Whole Lotta Sin: Rock Star Hearts - Book #3

by Amity Cross

  Whole Lotta Sin

  Rock Star Hearts - Book #3

  Amity Cross

  Whole Lotta Sin (Rock Star Hearts #3) by Amity Cross

  Copyright © 2018 by Amity Cross/Nicole R. Taylor

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, song titles, song lyrics, products and brand names either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  AUTHOR NOTE: This book is written with British/Australian language and grammar. We like using the letter s instead of z. U’s are pretty rad, too.

  Cover Design © Amity Cross / Nicole R. Taylor

  Edited by Silvia Curry

  Contents

  1. Juniper

  2. Sebastian

  3. Juniper

  4. Sebastian

  5. Juniper

  6. Juniper

  7. Sebastian

  8. Juniper

  9. Juniper

  10. Sebastian

  11. Juniper

  12. Juniper

  13. Juniper

  14. Sebastian

  15. Juniper

  16. Juniper

  17. Sebastian

  18. Sebastian

  19. Juniper

  20. Sebastian

  Rock Star Hearts

  VIP Newsletter

  About the Author

  Amity’s Starter Library

  "The truth is of course that there is no journey. We are arriving and departing all at the same time."

  * * *

  - David Bowie

  1

  Juniper

  I watched the water ripple and move, my heart cold as ice. It was a different beach, on a different shore.

  I’d never been farther from home and as lost in myself as I was right now. This place was unfamiliar, and I felt small within it—a soul adrift on a broken river of despair.

  Sebastian’s two-story all white and glass exterior modern mansion sat on the shores of Sydney Harbour. It boasted four bedrooms, each with their own full-sized bathrooms and walk-in closets—all on the upper floor. The large, open-concept living room shared space with the modern kitchen, butler’s pantry, bar, dining room, and outdoor living area.

  The back of the house was exposed, which meant it was open to the water and anyone who might be lurking out there on a boat. The swimming pool and lush landscaped garden looked inviting, and there was nothing more I wanted to do than bask in the sun on the grass, but the last thing I wanted was to be photographed.

  After Mallory had leaked the sex tape, I was afraid to go anywhere in fear of being recognised. I knew people were looking at me, laughing and pitying the poor girl who’d had her tits splashed across the media. If another photo hit the tabloids, I didn’t know what I would do, so for now, I was stuck inside, a slave to my fear.

  Leaning my forehead against the tinted glass, I watched a seaplane taxi across the water, then seamlessly lift off and coast through the air. Beyond, yachts and other boats dotted the bluish-green harbour as the summer sun beat down on them.

  I’d wanted to go to Paris for Christmas—Paris, where it was cold and far away from Sebastian Hale—but instead, here I was standing in his multi-million dollar mansion.

  His words echoed in my mind and I wondered why I’d said yes. I was miserable. What do you say? Wanna go to war with me?

  We’d arrived late last night under the cover of darkness. We’d secreted into the city like two fugitives or two spies on a mission to save the world, yet I still didn’t know what ‘go to war’ meant.

  Footsteps sounded behind me and I tensed.

  “Juniper?” Sebastian’s voice did strange things to me, but I could no longer discern lust from revulsion. Did I still feel the same connection with him, or had it soured? That was an answer I just didn’t know.

  To say things were strained between us was an understatement. He’d kept things from me. He’d seen his ex, Mallory, behind my back and knew she had footage that could tear us apart. Whether he knew it was of me and him is unknown, but he’d done nothing to stop it from leaking either. Whoever was in it was irrelevant. I’d trusted him and he’d done nothing while a private and intimate moment was broadcast to a room full of celebrities and media. The humiliation had torn me deeply.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice echoing in the cavernous room.

  “No.”

  “Thirsty?”

  “No.”

  “Can I get you anything at all?”

  “No.”

  “Juniper, you have to tell me what to do,” he pleaded. “I don’t know how to make this right.”

  “Why am I here?” I asked, turning away from the window.

  “You’re here because I love you.” He was standing on the opposite side of the living room, his dishevelled appearance looking out of place amongst the immaculate decor.

  Still, I couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m here because you need me to get back at Vix.”

  “Juniper, I—”

  “Save it. I want to see that bitch burn for what she did to me. When I agreed to come with you, it was for revenge, nothing more. What we had before—” I bit my lip and looked away. “If I’m supposed to help, tell me everything.”

  His shoulders rose and fell, and I tried not to pay attention to the pain in his eyes. Oh, now he was hurting? Well, so am I. He’d gone on with his fancy tour and I’d been a prisoner on Vanessa’s couch for over three months. He hadn’t called, he hadn’t written, he hadn’t done anything.

  “After… after you left, I found out Vix has been syphoning money from the band. Skimming a little here and there, just enough that no one noticed, least of all a bunch of wild rock stars who only thought about their dicks.”

