Rock Star Affliction The Complete Series Read online

  Getting up, I stretched my tight muscles and walked round the bed toward the bathroom. That's when I saw the card lying on the carpet. Snatching it up with greedy hands, my heart almost stopped beating for a sickening moment. Her face stared back at me, her fucking beautiful face, and that attitude she'd carried around like a badge of honor clear in her features. She was all wild hair, rock 'n' roll, tattooed, and from experience, I knew she'd kick any man's ass without blinking. She was a firecracker in all senses of the word.

  My gaze ran over the rest of the card, but all I could see was the one thing she didn't want to give me. Her name. Blair. Blair. It fit her like a glove. It couldn't be the last time I saw her, because I was positive there was something there. Something else had happened between us while we were fucking and I'd never felt anything like it before.

  I had her name, address, birthdate, everything. If I wanted to, I could track her down and… And what? What the fuck would she say if I turned up on her doorstep in—I flipped the card over and read her address again—Brunswick? Where the fuck was Brunswick anyway?

  If I didn't want to piss Furlough off, I had to be at the venue at three sharp. I didn't have time to go wandering over the city looking for a woman who may or may not call the cops the moment I knocked on her door. What I didn't need was to be bailed out of the cop shop and in the fucking tabloids. Affliction's bad boy rock star on the prowl again, this time stalking random women. I'd have to come at this one from another angle and right now I still ached from her touch. I needed a shower, my cock was hard, and I'd take care of both at the same time with the memory of Blair's naked body writhing underneath mine.

  I'd figure out a way to contact her after the concert tonight. I'd have her in my bed again before she even knew what hit her. I'd have her screaming with my cock inside her and I'd work my way into her heart. A woman like that was worth the hard climb to the summit. A woman like that could take whatever she wanted from me.

  As soon as I walked through the stage door, Furlough pounced, his smartphone wedged in one hand, the other circling around my bicep.

  "West, for fuck's sake." He was giving me that look. The one where he knew something was up.

  "What?" I scowled. "I'm on time."

  "And it's a fucking miracle," he declared. "I'm talking about last night."

  "So what?" I said, knowing that someone had found me out at some point along the line. Was it the loud, obnoxious sex, or the part where I'd been absent? "I snuck out to a bar like a snot rag teenager. I'm a grown fucking man. If I want a drink, I'll get a drink." I knew I was being an asshole, but I was still wound up over Blair, and I would be for days.

  "West, you know I'm hard on you for a reason."

  "Yeah, yeah," I said, shaking his hand off. "I know, but do you have to keep reminding me? It's hard enough."

  "West!"

  Looking up as we stopped at the side of the stage, I caught sight of Joe at the opposite side, fooling around with the soundboard. Joe was my oldest buddy and the first idiot to sign up as bass player in Affliction. We'd grown up together in backwater Australia and got the fuck outta the country the moment we both turned eighteen. His family were potato farmers and mine ran the local farm machinery dealership, so rock star wasn't on the menu. So, we changed it.

  He was the first one to stand up for me when things started to tank. My face had been all over the tabloids, the vultures were circling and he'd been there. The other guys, Rob and Mick, had been quick to follow, but deep down I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't deserve their loyalty.

  They'd forgiven me a hundred percent the moment I went to rehab. I was only there for two weeks, but they still forgave me, which was more than I deserved. I'd almost fucked up their lives as well. Joe had always maintained that we were family and family stuck together and all that crap. I was still waiting for the part where he sucker punched me in the face.

  Ditching Furlough, I walked across the stage and fist-bumped my best buddy.

  "I hear you went AWOL last night," he said with a concerned frown.

  "I just had to get out." Or suffocate in that hotel room under the weight of my emptiness. God, I was a douche.

  "Everything okay?"

  The thing about Joe is that he's like me. Tattooed, built like a fucking brick wall, hard as nails, in need of a good haircut, but underneath it all he’s a really good guy. Sometimes I think my parents loved him more than they did me.

  "Mate?"

