Heart Broke (Hard Rock Roots Book 8) (33 page)

My gaze snaps up to Paulette's face, to the cold perfection of it, like a painting that was never meant to leave the artist's studio. It's
too
perfect, a study in shape and color, but there's no emotion there. No heart.

“What are you insinuating?” I ask, hating the way my voice cracks and my eyes flick back over to Brayden Ryker. He's standing behind and to the side of the last bus, partially cloaked in shadow, a frown on his face that has nothing to do with the tour and everything to do with last night. “Last night, the shooting …” I trail off because it doesn't matter, not really. Either the Hammergrens had someone sniping at us or … the Washingtons did.

“One last tour,” Paulette repeats, “and you're done. It's all over.”

“Somehow,” Sydney says as Naomi steps up to the bus and puts her forehead against it. “I don't believe you.”

“What other choice do you have?” Paulette asks as she smiles with pride at our shocked faces, at the way Ronnie's hands clench into fists at his sides, the way I scowl back at her and grit my teeth. “
Hard Rock Roots,
” Paulette whispers, turning around and running her fingers across the gleaming surface of a headlight. “We'll name the tour after the show. It'll be success like you've never even seen.” The words are nice, but I don't imagine that they're really for us. I feel like she's speaking to America's ghost or something, and it's creepy as fuck.

“We're going on tour again?” Turner asks, like he hasn't heard a single word of the conversation. “Now?”

It all makes sense, the smile that Paulette gave Lola when she saw her playing keyboard. She's going to replace Blair with Lola.
She's leaving Blair here to die.

“I feel sick,” I say. Sydney reaches down and takes my hand in hers, exchanging a look with me that really makes me wish I could drown in those liquid candy eyes of hers. I would swallow a whole gallon of sweet, sticky nothingness and let it drag me away from this. Blair paid the price, but gets to reap none of the glory? I like Lola and all, but she
isn't
Blair.

It's not right; it's not fair; it's all thoroughly
fucked.

But Paulette is right … last night was a warning. What choice
do
we have?

I take a deep breath and pull Sydney's body close, the warmth of her, the floral scent that clings to her hair, the only things that have any chance of pushing the chill in my heart back.

In the midst of the gleaming metal and the shock and the smell of vomit, we all get ready for the final showdown.

To Be Continued...

Dear Reader,

This book took me a long time to write, much longer than usual, but it was worth every drop of blood, every drip of sweat, and every single tear. I agonized, fretted, and freaked, but you know what? It turned out exactly the way it was always meant to. Another dollop of crazy, of fucked-the-hell up, of
rock.
Don't get too comfortable though: the ride's not over yet. I hope you're still buckled in and ready to rumble.

Sayonara until next time, bitches.

C.M.

P.S. Leave a review! For the first book in the series, for the fifth, for this one. It doesn't matter, but if you do, I'll love you forever. No, seriously. Hardcore fangirl type love. Yup. And you can quote me on that.

<3

Oh yeah. It's that time. Time to "Get Hitched". Hard Rock Roots Book 9: coming soon!

He's a bad boy ... and a nanny. A new trilogy coming soon from C.M. Stunich.

Holy sweet baby Jesus.
I don't know anything about taking care of kids.
I pierce nipples, navels, and noses for a living.
I've never even
held
a baby before. Not once. Never changed a diaper or cleaned up a skinned knee. Hell, I don't even want kids. I'm more of a drifter, a once in a lifetime lover, and then I move on.
Family? Commitment? Nuh uh, no way.
Tough shit, though, because my brother and his kids need me. Desperately.
I never thought to wonder if I might need them, too.
That I might need her, this strange woman I met at a playground.
Brooke Overland.
She doesn't know I'm not a professional nanny, but what am I supposed to do now?
She hired me; I took care of her sister's kids for her; I fucked her.
My life is so screwed up.

“Move for me,” I growl, curling my hands around my new lady friend's hips. She's got almost as many tattoos as I do and the kaleidoscope mind-fuck of her arching her back above me is just about enough to send me over the edge.

She squeals and giggles as I flip her over and run my fingers through her hair. It's like cotton candy, all pink and soft and shit.
I fucking love Las Vegas.
Ever since I moved here and got a job as a body piercer, I've had so many opportunities to meet new friends. Friends that smell like body butter, with soft skin, and healthy sexual appetites.

Oh yeah.

This is the real “City That Never Sleeps” and there's no way in hell I would ever leave. I don't think this girl, Katie, and me have slept in three days. Thank God for holiday weekends, right?

“Oh, Zay,” she moans, running her tongue up the side of my face. I grab her wrists in my hands and slam them into the pillow behind her head, nipping at her exposed throat as I thrust hard and fast, slamming our pelvises together with the sweet sound of flesh on flesh.
Oh God yes.
“You are the world's fucking hottest nerd.”

I grin big.

“Hey, just because I take breaks to shoot rebel soldiers online with my buddies does not make me a nerd.” I put a little extra strength in my next thrust and get rewarded with a guttural groan from Katie's pretty little lips. If she hadn't walked into the shop to get her tits pierced on Friday, I'd have missed out on all this fun. Lucky me.

