Rock Mayhem: 8 Complete Rock Star Romance Novels

by Candy J. Starr

  Why did I even care? It wasn't like she meant a damn thing to me. Nothing.

  Polly

  WHEN I GOT TO THE DRESSING room, Miles was still in his silent brooding mood. He expected me to ask what was wrong, but I'd had enough of that. Half the reason I'd gone up to watch The Freaks was to avoid being around him.

  I went into the main backstage area and grabbed a drink. I could see Miles through the open doorway, so I stood with my back to him. A few of the PR people hung around, so I went over to chat with them. I considered going back to catch the rest of The Freaks' set, but there'd been something in that guy's eyes when he saw me that really bothered me. I hadn't wanted him to see me at all. I'd wanted to hide in the shadows and watch. I wasn't there to connect with Damo. Why had he even looked at me?

  The Freaks been brilliant onstage. I'd hated to tear myself away. I could've watched the entire set. Instead, I'd run back to safety. That was so out of character for me, and really, what did I care what he thought? One look from him wasn't going to make me fall to my knees.

  Hell, I couldn't delude myself. Watching him onstage had stirred something inside me, but I had no idea what. Admiration for his skill, more than anything else. Nothing more than that. The guy had problems and he hated me, but that didn't stop me appreciating his talent.

  I finished my beer and grabbed another one.

  The PR chicks had a whole load of suggestions for my image.

  "Blonde would definitely work for you," one of them said.

  "Yeah, and maybe something a bit softer."

  Errgghh. I didn't think so. I just nodded and smiled. Then Jax came over to join me.

  "Here, talk to Jax," I said. "He's way overdue for a makeover."

  The girls laughed, but I failed to see why I had to be the one with the image in the band, just because I was a chick. My image was all me, though, not a stage thing. I dressed how I liked, did my makeup how I liked, no matter what. Having people want to change that just annoyed me.

  I went out to the hallway for some fresh air and to escape Miles' scowling. I would have loved to get out of here and get back to the hotel, but I had to wait around. Fuck knew why. We all had to go in the van together or some shit.

  I leaned against the wall, sucking on my beer. The coolness of the concrete felt good against my back. Only a few people hung out in the hallway. Some of The Freaks' team waiting for them to come offstage. A couple of the crew were wandering around, doing whatever it was they did. There was so much crew on this tour, I'd never get them all straight.

  Trouble was, Miles followed me out.

  "What was all that about?"

  He stood too close to me. I tried to back away, but there was nowhere to back to, not with the wall behind me. He planted his hands either side of my face, totally filling my space with his body. I was stuck between Miles and the wall.

  "All what?"

  "You know, Polly. You know exactly what I mean."

  I leaned forward, hoping he'd get the hint, but he didn't move. His breath hit my skin, and his eyes burned with anger.

  "No, no, I don't. So, why don't you enlighten me?"

  "The way you careened into me. You made me look like a fool."

  "Fuck you, Miles. I don't need to make you look like a fool. You do enough of that on your own."

  I tried to push him away, but he held firm. His snarl got nastier.

  "I'm the star, Polly."

  "We're a team. Well, we were once. Now it's all about you? Give me a break." I turned my head to get away from his breath. "You never move over to that side of stage. You know better."

  "Oh, so, that's your side of the stage now? But I thought we were a team. What do you want? You can't have it both ways."

  Miles had gone way beyond annoying. He was starting to scare me. That look in his eyes had a glimmer of hate in it.

  What had I ever seen in him? Jerk.

  "You know what I want? To not have this conversation. What do you want, buddy? You need to settle the fuck down. The most important thing here is the music. And the fans."

  He glared at me, and I glared back. Screw him. He was trying to intimidate me, but I wouldn't fall for his tricks. If he wanted to play those kinds of games, he'd picked the wrong woman.

  "You're a fucking bitch, Polly. If I could get another bass player, I would. You're not even that talented."