  I grunted, not really knowing if I should come clean about what exactly had happened last night. Keeping secrets from the guys was one of the things that got me into the shit in the first place. Once, we’d laugh about the women we’d fucked and compare notes in detail like it was a fucking game. Yeah, I wasn’t proud of that, but when you’re a twenty-year-old guy, all you can think about is your dick. This time I’d grown up a little and what happened between Blair and me…that seemed like something to keep to myself. Something sacred.

  "If something's eatin' you up, you can tell me," Joe said, clapping me on the shoulder.

  "I know." I watched him as he set up the soundboard, while the actual sound tech hovered in the wings, looking seriously pissed off. "Hey, can you help me with something tomorrow?" I asked. "I know we're on break, but I could really use a hand."

  "We finally get a whole eight days off and you want me to pussyfoot around with your sorry ass?" Joe laughed, shoving me with his shoulder.

  "I need a voice of reason. And Furlough needs to be thrown off the scent."

  "Ahh, so it's like that, huh?"

  "Yeah."

  "You're not trying to trick me into anything, are you?"

  "No, it's not like that. This one's different."

  Joe suddenly stood up straight, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "You didn't."

  "Didn’t what?"

  "How was she?" He winked.

  "Fuck, Joe," I hissed, running a hand through my hair.

  "You ditched our fearless manager and went out and scored. How is that not like old times? Seriously, I like a bit of pussy as much as the next man, but step one was screwing groupies. Be careful there, mate."

  "She didn't know who I was." Like that was an excuse.

  "So, for once in your life, you had to work for it?"

  I hadn't had to work that hard, not really, but once I was inside her it had been a battle of wills. One that I was keen to repeat, but also one that I wanted outside of the bedroom as well. Just thinking about her made me hard. It was like the universe had made her just for me.

  "It was just different," I said. "I only know who she was because she left her driver's license behind. She didn't want to tell me who she was. She never even told me her name."

  "And you don't want to come off like a crazy stalker?"

  "Fucking hell," I sighed, ignoring his last comment. "She was…"

  "Shit, she must have been a good fuck if she's got you lost for words."

  "She wasn't just a fuck. There's something else there and if I don't do something about it, then I'll regret it for fucking ever." I couldn't leave Melbourne and not find Blair. I couldn't let that kind of connection go, whether she wanted to or not. A connection was the thing I was craving like I needed air to breathe.

  Joe stepped away from the soundboard and nodded at the tech. "I'll help you, but I'm not promising anything. Band before pussy. Nothing's changed there."

  "I know." And I hoped it wouldn't be an issue. Blair was more than pussy.

  "And if she has a hot friend, I'm having a crack."

  4

  Blair

  Rolling over, I ached in all the right places. A delicious, just fucked throb was set deep in my muscles and every time I moved, I remembered where he'd been. Dark and Dangerous, who I'd left naked in his hotel room only hours ago, really knew how to leave a mark.

  My eyes cracked open and I took in the roof of my bedroom, lit a murky red from the cheap-ass curtains I picked up at some Sydney Road junk shop. My whole life was
furnished with discount store purchases. It was a far cry from the lavish hotel room I found myself in last night. The small flat I rented in Brunswick was just a place to rest my head. The whole thing was a nightmare from the nineteen seventies and the landlord had apparently never saw fit to renovate the place or even think about replacing the mustard yellow carpet. I'd chuck a match on the place in a second. There was a reason rent was so cheap and why I kept signing a lease every twelve months. A hundred and twenty bucks a week, inner suburbs of Melbourne, single bedroom. I could live with the shitty carpet.

  Dragging my ass out of bed, I stripped out of the faded singlet I slept in and turned on the shower as hot as it would go. Standing under the spray, I couldn't help thinking about the amazing sex I'd had. Really, I couldn't help it—I could still feel where he'd been and from the ache that had settled into my muscles, I would for days. The warm water did nothing for my memories and I leaned my head against the salmon-colored wall tiles, trying to get into the right headspace to go to work. Because today was reality and yesterday was gone.

