her lying on the asphalt. When the mattress dipped, I expected to find that Tessa lady, so I blinked in surprise when a girl swam into focus.
From her spot at the end of the bed, she stared at me with a crinkled-up brow. “Are you okay?”
I pressed my back against the headboard. “Get out of here,” I growled. “Leave
me alone.”
I used my fiercest voice. The one that made all the other kids run. But she didn’t move. Just tucked a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear and replied softly, “You were crying. I could hear you all the way from the guest room.”
As my eyes adjusted, I could make out the shape of her face. It was like a little heart. She had a pointy chin. But I didn’t tell her that. She probably knew.
Folding my arms over my chest, I tried not to sniffle. “I wasn’t crying.”
She sighed, running her hand over the flowered comforter. “Yeah, you were. It’s okay. Lots of kids cry when they get here.”
Since I wasn’t sure where here was, I didn’t acknowledge her comment. The last thing I remembered was Tessa tucking Laurel and me into bed after cooking us macaroni and cheese. Glancing at the empty spot beside me where Laurel should’ve been, my heart leapt into my throat.
“Where’s my sister?” I hopped to my feet. “Where did you take her?”
The girl grabbed my arm. And for some reason I didn’t knock her hand away.
“My dad works at night, so Mama let her sleep in her bed.”
Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes and sank down next to her. “Why would she do that? Laurel’s not kin to y’all.”
She shrugged. “That’s just how Mama is. My daddy’s a cop, so whenever they need a place for kids to stay after an, um … accident or something, they bring them here.”
A tiny flicker of hope sparked in my chest. “Do the kids get to stay here?”
She smiled. “Sometimes. For a while at least.”
I cocked my head. “Where do you sleep?”
Even in the dim light I saw her cheeks turn pink. “Here. This is my room. The bulb burned out in the guest room and Mama didn’t want you to get scared if you woke up and couldn’t turn on the light.”
“I’m not afraid of the dark,” I scoffed. “I’m eight. How old are you?”
“Almost ten.” We stared at each other for a moment and then she asked, “So what happened?”
My heart stalled, because for the last few minutes while we were talking, I didn’t think about it. But then it was there, and I could feel the sting at the back of my eyes. “None of your business.”
Her shoulders straightened, and an apology crawled up my throat. But I didn’t want to tell her what happened. Because then I would cry.
“Okay,” she said as she pushed to her feet. “I’ll leave you alone then.”
“No!” I swallowed hard and looked down at my hands. “You don’t have to go.”
Please don’t go.
I slumped when she walked toward the door. But instead of leaving, she stopped at the tall dresser. Levering up to her tiptoes, she opened a little box and music floated through the air.
Shuffling back to my side, she held out her hand. “Here.”
I took the penny she pressed into my palm. “What is this?”
She lifted a shoulder. “My lucky penny. I think you need it more than I do.”
I ran my thumb over the grooves, examining the coin. When I looked up she was gone.
As it turned out the penny wasn’t so lucky after all. Because the next morning my dad showed up to collect us.
And nothing was ever the same again.
1
“Check this out,” Mac said as he slid the bottle across the table in the private dining room at the Capital Grille.
Easing back in the leather chair, I turned the label toward me. Even if I could read what it said—which I couldn’t—I refused to show any enthusiasm.
From the rich, amber color of the liquor, I’d say bourbon. And knowing Mac, expensive as fuck. On the band’s first trip to LA, before we’d officially signed with Metro Music, Mac had wooed us with champagne that cost more than any of us made in a week—hell, a month. But that was a long time ago, and I couldn’t be bought for the price of a bottle of booze. I couldn’t be bought at all.
Then why the fuck are you here?
Ignoring the accusatory voice in my head, I gave Mac a bland stare. “I’m not signed with your label anymore. And I know you didn’t fly all the way out here a week before I’m leaving on tour to discuss overpriced hooch.”