“You have a toy collection, Zayden,” she says, but I don't respond. If she's able to talk, then I'm not doing my job right.

“What if I asked
you
to be one of my little toys? Because I want to play all night long with your movable parts.” Katie laughs and I groan. Ladies, laughter tightens up all those muscles downstairs. Guys fucking love it. Laugh more during sex, pretty please.

I nibble Katie's lower lip, tasting cherry lip gloss, and slide my tongue into her mouth. Fuck, do I love women. They always smell so good, feel so soft, taste so sweet. If I had to list my hobbies for a stranger, it'd go like this: fucking, video games, fucking, and listening to pop music. But don't tell anybody about that last one or I'll have to kill you.

I squeeze Katie's wrists tighter, fuck her harder, and feel myself on the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm when my phone goes off, buzzing across the nightstand like a vibrator gone rogue.

The ringtone is the song
Toxic,
but not the Britney Spears' version (even though I secretly dig it). I had to save face, so I put on A Static Lullaby's cover of it.

There's only one person on my contacts list that has that ringtone and he
never
calls.

I pause for a moment, but Katie wiggles beneath me and I end up dropping my mouth to her freshly pierced nipples. I run my tongue around one and avoid the sore spot, teasing just close enough to make her squirm.

“I'm coming, Zay,” she groans as my cock drives deeper and harder. I can feel her tightening around me, getting ready to explode.
Thank God.
I don't think I could hold on much longer.

The phone stops ringing and immediately starts up again.

I pause yet again, and Katie ends up getting her hands free, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“So close,” she whispers against my ear. “So close. Don't stop.”

So I keep going and then fucking fuck, there goes that damn phone
again.

“I have to answer it,” I say, because my brother, he only calls if there's an emergency. I stay right where I am, wrapped up inside of Katie, and lean over to take the call.

“What the fuck do you want? This better be good. I'm entertaining company right now.”

My brother doesn't hesitate to rip me a new one.

“Do you have any compassion at all, Zayden? What is your goddamn problem? It's not like I ever ask you for anything. You never return my phone calls or texts, never come home for the holidays.”

“Okay, and what's wrong with that? It's not as if we're exactly
close,
” I say and then sit back in shock when Katie slaps me across the face with an open hand.

“I was
close,
” she snaps at me, shoving me back and climbing off the bed. I watch in stunned frustration as she gathers her jeans and tugs them on. “Enjoy the rest of your Monday, you dick.”

The front door slams closed behind her as I tug off my condom with a growl. Great. Just great. And I didn't even get her number or her last name. What a waste.

“I need your help, Zayden,” Rob says, and I catch the strain in his voice right off the bat. Whatever this is, it really
is
serious. I feel a little guilty for being an asshole – to both Rob and Katie – and climb off the bed to dispose of the condom in the trash can under the window. “It's Mercedes' parents,” he continues as I open the top drawer of my dresser and grab some boxers. My hard-on's long gone now, no point in wandering around naked. Feels kind of wrong to have my junk hanging out when I'm talking to my brother, you know what I mean?

“Okay?” I ask, trying to be sympathetic. I mean, Rob might be a jerk, but his wife, Mercedes, is actually pretty awesome. Sometimes when Rob's asleep and she doesn't think she'll get caught, she gets online and joins my raid group. That girl can take on a red dragon zombie boss like nobody's business – impressive, even if it's all part of a computer game.

“They were in an accident,” he says, sounding tired and worn-out. Rob works as an insurance salesman, so I can totally see that. If I worked as an insurance salesman, I'd only be at the job long enough to buy a gun and a single bullet.

“Oh, shit, are they alright?” I ask, pausing in the kitchen. It's a disaster of take-out and pizza boxes, and it smells like my cat's litter box. Well, technically, he's not my cat. One of my girlfriends left him here when she moved out, and I kind of like the little bastard. I spy the cat crouched on my stove, completely hairless, a hideous feline monstrosity, and flip it off. Hubert hisses at me and flicks his tail, glaring at me with creepy white-green eyes. The effect is somewhat lessened since he's wearing a black sweater. Hey, this is Vegas and it gets hotter than hairy balls in a pair of briefs. I keep the air conditioner cranked, and Hubert being a hairless cat and all, he gets the chills.

Told you I was a nerd.

“They're alive, if that's what you're really asking,” Rob says, just before a piercing screech crashes through the phone and I jerk it away from my ear like I've been slapped. Either that's a banshee coming to take my soul to the underworld, or it's Rob's daughter, Kinzie. Yes, Kinzie. Weird name. I know, that's what I thought, too.

I am so fucking glad I don't have children.

I work very, very hard to make sure my dick is sheathed at all times. And I always use my own condoms, just to make sure they're fresh and free of holes. Honestly, if I had to choose between having kids and throwing myself off of a bridge, I'd have to think for a while to give you an answer.