  Who the fuck was Blair Hayden? If you have any idea, let me know. That was the crux, wasn't it? That's why I felt so lost and hopeless all the time. Right? It was why I went out and fucked random guys, pretending to be someone I'm not…wasn't it?

  I didn't have any interesting hobbies or aspirations. I worked a dull job and went home. There was nothing interesting about me at all and maybe that was my problem to deal with, but how do you get out of that kind of funk? I couldn't think of one thing I wanted to do or become.

  I've tried to put myself out there and meet people, but I always end up disappointed. With them or me? Mostly myself. Start talking to some guy and the inevitable questions follow. What do you do? What are you interested in? That's when the conversation drops off into the abyss. When they hear I'm not a tattooist and just work the desk, interest drops off one hundred percent. She's just the receptionist. Skilled at answering the phone and getting everyone's lunch. When I'm not as dangerous or wild as I look, no guy wants to touch that. When I have nothing interesting to say, vacate the premises.

  I'm a bitch because I can't be bothered trying anymore. Not when my efforts are rewarded with being treated like trash. Someone to be used, fucked and tossed out the morning after.

  My entire attitude might be seen as a cop-out, but I was so fucking tired of clawing my way out of the shit pile. People get to a point where they can't take anymore. Hope, faith and all that...I've learnt the hard way just to let it go. Some people don't get their happy ending, no matter how deserving they are or aren’t. Real life's a bitch and so am I.

  A little fantasy went a long way to taking the edge off. Last night was just that. And now I had to go to work, because that's what normal real life people did. They just got up and kept going or they just laid down and died. I was in the keep on truckin' column.

  When I got to the shop an hour later, one of the tattooists, Tommy, was sitting on a milk crate out in the back lane, a cloud of smoke hanging in the air around him. He sucked on cigarettes like something phallic and reeked like them, too. It was a miracle he had any customers and all of them seemed like bogun trash. He was the go to guy for black work and that meant tribal. My thoughts instantly went to Dark and Dangerous and his tattoos. He was definitely not a white trash westie from the ghetto, so I guess there was always the exception to the rule.

  "'Sup, you hot bitch," Tommy drawled as I pushed the back door open. He was wearing his trademark baseball cap low over his eyes like a fucking wannabe gangster from the hood. "Look at you in your short shorts and little singlet."

  "You know how fucking disgusting you look sucking that cancer stick like a cock?" I retorted, letting the back door slam closed behind me.

  Dumping my jacket underneath the front counter, I flicked the lights on, glad that I was alone in here for the moment. The book was full today and after last night, I wasn't looking forward to dealing with it.

  I had three stations to set up before we opened at twelve, so I got cracking, turning on the stereo. Someone had left an Affliction CD in it, so I pressed play. It was nasty as fuck rock 'n' roll, just the way I liked it. I wouldn't go as far as to say they were my favorite band, but I liked their stuff. They sung about love and sex and there was something in the lyrics and the music that just rang true. It was… well, raw. In your face. Kind of reminded me of Dark and Dangerous and how we'd fucked last night.

  Groaning, I cursed to myself as my pussy throbbed...again. I wouldn't be seeing the guy ever, so I had to let it drop and besides, I had a ticket to the Affliction show tonight. Fucking thing cost eighty bucks, but I'd pay it to hear this music live. I'd get hot and sweaty in the mosh pit and be done with it. Work out some of this pent-up stress.

  The back door opened and I heard Tommy talking to the owner, Tim, and today was just going right down the fucking toilet already. I'd never met a bigger asshole than that guy and lucky me got to work for the fucker. How he even had repeat business was one of the great mysteries of the universe.

  The shop was actually nice when Tim wasn't around. The guys were more cheerful, the customers left happier and the buzz of tattoo guns didn't grate as much. I didn't even mind answering the same inane questions over and over. Does it hurt? How much does this stupid kanji cost? Do you do piercing? But, when the man himself walked in, I swore the temperature dropped ten degrees as his black hole of a soul sucked everything that was good right into his aura of bullshit.

