Rise by Cassandra Robbins
RHYS
Past – Twenty-seven years old
Seattle, Washington
“Granger, get your ass over here.” I look over to see who’s screaming at me. I’m seeing double but grin anyway. I hold up my bottle of exclusive tequila and nod at the person. I have zero idea who it is.
“God, people are so obnoxious. Why do they think we would talk to them?” Tea calls out, making me turn my face away in distaste. This one’s a disaster, even for Nuke. She’s a model he met in New York a couple days ago who’s somehow followed us to Seattle.
She flips the poor guy off, then wraps her arms around me, trying not to spill her martini.
“Wipe your nose, Tea.” Peeling her claws out of my side, I let go of her waist. Her waifish body sinks into the velvet purple couch as her martini spills everywhere.
“The fuck, man?” Ammo yells up at me as Tea tries to lean on him, screaming that her shoes are ruined. I raise the bottle of tequila to my lips and smirk. Ammo and Tea belong together.
“Where’s Nuke?” I grit out, not sure why I’m so aggravated with Ammo. Maybe because he seems happy and content and I’m the opposite.
He sits there, looking relaxed and snorting coke with Gordon, one of our new record execs.
Ignoring them, I look out at the massive crowd of bodies. This club has to be over capacity. I can barely see the dance floor. It’s nothing but a swirl of colors and bright lights. The loud beat vibrates through my chest.
“He’s at the airport,” Tea shouts, still trying to climb onto Ammo to save her shoes.
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles as he dumps her on the other side of Gordon who smiles and makes room for her. Ammo takes the rolled-up hundred-dollar bill to snort more of Gordon’s cocaine.
I stare down at the scene, completely detached. We’re not even trying anymore. None of us gives two fucks.
In the old days, we would at least make an attempt to be subtle. Now we leave a pile of cocaine or whatever drug we’re into on the table and dare anyone to say anything.
Rolling my neck, I relish in the slight dizziness. It reminds me I’m alive. I reach into my jeans pocket for my cigarettes and grin as I light up, thinking of Cynthia, our stylist, groaning at my wardrobe. Fashion is not my forte. But I’d rather take a bullet than wear the shit she convinces Cash and Nuke to go out in.
“Granger… Oh my God. Remember me? Granger!” a hysterical fan shrieks as one of the bouncers holds her back. I don’t encourage her. Otherwise, it’ll be a free-for-all. If you show attention to one, they all come.
It’s shitty, but a sad fact. Most of the time I enjoy my fans, but not tonight. Tonight, all I want is to find someone who won’t talk, but will blow me before I pass the fuck out.
I rarely fuck random women anymore. Not worth the huge shitstorm in the morning. Usually, I let them suck me off. If they sign an NDA, I’ll consider dipping my dick into them.
I can’t remember which one of us started having the women we fuck sign shit. Maybe it was after Ammo got slapped in the face by a jilted girlfriend who wrote a tell-all on him and the band. Half the shit was a lie; not that it mattered. It instantly became a bestseller anyway. Needless to say, it didn’t go over well, and we all decided to protect ourselves after that.
Ammo takes negative shit and allows it to fuel him. I, on the other hand, was fucking pissed. I hate when my privacy’s invaded. The book was not about me, but I was in a hell of a lot of it, and it portrayed me as an egomaniac who gets off on being a tortured artist.
I take another swig, letting the tequila slip down my throat without even tasting it. Fuck, maybe I am all the things she wrote. The day my fans labeled me the Rock God, I gave up being me and morphed into what they needed.
I have everything and yet nothing. Fame, money, women. You name it, I can have it. I’m at the top of my game, and lately all I want to do is get on a Harley and ride until no one knows my name.
Fame happened way too fast. One day I was playing in my buddy’s garage, and the next we were in front of a hundred-thousand adoring fans.
I must have missed something along the way. There’s a void in me. I try to embrace it, but it’s like fucking herpes—it never leaves you. It’s always ready to ooze its blisters into your psyche, until you wake up and decide that maybe you’ve sacrificed everything for nothing. Just a goddamn curse, a slow noose that tightens with each bit of success you achieve.
I should get the fuck out of here. We’ve played three concerts in four days. All of us are burned out, living on Mexican food, tequila, and cocaine.
I’m surprised I even know what state I’m in. I crouch down, ready to take the hundred- dollar bill from Ammo when a flash of dark hair and silver lamé catches my eye.
“What do you think, Granger?” Gordon leans over Tea, his bald head more pronounced with the moving lights dancing above him.
I hold up my hand to silence him as I straighten. My eyes search for the vision that made me stop and actually feel something.
“Granger?” He stands.
“Ask Rafe,” I grunt, zeroing in on her. She’s a goddamn vision with dark hair and legs to die for.
“Dude.” Ammo shakes his head as he snorts and wipes his nose. “You need to listen to Gordon. This could be good for the Muffins.”