Mac picked up the bottle and smiled. “This is Pappy Van Winkle Family Reserve. It’s rare and hard to come by. Like loyalty in this industry.” After that little dig, he twisted off the cap and poured three fingers into a crystal tumbler. “But you’re right. That’s not why I came.”
He set the glass atop a neatly folded stack of documents, then slid the drink and the pile my way.
Disregarding the papers, I picked up the bourbon, but before I could lift the drink to my lips, Mac tipped forward. “First, take a look at the offer.”
Offer?
Somehow, I knew that was the reason I’d been summoned. If Mac wanted to merely shoot the shit while he was in town we wouldn’t be dining at the Capital Grille. The restaurant prided itself on discretion. And plenty of backroom deals were made right here. But hearing Mac say the words with that smirk curving his lips turned my stomach.
Still, I set my drink aside and unfolded the paperwork. I’d signed many contracts, so I was familiar with the look of them, even if the contents remained a mystery.
Functionally illiterate.
That was the term for someone like me. Not that anyone would ever guess.
Rubbing a finger over my lips, I pretended to peruse the pages, skimming over words and letters I couldn’t decipher.
After a few moments, I tossed the mess on the table and let the games begin. “So?”
Mac chuckled and flopped back in his seat, shaking his head. “Look, I know you’re pissed at me.” With a sigh, he poured himself a drink. “But I’m really not to blame for any of this. Caged just got caught in the crossfire.”
If I hadn’t been a party to every sleazy legal maneuver he’d initiated over the past year, I might actually believe him. The conviction in his tone, the tilt of his head—all very convincing.
“Why should I listen to a word you say? Your legal team filed an injunction to keep my band from producing another album. And—”
“My beef is with Twin Souls,” he interjected, impatient. “Tori Grayson took my biggest clients. She may have had some luck as a manager, her and Taryn, but let’s not forget she started her career with Metro. I made her band a household name.”
Hearing Mac rewrite history reminded me of why I had a career to begin with. Nearly six years ago, Damaged was the only noteworthy client that Mac had. And when a bus crash took the lives of two of the founding members—Tori’s husband, Rhenn, and Paige Dawson, her best friend—Mac didn’t wait a hot minute to send every scout on his payroll to Austin to sign up their replacements. Caged was caught up in the wave, part of what the media now dubbed the Sixth Street Phenomenon.
I drained my glass. “Seems to me, without Tori you wouldn’t have had any clients to begin with.”
It was meant to be a parting shot. An inconvenient truth that Mac couldn’t deny. And maybe a way for me to redeem myself for meeting with this asshole to begin with.
But Mac just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter how I made it to the show. Point is, I’m here. You may not like me, Logan, but the deal I’m offering …”
With the trip down memory lane, I’d almost forgotten about the papers in front of me. But it didn’t matter. There was no way my bandmates were going to crawl back into bed with Mac. Hell, I needed a shower to wash off the stain from merely sitting across the table from him.
Shaking my head, I pushed my chair back. My ass wasn’t two inches off the seat when Mac added, “You can’t tell me the thought of a solo career never crossed your mind.”
It took a minute for the words to register. Solo career. I sank back into my seat, stunned.
A slow smile crept over Mac’s face. “You’re a lot like me,” he said, pouring us each another drink. “Friends are friends. But business is business. Do you think your new label’s going to give you the oppo
rtunity to strike out on your own?” He chuckled. “Of course not. Chase is going to look out for his brother. You may be the lead singer, but Cameron writes all the songs. And he’s almost as popular as you are.” Mac sat back, lifting a finger off his glass and pointing it at me. “I’d say it’s only a matter of time before Chase pushes you out.”
Taking a long swallow of the smooth liquor, I shifted my focus elsewhere so Mac wouldn’t know his words hit home. Signing on with the label my bandmate’s brother formed was a no-brainer. Chase was a brilliant musician and he knew the business. Plus, he’d supported the band from the beginning. Hell, we still played a show a month at his club on Sixth. But now that Chase had hooked up with Taryn, maybe he had a different plan.