  I caught sight of Tim’s disgusting ass as he walked onto the shop floor. His clothing style was rockabilly and not in a good way. His hair was slicked back, his checked shirt done up to the collar, and his tattoos peeked out on his neck and hands. On anyone else it might look sharp, but it just made him look slimy.

  Tim sidled up to me and I tried not to gag as I set up Tommy's station. It wasn't any secret that he'd try to get me into bed with him any chance he got. He knew I was stuck here because he was the one that paid me my shit wage. After bills and rent there wasn't much left to do shit with other than buy cheap cask wine at the Bottle-o. I couldn't quit and with my resume, the only job I could get was in a call center, and I'd rather beat my head against a brick wall then work in one of those places. So I put up with his foul attempts at sticking his pin dick in me and went about my work. I'd never let the slimy fucker touch me, not in a million years. The day he tried was the day I ripped his dick off and fed it to him.

  "Mornin', Blair," he said, the smell of cigarette smoke burning right up my nose.

  "Hi," I muttered, not looking up.

  "Goin' to the concert tonight?"

  "Yep." If I didn't talk to him, he would go away eventually, usually after calling me some filthy name.

  He let out a sharp sigh and began to walk away. "Fuck you're a bitch," he said. "The only reason I employ you is because you're fucking hot. Good for business and morale."

  "And you wonder why I won't let your disgusting dick near me," I muttered under my breath as he disappeared into the back room where he had a private workspace. Luckily for me, he didn't like my “hot ass” touching his equipment, so he set up his own shit. I didn't want to think about getting caught in there with him.

  As the day rolled on, everyone got antsier, customers came and went, the phone kept ringing and by the time I locked the front door and flipped the sign, my muscles throbbed. My thighs ached something fierce with that day-after-being-fucked-hard feeling. Tommy and the boys had bolted the moment they'd finished, leaving me to clean up their mess as usual. The last clients had been an arm and a lower back tramp-stamp, so their stations were quick to dismantle.

  The door to Tim's studio opened and I jumped. I thought he'd already gone, but he walked out with a look on his face that said otherwise. Today, he'd been waiting and his sudden need to up his game made me sick to the stomach, but I guess it was only a matter of time.

  "You never talk about a boyfriend," he said, not hiding the fact that he was staring at my tits swaying b
ack and forth as I wiped down the bench.

  "Why would I talk to you about anything personal?" I said, dumping the last of the paper towel in the bin.

  "Because that's what workmates do. They talk about stuff."

  "They talk about work." I rolled my eyes, retrieving my jacket. "And if you hadn't noticed, there ain't much to talk about."

  "You know how hot your smart mouth is, Blair? You're such a fucking tease, it makes my balls blue."

  I didn't like where this was going and my blood started to run cold. He'd never forced himself on me, but he'd never said it outright either…how he wanted to fuck me. I knew it and so did the boys, but he'd never acted on it, not like this. I had to get out of here before this whole situation went south.

  "Would it be a bad thing?" he asked, stepping toward me.

  That was the moment I bolted for the back door. As I pushed it open, I said, "Yeah, it would."

  I sat as close to the window of the tram as I could as it rumbled down Flemington Road, slowly filling with people the closer it got to the city. I was dying for a hard drink and some music to calm me down. The last day had been a headfuck and for me that was a year’s worth of excitement right there. Pick up a hot guy, fuck his brains out, then my boss tries to crack onto me like a perverted sexual predator. That was my calendar done for the year.

  When the tram finally hit Bourke Street, I forced my way off and onto the street. One thing I liked about living in the city was the anonymity. Melbourne was big enough that you could blend into the background without knowing every sick sad fucker out there. I didn't want to be known, I just wanted to blend, and that was saying something knowing how I looked.

  By the time I got into Billboard, the support band was just finishing. I ordered two drinks at the bar and downed one on the spot, taking the other with me. Weaving through the mass of people, I forced my way toward the front, finding a clear spot about five back from the stage.