Savage: A Rockstar Romance (The Rock Legend Series Book 1)

by L. V. Lewis

  Savage

  The Rock Legends Series, Book 1

  (A Rockstar Romance)

  By

  L.V. Lewis

  Table of Contents

  Savage

  Copyright

  Book Description

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  Redemption

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  About The Author

  Copyright

  All rights reserved in all media. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  lv.lewis148@gmail.com

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination, or used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America by Jungle Fever Press

  Savage/ L.V. Lewis

  First Edition: April 2019

  14 13 12 11 10 / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Book Description

  This HOT story contains sex, drugs (mostly in reference to past use), and rock & roll.

  A pop princess, a former rock star legend and the secret that will tear them both apart.

  Up and coming pop star, Skylar Samuelson is taking the world by storm, one country at time. It hasn’t always been easy, especially with her controlling managing mother watching over her shoulder. But when Skyler trades her manager for muscled and hot Personal Assistant Brody “Savage” Kent, she realizes she wants to be controlled in a whole different way.

  Brody “Savage” Kent hasn’t always been a personal assistant, having walked away from rock stardom and the nightmare that’s haunted him. But one smile from Skylar and he’s willing to lay it all on the line for her, but will the secret he’s keeping destroy both of their dreams?

  Savage is book 1 of The Rock Legends Series and can be read as a stand-alone novel with plenty of heat, rock star romance and a HEA.

  PROLOGUE

  SAVAGE SABAN RETIRES AMID DRUG ALLEGATIONS RELATED TO KIMBERLY HEART’S DEATH

  LOS ANGELES (AP) - The Savages front man, Savage Saban, 23, will not face drug possession charges related to backup singer Kimberly Heart's death, police confirmed today.

  LA County Deputy Police Chief Sanford Fernandez confirms they are electing not to file charges after "weighing the pros-and-cons of investigating the narcotics charges against Saban."

  The news was first reported by rock music website, Grunge Nation, which dubbed The Savages “the reincarnation of Nirvana.” Saban seemingly confirmed the reports today when he shared the news, albeit prematurely, on Twitter that he was retiring.

  The tweet read: “Not catching a case and not doing this shit anymore w/o Kim. RIP, Baby”

  Ms. Heart was Saban’s bandmate and girlfriend of four years.

  Saban, who has never revealed his true identity, made the formal announcement via his public relations firm today. He hasn’t been seen since Heart’s tragic death.

  Heart, 21, was found dead on New Year’s Day in the Hollywood condominium the two shared while on hiatus from The Savages’ world tour. She had been dead approximately 24 hours.

  Saban was arrested on January 2 after heroin was allegedly found following a party inside the home.

  "Narcotics were found in several places within the home and, with several people in attendance, anyone could have possessed the narcotics, therefore, we decided not to pursue charges against Saban," Fernandez reported.

  The LA County Medical Examiner's Office has determined that Heart died from an accidental overdose and that a mix of heroin, vodka, and methamphetamines led to the rock star's untimely death.

  Kimberly Heart is survived by her parents, Mason and Diana Heart of Downers Grove, Illinois, and two siblings, Teresa and Stephen Heart, also of Downers Grove.

  Kimberly’s brother, Stephen, wrote in an emotional tribute to his sister from their family in the Huffington Post: "The outpouring of condolences and prayers from Kim’s fans have been overwhelmingly positive for us. Thank you so much. We really appreciate the support.”

  Stephen also touched on the couple’s romance which was plagued by addiction issues: "But, the truth is, like so many who struggle with drug abuse and addiction, Kimberly was consumed by it. Thus, what we lost on New Year’s Eve was any hope of an intervention that could have possibly saved her life."

  During an interview on Grunge Nation, Saban’s manager indicated that Saban would soon be entering a comprehensive drug rehabilitation program: “Fans can only rejoice that Savage is seeking treatment for his addiction. He is determined to ‘get better’ so The Savages can be restored to their former position of rock glory.”

  ONE

  BRODY

  The Interview: A Week Before the Tour Begins

  I’ve barely taken a seat in my agent, David Rickards’s, office before he shares the news of an urgent professional nature he insisted I be in his office promptly at eight o’clock this morning to receive.

  “So, Brody, you did say you wanted to travel more on your next job, right?” David is so excited the lisp causing him to whistle when he pronounces certain words becomes much more distinct.

  “Yeah…” I stretch the word out, unsure whether I should answer yes or no. What’s his problem? It’s too damn early on a Monday morning for him to be acting so fucking weird.

  David continues, blissfully unaware of my inner dialogue. “This gig is perfect for you, and it’ll put you in a different country every weekend for most of the summer.”

  “Oh really…” My anticipation builds. What in the world could this new job be?

  I’d worked for an East Coast blue blood with an insatiable foot fetish on my last temporary assignment. Best toe sucker on the entire Eastern seaboard. It felt good, real good. It just didn’t do much for me sexually. She, on the other hand, got off on shit like that.