  I wanted to cut his throat for that remark. Instead, I put my hand on his chest and pushed him off me. It wasn't a hard shove, but it was enough to tell him to back off.

  He stepped back a little. Thank fuck. I needed the space.

  "Yeah, good luck with getting anyone else to play with you. Not many people would put up with your crap. I'm telling you now, Miles, you need to get rid of your selfish, shithead attitude. There are three people in this group. Not just you."

  I took a gulp of my beer. If I could have, I'd have walked away. Given Miles the chance to cool down. Three months of this shit and I really would cut his throat just to make him shut up.

  "There might be three of us, but no one goes to a gig to see the bass player, Polly. You're just there to make me look good."

  He started to walk back into our dressing room. I should've just kept my mouth shut. He could say that, but obviously there were people who'd turned up just to see me. And that killed him.

  "Wanker," I called out.

  "It's true. You're pretty worthless."

  "Jax writes most of the lyrics and I share vocals, so get your head out of your ass."

  He laughed without turning around.

  "So, what're you gonna do? Kick me out of the band? Not likely. In fact, why don't you do something useful, like go blow one of the journos so we get good reviews? That's your main talent, anyway."

  I didn't answer. My stomach twisted in knots. He knew how to hurt. Bastard.

  Without my even thinking about it, my arm moved back. I pitched that beer bottle at him. Hurled it across the hallway.

  I didn't want to hit him. I just wanted to... Hell, I did want to hit him. I wanted to destroy him.

  The bottle arced through the air before it hit the wall and smashed into a thousand pieces. The sound of it shattering was damn satisfying, too. Glass covered the carpet, and traces of beer dripped down the white paintwork.

  Miles turned, staring at me in shock.

  "What the hell is going on here?"

  Damo. Fuck.

  The Freaks had come offstage, and Damo was glowering at me like I was some dangerous feral animal who'd found its way backstage.

  He glared at the broken glass on the carpet.

  My heart sank. That look of disgust on his face brought me back to my senses. I'd done a stupid thing. A really stupid thing. I'd proved I was as trashy as he thought I was.

  "Clean this up," he said to one of the roadies, then swept past me as though I didn't exist.

  What the fuck had I done?

  Polly

  AFTER THE FIGHT WITH Miles, I walked into the dressing room and grabbed my leopard coat. All my important shit was in the pocket. All the other stuff, my makeup and street clothes, I could leave behind until tomorrow.

  I'd head back to the hotel. I hadn't even waited for the van. Screw their stupid rules. I was fine on my own. I had no desire to go back to my empty room, though. I just wanted to be somewhere far, far away from Miles.

  Bastard. The total bastard. It seemed like all the good had gone from the band. He'd destroyed it all.

  I stomped through the crowded streets near the arena. Bad timing, leaving just after The Freaks had come offstage. I guessed that was why they had a van for us. Still, I'd merge into the stream of fans. I didn't look that much different from most of them. Short dress, torn fishnets and rocker boots. It wasn't like I was famous enough to get mobbed.

  As I walked, I brooded on things.

  God, it hadn't been that long ago when we were a team. We'd started up the band, the two of us. Roped Jax into joining us later. Our dream had been to conquer the wor
ld. Back then, it really had been a partnership. Then it developed into more. A few drinks after a gig one night, and we ended up in bed.

  We became a couple. Things had been good. Miles had seemed like a completely different person back then. He'd been passionate about the band, and about me. None of this shitty attitude. Or maybe there had been traces of it and I'd been too wrapped up in my love that I hadn't noticed them. I'd brushed his selfishness off.

  I kept walking with the crowd, but a lot of the people around me were headed down to a subway station. I kicked a can lying on the street. It hit a trash can, then ricocheted. The noise of it could barely be heard over the reveling in the streets. Music thumped out of a club somewhere. People called out. One guy sang an off-key song.

  I had no idea where I was headed. I could get out my phone and check Google Maps, but it was easier to follow everyone else.