  I frowned, his admission the last thing I’d expected. Vix was a piece of work, but stealing? I would’ve thought she’d got a massive pay packet already.

  “How did you find out?” I asked, eyeing Sebastian nervously.

  “A royalty statement didn’t match. A little math later, and I realised it wasn’t an isolated incident. Pair it with her behaviour, and alarm bells began ringing.”

  “Then why haven’t you done anything about it?” I asked, my lip curling. He was turning out to be a master of turning a blind eye.

  “There’s no evidence. That one statement doesn’t mean anything. It could be explained away as a simple bank error. She’s covered her tracks so well, she’s watertight. All her threats and contracts are her way of making sure she’s golden.”

  “And what am I supposed to do about it? I’m a nobody who was blackmailed into signing an NDA.”

  “I want you to help me cast the net. Together, we’re going to put her in prison.”

  I managed to bring my gaze level with his. “You want me to pin an embezzlement charge on Vix?” He was mad—utterly and completely mad. “I don’t know anything about fraud.”

  “I can’t trust anyone else with this,” Sebastian said. “If I get an outside accountant, I can’t guarantee they won’t leak what we’re doing to the press or to Vix. She’s a master manipulator. If she gets one whiff of this, we’re fucked.”

  “Fucked or not, I’m not an accountant.”

  “You ran the Page Break for five years on your own. Longer, I’m guessing.”

  “It doesn’t make me a fucking genius!” I excl
aimed. “If this is a trick to get me back into your life, then you’re a fucking psycho.” I took a step towards the stairs, already mentally packing my suitcase. “I’m gone.”

  Sebastian rounded the couch and blocked my path. “Juniper, she stole millions from us. Millions.”

  That stopped me.

  “Millions?” I whispered.

  It was worse than I thought. How could she have gotten away with it for all those years? Trust. They trusted her to do her job, but when Sebastian got fed up with how she was manipulating them behind their backs, she came out, guns blazing, to protect what he’d called her ‘cash cow’. Only, he hadn’t realised just how much they were worth to her.

  Strange how everything came back to that one little word. Trust.

  “I feel like a complete moron for letting it get this bad,” Sebastian went on. “I was too busy getting laid and wasted to worry about my financial situation. We all were. Now… ” he sighed and shook his head, “now I’ve grown the fuck up and realised how much I’ve wasted. All the mistakes I’ve made…”

  I placed my hand on the back of the leather couch, the fabric cool against my palm. “Do the others know?”

  “No.” He reached for my hand, but I jerked it back before he could touch me. “I need your help. You’re the only person in the entire world I can trust.”

  “What about Josh? He’s your best friend.”

  “He’d go on a rampage if he knew. This needs a lighter touch. If she suspects that we know, then she’ll disappear and we won’t get any justice.”

  “So you want me to live a lie,” I stated. “We tried that, remember? If this is just about you getting your money back, then—”

  “Juniper, this isn’t just about the money. It’s about everything—the manipulation, the blackmail… her treatment of you.”

  “Why should I care? I’ve got nothing left!” There’d been too many tragedies in my life. Seriously, how many times could someone bounce back? There was a breaking point, and I felt like I was toeing the line of mine.

  “If you didn’t care, then why did you come?” Sebastian seethed. “You could’ve said no.”

  I didn’t know if I was weak or hopeless… maybe they were the same thing.

  I sunk onto the couch, my body melting into the soft leather. Outside it was blistering hot, but in here it was cool, despite the heat radiating off the glass.

  “I was going to go to Paris,” I murmured, looking out across the water. “I wanted to ride the carousel at Montmartre and see the lights on the Eiffel Tower. I wanted to see snow on Christmas.” My breath was tight in my chest. “I wanted to…” Run away. That was the truth, I wanted to run away. “I wanted my simple little life back.”

  “I can’t change who I am,” Sebastian said. “And I can’t change the way I feel about you.”

  “But I changed for you,” I snapped. “I changed so I could fit into your world, Sebastian. I changed so I could keep you.”

  “You never had to change, Juniper. Not for me.”

  “Well, that’s a slap in the face,” I muttered.

  “Juniper—”

  “Can we just stop?” I asked, sitting up so I could look at him. “Words can’t fix this, Sebastian. We’re going to argue until were both blue in the face and what will that solve? Nothing.”

  He stared at me, his stormy eyes swirling. Ugh, it was always the eyes with him—depthless, haunting, and completely hypnotising. Pair that with his rough stubble and rugged manliness, well, it was no wonder he had a woman like Mallory Grigorio—pop princess and closet mean girl—hanging off his dick.

  Still, I couldn’t let Vix continue stealing money from the band. It wasn’t just Sebastian she was screwing. It was Josh, Damon, and Nate. It was Galaxy Records. It was everyone she’d ever blackmailed, bribed, and crossed paths with. If I had a chance to end her reign of terror, then I’d slap her down any way I could. It would be my parting gift to the world that screwed me over.