  “Who’s my boss this time? European royalty?”

  “How about the closest thing we’ve got in America.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Skylar.”

  Disappointment washes over me like a cold tidal wave.

  Damn! I guess I’m going to have to turn my third gig with I’m Your Man, Inc. down. The powers that be certainly have a wicked sense of humor. When I left the business five years ago and signed on with I.Y.M. about a year ago, I made it abundantly clear; I didn’t want to work for any musicians. David was well aware of this.

  I have to admit, though, it would be nice to start a new gig now so I could cultivate an opportunity for a new hookup. I hadn’t dated in the pure sense of the word since Kim died. These gigs with I.Y.M. help me to secure just the kind of entanglements I like, casual and brief.

  My last assignment ended more than two weeks ago, and it's about
time for me to get laid again. Oh, how I’ve missed that. Although, I sometimes feel lonely for real companionship… for a person who gets me on a more intimate level. Invariably, thoughts of Kim squash these notions before they can even take root and grow.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. I feel a headache approaching. Damn! “You want me to work for who?” I ask, as much for clarification as to express my disbelief.

  “Skylar Samuelson, the pop singer,” David says.

  It’s not that I hadn’t heard him the first time. Who doesn’t know who Skylar Samuelson is? She’s a hot commodity in the music industry right now. A person would have to live in a third-world country with no Internet or television to not have heard about her. Plus, she’s fucking hot.

  Given how fucked up I was on drugs when I was in the industry, putting myself back in the proximity of a bunch of depraved musicians is one bad fucking idea. If I were to accept a job with this client, I’d be hard pressed not to run into a lot of my old “enablers.” I wouldn’t call them friends? That would be a fucking gigantic stretch of the imagination if there ever was one.

  The other reason I’m not eager to take the job is because I’m not particularly fond of pop music in general. Of course, I’d probably make more working for Skylar than I did for three regular clients but, honestly, it isn’t about the money for me. I mean, my bank account isn’t hurting.

  I guess you could call me lucky because I.Y.M. provides me with a boatload of jobs that keep me busy—very busy. So I don’t have to think. I work so I don’t have to be idle. Being idle lends itself to me being immersed in my own thoughts. And thinking puts me back in that room with Kim—all the life drained from her sparkling brown eyes—me playing my fucking axe until my fingers bled.

  Not good.

  *Public Service Announcement: Drugs make you do stupid shit!

  Let’s face it, when you are high on drugs and alcohol, you don’t react like you normally would to stressful situations.

  David sighs impatiently, as if he’s waiting for me to say something—anything. He’s too impatient for me to gather my thoughts to respond, so he fills the silence with chatter he hopes will convince me to take the gig already. “Okay, listen Brody, I know you said you didn’t want to work for any musicians, but the client—specifically the star’s mother—wants someone who has a musical background, and your application says you used to be in a band.”

  I’m sure he thinks I was a part of some amateur garage band that played gigs at local hot spots.

  You have no idea, David.

  He continues, “I guess I could ask another guy to take this killer gig… if you’re not interested. But think of it this way, Skylar is the hottest thing since Britney, Shakira, Rihanna, and Beyoncé combined.”

  “I know who she is!” I snap. That’s about all I know. I don’t listen to her brand of music on purpose—too “poppy” for me. Her songs do rule the airwaves on radio, television, and even the Internet. Much like The Savages did only five short years ago.

  Now I have a choice. I could work or I could sit around in my condo thinking about my former fucked-up life, remembering how Kim died, and wondering if I should overdose on some legal or illegal substance so I can leave this shitty life and join her. Yeah, it is that serious.

  Work? Or think?

  David sucks air through his teeth impatiently, making that annoying whistling sound again. He nails me with a quit-pussy-footing-around glare, and I wince. “Look, man, I’ll give it to the next guy if you’re dumb enough to pass on it.”

  “I’m not turning the job down... yet. I’m just trying to remember if my passport is still good.” I am lying, but he doesn’t know that. I just renewed my passport last year.

  David stands up and places his extremely little hands on his hips. “Come with me.”

  He moves pretty quickly for a guy his size. He is, in a word, portly—with abnormally tiny hands. Does that even go together? Nope. Even though David is big, he has as much energy as a man half his size and age.

  Frowning, I stand up but stay rooted to my spot, while he’s already at his office door. “Where are we going?”

  David’s rolling eyes are clearly exasperated with my delayed movement. “To meet the client.”

  My acceptance had been a foregone conclusion in his eyes, apparently.

  “Move your ass, Kent. They’re waiting.” He hurries out of the office and, because I’m currently a dutiful I.Y.M., Inc. employee, I follow obediently.

  As we enter the conference room, I notice a woman dressed in designer duds and dripping in diamonds. She is with a pretty, biracial teenage girl who looks to be the child of the “fancy” woman standing before me and an East Asian father, probably Japanese.

  While the teen gawks at me with unabashed abandon, the epitome of stage mothers frowns as if I’m not at all what she expected to see.