  When the band began to take off, we'd been invincible. But even then, there'd been cracks. Miles had his moods. I'd usually tried to jolly him out of them. I'd sit and listen to his complaints for hours, saying what I could to bolster his confidence. But that got tired real soon. The more I gave, the more he took. Every little thing became a worry for him. He wasn't talented enough or good-looking enough.

  I'd be beside him, telling him he was more than enough. He had the makings of a star.

  Never, not once, had he done anything to support me.

  It got worse. When we played live and things went wrong, it was always my fault. If they went well, he was the one to reap the praise. If a review mentioned me or a fan wanted my autograph, he turned nasty. I started to realize he didn't want a band, he wanted a bunch of admirers. Jax and I, we were just there to prop up his ego.

  I turned a corner into a much busier street. Food vans lined the streets, people queued to get into clubs. Maybe I should find a bar and have a drink.

  "Polly!" someone called from across the road.

  I turned, and two girls ran over to me.

  "Great show tonight," one of them said. "Can we get a photo with you?"

  "Of course."

  The two girls grinned like crazy and took some selfies.

  "You're my role model," the other one said.

  "God help you," I replied, and laughed.

  "We're going to a bar. Our friend's bar. Do you want to come with us?" the first girl asked.

  That sounded like a recipe for disaster. Going to a strange bar in a city where I didn't know the language, without even telling anyone where I was going, was bad enough. Doing it with random strangers I'd met in the street was even worse. But they seemed like nice girls.

  "Sure, why not?" I answered. It'd beat the hell out of returning to my hotel room.

  We jumped into a cab and went somewhere across town. God, the cab was a BMW. They did things in style here.

  I had no idea where I was, but when we got to the bar, a bunch of people rushed over to me. Wow. How did they even know who I was? I never knew we had so many overseas fans.

  I had a few drinks, and the whole incident with Miles faded from my mind.

  People kept buying me cocktails. Then someone wanted to play darts. After that, things went a bit fuzzy, and I ended up in the back room, chilling on a sofa. I still had no idea what was going on, but that decor! Straight from the '70s with purple shag carpet covering the walls and lime-green lamps.

  I didn't know if it was being away from Miles or just the booze, but I felt so much lighter than I had in a long time. I could actually be myself. No fear about upsetting someone else. Screw Miles. What had he said? To sack him? Maybe we should. He was a loser with a massive ego.

  I started telling the guy sitting beside me what a great idea it'd be to kick Miles out of the band.

  "He's not even that talented," I said. "He just rides on my talent and Jax's."

  The guy nodded, obviously proving what a great idea it was. I sat up straight, warming to the subject.

  "I'm sure we could get someone to replace him pretty easily. I mean, singing and playing guitar, that's the easy stuff. And everyone wants to be lead. Singers are a dime a dozen, but it's hard to find a good drummer or bass player. Hell, we really only need a guitarist. I've been doing vocals on the new songs. I'm pretty good, too."

  The guy nodded. He put his hand on my bare leg and stroked my thigh. I wasn't that comfortable with it there, but I didn't want to stop mid-conversation to remove it.

  "It's just hard to replace him when we're in the middle of the tour, you know. Hey, can you sing? You're not bad-looking."

  He had that high-cheekboned Germanic look, with slicked-back hair and full lips. He'd looked great with a guitar strapped on.

  He answered in a string of German.

  "Huh? Do you even speak English?"

  He shook his head, a regretful look in his eyes. Dude couldn't speak English, but he'd still been more supportive of me than Miles had ever been.

  Someone waved at him from across the room, and he moved off.

  I sprawled back on the sofa, watching the reflected light from the mirror ball on the ceiling. Screw Miles. Screw Damo too.

  I'd have to deal with the fallout from tonight at some point. There'd been some serious disapproval radiating off him, but for all his faults, at least Damo didn't seem like a pissy bitch. He'd come straight out and say what the issue was. I'd picked up that much about him. None of Miles' passive-aggressive shit.