  “Let’s make one thing clear,” I said, glaring at Sebastian. “I’m doing this for myself and all the people she’s fucked over.”

  His lips thinned and he nodded. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  I didn’t know how to take that, so I turned my attention onto our revenge plot, because that’s exactly what it was. We may be aiming for justice over an actual crime, but deep down, I wanted to see Vix’s face when she realised she was going to jail—just the way she wanted to see mine when she humiliated me in front of the world. Payback was a bitch, Vix.

  “Where’s Harry?”

  “He quit after you left,” Sebastian replied. “I tried to get him to stick around, but he said he couldn’t be bought.”

  Good. It meant I could trust him not to be bribed by Vix. Not that I thought he would take her money, but you never know who’d turn around and humiliate you these days. Harry wanted a career in the music business—an honest career, which made him a rare and beautiful creature.

  “If I’m going to do this, I’ll need things only he can get,” I said.

  “Like?”

  “Un-doctored royalty statements for one.”

  He frowned, rubbing his fingers along his jaw. “He still works for Galaxy. He was never directly employed by me, so he should still be around.”

  “Good. I’ll find a way to get in contact with him.”

  I peeled myself off the couch and crossed the living room, giving Sebastian a wide berth. Now that I had something to focus on, I could go back to what I did best—avoid painful truths.

  “Juniper?”

  I paused at the bottom of the stairs and glanced over my shoulder. “Don’t. Pushing will only make things worse, Sebastian.”

  I didn’t wait for his reply. Climbing the stairs, I made my way to my room. I had a phone call to make.

  2

  Sebastian

  With a heavy heart, I watched Juniper climb the stairs to her separate room.

  All I wanted to do was grab her around the waist, pull her body against mine, and kiss those perfect lips. I wanted to bury myself in her, protect and love her, and hold her close. She was so fucking precious… and she hated me. She fuckin’ hated me.

  Turning away from the stairs, I ran my hands over my face, my palm scratching over the stubble on my jaw.

  I went down the hall and pushed into the music room. Other than my bedroom, this was the most used space in the house. I should’ve bought a studio apartment for all I cared about the other stuff in the place—this house was being wasted on a dickhead like me. I never used the pool or watched anything in the theatre. The kitchen was mostly brand-new and the bar hadn’t seen any action in at least a year.

  Closing the door behind me, I crossed the room and stood in front of the rack of guitars. There was an electric acoustic, a black Fender acoustic with a Dreadnought body—cheap as hell, but it had the most incredible sound—then there was a limited edition Epiphone blue silverburst electric, a red Fender Stratocaster, a gold Gibson Les Paul, and a sexy black Gretsch eletromatic. These weren’t the guitars I took on tour with me. No, these were the guitars I recorded and wrote new songs with.

  Amongst the amps, effect pedals, microphones, and leads, the walls were covered in framed platinum and gold records, with numerous awards on floating shelves amongst it all. It was like my ego had projectile vomited in here. Compared to the immaculate state of the rest of the house, this room was a reflection of my subconscious—messy and egotistical.

  This place was the furthest thing from a home I had. All my stuff was here, but I hardly spent any time with it. There was always someplace else I had to be—recording, touring, attending the latest in a long line of boring industry events, the list went on.

  I didn’t know when things changed, but they had. The passion that once drove me to excess no longer held any satisfaction. People who’d looked up to me saw success, but all I saw was a complete fuckwit.

  Without Juniper, I was lost.

  How did I tell her that I’d
sung to her every night on tour? How did I tell her I longed for everyone who called out to me to be her? How did I tell her I loved her like no other? How did I get her to listen to my words and believe me? Truth was, I had no fucking idea. There was a part of me that was beginning to wonder if all the songs I’d written about love and sex had always been about Juniper in some way. They’d never been about anyone in particular, but maybe… Na, it was stupid. Did I think I had the ability to see the future? If I did, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.

  My journal was sitting on the coffee table, taunting me, daring me to pick it up and write. Behind it, another guitar sat on the couch. The second guitar I’d ever owned. I’d smashed my first acoustic over my dickhead father’s head the day before we split from him for good, and a week later, Mum had shown up with a new one. A guitar, not another arsehole father figure. Fifteen years later, here it was.

  The journal pulled my attention and I crossed the room. Sitting on the couch, I stared at the book. I couldn’t think of one word to help, let alone enough to make a coherent song.

  My words were empty, but when I sang, they meant something. I was more myself on stage than I was sitting here on this stupid couch.

  Arsehole. I snatched the book up and held it in my hands. The leather cover was scratched up and bits of loose paper stuck out of the pages, showing just how far it’d come with me. Sometimes, if I thought of a word or a line while out someplace, I scribbled it down on a scrap of something and stuffed it into my pocket. It happened a lot—there were just as many scraps as actual pages in the thing.