  She then glares at David and briskly states, “We were about to leave, Mr. Rickards. You, of all people, should know you shouldn’t keep potential clients who could make or break your company waiting.”

  The girl huffs a sound of disbelief and rolls her eyes.

  David extends his hand to shake the middle-aged woman’s rather limp hand. “I apologize, Mrs. Samuelson. I wanted to make sure I was securing Skylar the most perfect personal assistant our company has to offer.” He gestures to me. “Meet Brody Kent, a former musician with exceptional business and people skills. He’s also holds the equivalent of a graduate-level music degree.”

  David can really lay it on thick; I’ll give him that. Despite my chagrin at his embellishment of my credentials, I smile, take Mama Samuelson’s hand, and shake it firmly.

  She doesn’t return my smile, and I’m not surprised. She strikes me as the kind of old broad whose default setting is wary.

  I don’t react to her slight. Hell, I bet she’s worn that sour expression of displeasure so long she couldn’t get rid of it if she tried. I can tell she’s one of those hard-to-please mothers. Poor Skylar. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Samuelson.”

  I turn to the girl. Her green eyes, considerably lighter than her mother’s, have been scoping me out the whole time, yet she hasn’t spoken a word. “And who do we have here?” I ask.

  The girl smirks and raises a delicate brow.

  David laughs and it sounds like he is either deliberately clearing his throat or attempting not to swallow his tongue. “Brody’s also our resident jokester. Brody, meet the Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony award winning Skylar Samuelson.”

  My mouth falls open. No way. This can’t be the same hot chick I’ve seen plastered all over LA–the one I’ve had numerous sex dreams about. No fucking way.

  Skylar takes a pad-and-pen from her bag, scratches some words onto the paper, and then holds them up for me to read. “NICE TO MEET YOU BRODY. MY FRIENDS CALL ME SKY.”

  Had I met her on the street, I wouldn’t have pegged this girl as the artist known to the world as Skylar. She’s fresh-faced with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and she wears no makeup, except a generous slather of glistening gloss on her plump pink lips. Without the Skylar Face, she would most definitely be the all-around, pretty girl-next-door. Her signature Skylar Face, however, involves eyes lined with charcoal black eyeliner, sparkly eye shadow, and candy apple red lipstick. It’s iconic: The face that launched a billion boners.

  The girl before me is barely legal, if that.

  David whispers just loud enough for me to hear him. “Close your mouth before a fly lands on your tongue, Brody.” He then takes a seat at the head of the table next to Sky.

  I close my gaping mouth and take a seat across from the ladies.

  Damn. Talk about putting my foot in my mouth.

  While David schmoozes Mama Samuelson, I look over at Sky. Too bad she’s so young. If she was just a few years older, I’d seduce the hell out of this pop princess. Seduction is my specialty, after all. Unfortunately, at twenty-eight, I’m almost a decade older than her.

 
I take another look at her mother—she’s at least twenty years older than me. It isn’t beyond me to seduce a cougar, but Mama Samuelson is a little too… severe for my tastes.

  The music business can get real seedy real quick so if the tabloids are true, and Mama Samuelson runs Skylar’s career with an iron fist, well, I don’t blame her one bit.

  I tune back into the convo as David says, “I.Y.M. prides itself on employing men who have an excellent work ethic and an uncanny ability to represent and escort clients in any and all social situations. Our men are also trained in self-defense. Brody, for instance, is trained in mixed martial arts. He can step right into your former P.A.’s shoes and take care of everything she was handling with ease. Trust me; he will hit the ground running. Just give him a few days to acclimate.”

  Mama Samuelson eyes me with distrust. “Amber is more like Skylar’s assistant manager; she handles many of Skylar’s engagements, contracts, and public relations. To be honest, she’s sort of my right hand.”

  “Brody’s more than capable of handling all of that.”

  “Are you sure?” Mama Samuelson’s skepticism shows through her mirthless smile. “You’ve been talking so much, he hasn’t been able to get a word in edgewise. I’d like to hear from Mr. Kent.”

  Mrs. Samuelson acts as if she believes that I’m as nonverbal as her eccentric daughter is right now. My first inclination is to tell her where to get off but I don’t do it because I don’t want to end up sitting on my ass watching re-runs all summer. I decide to try the polite tactic.

  “I’m intimately familiar with most concert venues and their managements, and I know my way around the paperwork, social media, and public relations for musicians.”

  If I’m honest, what I know about the business side of the industry pales in comparison to my music knowledge but she doesn’t need to know that.

  What most of us I.Y.M. contractors have in common is the ability to bullshit through any given situation. So, a little paperwork doesn’t scare me.

  Mrs. Samuelson sighs. “We were hoping for a female companion–”

  Sky opens her mouth for the first time to interject, “That may be what you want, Mother, but I think Mr. Kent will do nicely.” Her voice is raspy as if it’s been strained from singing. But man, she is sexy as hell regardless.