  Damo had been fucking cool onstage too. There'd definitely been some magic that hadn't been there during sound check. That swagger and the curl of his lip. The music had been taken up to another level. He could reach out and grab the audience's hearts in the palm of his hand and then manipulate those hearts as he liked. That had been damn hot. I hadn't expected such passion from someone who'd seemed so clinical.

  There was more than that, even. When he saw me standing there in the shadows, there'd been something in his eyes. That something had hit me right in the belly. It had coursed through my veins and stirred me up inside.

  Probably just irritation amplified by the thrill of the night. But I'd definitely felt more alive than I had in a long time. I'd held my breath until he looked away, then rushed backstage like a frightened schoolgirl.

  What the hell had been going on there? I never let guys ruffle my cool, but I'd most definitely been ruffled by him. Ruffled like I'd never been ruffled before.

  I sighed and stood up. This bar had gotten boring. Everyone spoke German. I couldn't understand a word, and I didn't want to pressure them to make the effort to speak English. Time I headed back to the hotel.

  I jumped into a cab, hoping I had the right money and the driver wouldn't rip me off.

  When I got to the lobby, I fumbled in my pocket for the room key. I always lost that kind of shit. Nope, still there. I held the key up and giggled, proud of myself for not losing it. Maybe I was a bit drunk.

  As I got out of the elevator, I stumbled. No one could see me, though. This entire floor had been booked out for the tour. No chance of random strangers hanging around. Well, actually, as I passed one of the doors, I had a feeling there was a random stranger in there. A random stranger yelping with delight. That had to be the bass player's room. I'd put money on it. At least my room wasn't next to his. I had a poky single room, and The Freaks all had suites, but I didn't mind. This hotel was still fancier than any other place I'd ever stayed in my life. A tiny single room was enough for me.

  I'd almost gotten to my room when I tripped again. Then I screamed. God knew why. If I faceplanted, it'd be onto super-soft, super-thick carpet. That carpet would caress my body.

  A door opened.

  I looked around.

  Damo.

  His gaze moved over my body, taking in my tipsy, disheveled state. Then I missed my footing and went sprawling again. Damn it. I couldn't even stay on my feet.

  Damo

  DAMN GIRL, MAKING SO much noise coming in that she woke me up. I opened my door to yell at her, but before I could make my point, her f
oot caught on something in the carpet. She stumbled and sprawled.

  Without thinking, I rushed to her. It was an idiot thing to do. If she'd fallen on the lush carpet, she wouldn't have hurt herself. Instead, she fell on me.

  The two of us landed on the floor, legs and arms tangled in a heap. She huffed as the weight of my body forced the breath from her. Then we rolled, and somehow, she ended up on top of me.

  I opened my eyes without really noticing I'd closed them. Her face hovered just near mine. My lips almost touched hers. She smelled sweet, like fruity cocktails. God, I hoped she wasn't going to vomit.

  She squirmed on top of me, moving around but not really getting off me. The friction of her leg moving between mine didn't help matters. Surely my cock could realize this was not a sexy situation. The last thing I needed was to get a hard-on with her on top of me. Actually, the last thing I needed was for her to be on top of me at all.

  I pressed my hands against the floor to get traction, trying to get up. Even though Polly was tiny, her body weighed me down more than I'd have thought.

  "Get off me," I hissed.

  "I'm trying."

  She lowered her hand very close to my crotch, and her hair brushed my face. Her body squished way too much against mine. Warm and soft, with her hand fluttering against my leg. I tried to think of other things.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, my voice so hoarse, I couldn't hide my growing lust.

  "There's something caught. I'm trying to untangle it."

  "Just rip it," I said.

  "I can't."

  As she moved, her breasts squashed into me. While Polly's breasts were far from the biggest I'd ever seen, they were incredibly firm and perky. I could imagine how they'd feel cupped in my hand. The weight of them. The warmth. The hard nipples.

  Jesus. I couldn't think like that. Not with her on top of me. Polly's breasts were the most off-limits breasts in this world. They were forbidden breasts.

  "Have you got it loose?" I asked.