“Tell it to Rafe,” I repeat as I let my eyes devour her. She’s in a silver dress that’s nothing but a second skin with straps. Her fucking tits are full. Christ, I can see her rock-hard nipples from where I stand.
“Who’s that with Nuke?” Ammo wipes his nose again and stares at my goddess.
“Oh my God, that’s who he was picking up from the airport.” Tea’s annoying voice brings me back to the fact that the woman in question is indeed dancing and laughing with my drummer.
Which sucks for him. I’m absolutely gonna fuck her tonight.
“Brother.” Ammo’s hand stops me from moving. I stare at it, almost confused. Last thing I’m in the mood for is his shit.
“I’d let go, brother,” I sneer in his face. This is not a threat. If he doesn’t let go, I will not be responsible for my actions.
“Jesus, man.” He lets go, dramatically holding up his hands. I’d like to punch him in his perfect face for that.
“You need to respect the code, Granger.” Ammo shakes his head. “Nuke got to her first, picked her up from the airport, clearly she’s special to hi—” I don’t wait around to hear more. The way I feel, I don’t care if she’s his fucking wife.
“Shit.” Ammo signals for our security.
I move toward Nuke. He looks like a fish out of water jumping circles around my goddess while she laughs and twirls. People start to rush us, screaming “Rock God” and “Ammo.”
“Goddammit, Granger,” Ace, my bodyguard, gripes as he makes a huge production of trying to keep people from touching us.
I despise having security. Pussy-ass shit, in my opinion. But apparently the record label and Rafe, our manager, disagree. I don’t run or hide. Anyone wants to come at me, I’m right here. I smirk. Guess this is why we have security. I storm a path straight up to Nuke.
“Hey, man,” he calls out and looks up at me, his face filled with excitement.
“Nuke.” I nod then turn to the woman. She’s stopped dancing. Her chest rises and falls, almost as if she’s been waiting for me.
Her long dark hair is pulled up, revealing her stunning face, allowing me to admire her puffy lips, high cheekbones, and big eyes that slant up like a cat’s.
“You remember—” I hold up my hand for Nuke to stop. The club has pretty much ceased to exist anymore. My eyes go up and down her thin form, stopping at her incredible tits. Jesus, my cock is so hard I have to shift it to the other side.
If she’s with Nuke, she’s not anymore. A slow smile graces her incredible lips as I ignore him and whatever he seems to want to tell me. Instead, I move closer, blocking him out as I reach for her tiny wrist, which is adorned with numerous bangles.
She’s delicious, intoxicating. As she glides into my arms, I fight the urge not to lick one side of her face, if only to see how she’d taste. I breathe in her scent, savoring the smell.
It’s vanilla.
Maybe caramel. Fuck, it’s crème brûlée. I want to lose myself in her, savor her as if she’s dessert. Dipping my head, I feel her shudder. She’s mine and she knows it.
“Hello, beautiful,” I say lowly into her lips.
Her eyes narrow on mine, then dip to my mouth. “Hello, Rhys.” Her voice is like a slight breeze, a gentle feather caressing my lips.
Warning bells pound through my intoxicated trance and I lift my head to stare at her. The neon lasers and lights are chaotic, adding to my unease. No one calls me Rhys anymore.
It’s a name from my past. I even correct people if they try to use it.
“Rhys?” Her voice is slightly raspy, sensual.
“No one calls me that.”
“Well, I’m not anyone,” she purrs.
“Fuck, Granger. You looking for a world of pain? What the hell are you doing?” I barely register Nuke yelling. It doesn’t matter what he says or what he’s warning me about.
I want her.
I grab her face with both hands, bringing her lips to mine. A premonition that this one is dangerous flashes through my head.
It doesn’t matter though. I’m all in.
Roughly, I claim her lips, thrusting my tongue deep inside her mouth. She moans and wraps her hands around my neck. Her body fits perfectly. As if I hired a sculptor to mold her to me.
She tastes like sugar and berries and all I want to do is live inside her honey core for days.
Hunger.
I haven’t felt starved like this in years—that need, drive to obtain something, to want something so desperately that you don’t care if she ruins you.
Lifting my head, I say, “Let’s go.”
“Yes.” She nods, her eyes slits and lips swollen. I have to fight myself not to wrap my hands in her long dark tresses and take her mouth again. She digs her nails into my forearms as we start to walk.
“Granger, this is a mistake. People are filming you.” Ammo’s and Nuke’s voices blend together. I let Ace clear the path for us.
“Fuck, man, he’ll kill you. Don’t you know who she—”
I’m getting pissed. Don’t they get it? I don’t care. Who do they think they’re talking to anyway?
Hunger.
I let the adrenaline flow through me. For the first time in years, I want something.
I want it, crave it more than anything.