by Jenna Jacob
ROCK ME DEEPER
Licks of Leather, Book 5
Jenna Jacob
Published by Jenna Jacob
Copyright 2020, Dream Words, LLC
Edited by: Blue Otter Editing, LLC
ePub ISBN: 978-1-952111-08-2
Print ISBN: 978-1-952111-09-9
If you have purchased a copy of this eBook, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book. This purchase allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the rights to resell, distribute, print, or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer-to-peer program. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else. Delete it from your computer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
About Rock Me Deeper
I captivate the fans when I pluck the bass,
but no one captivates my heart…
except her.
Syd Wilson is living a fantasy. As bass player for famed rock group Licks of Leather, his one-liners and crooked grin add levity to interminable tours and lure groupies to his bed. But it’s a lie. When he helps their keyboard player’s woman escape scandal, Syd inadvertently rescues a hostage. But coming face-to-face with his first love, the girl who shattered his heart years ago, is a total shock. Yet after one glance, he’s not sure he can stop himself from falling for her a second time.
Caris Burton risks losing her heart to Syd again when the rock god she spent years trying to forget frees her from a twisted killer. Knowing their dark past will destroy his career, she walks away, determined to protect the only man she’s ever loved. But her captor has other plans, and when Syd swoops in, he risks everything, exposing their past to the world to save her.
As the gossip rages, Syd hides her away at a lavish Texas lodge. It’s not long before their passion flares and their love rekindles. But with a killer closing in, can they stay alive long enough to share a happily ever after?
Dedication
To all who have fallen in love with these bad boy rockers.
You are my ROCK STARS!!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Thank You
About the Author
Also by Jenna Jacob
Chapter One
Syd
“This better work or we’ll all end up in jail and have to cancel our tour again,” drummer Ross Walker murmured beside me.
I sent him a bitch please glare before choosing the correct wire to disable the phone line and render the security system—meant to protect the million-dollar Beverly Hills mansion from thieves like us—useless.
We, the five members of legendary rock group Licks of Leather, were on a mission. A highly illegal mission, but a vital one just the same.
“It’ll work,” I assured, sliding the blade cutter over the main wire. “Ready?”
“As we’ll ever be,” Darren answered on a heavy exhale.
“Okay. One. Two—”
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” lead singer Burk Jennings blurted anxiously.
“Yes,” I hissed, tolerance snapping. “I have more skills than banging babes and plucking the bass like a boss. Now, shut up and let me focus so we don’t get hauled off to jail.”
“I told you this wasn’t going to work,” Ross mumbled, tugging at the rubber gloves squeezing his thick fingers. The same white surgical gloves we’d all donned moments ago. “Should I put Reed Landes on speed dial now or when the cops show up?”
“We’re not going to need a lawyer. Well, we might if you clowns don’t shut up and let me do this,” I growled.
“Look, just disable the system and get me inside,” keyboard player Ozzy Page bit out impatiently. “I’ll break into the safe alone and you guys can wait in the car. It’s my woman. My problem.”
“Mia might be your woman, but she’s part of our family. Getting the photos Zattman took of her is as important to us as it is you,” Burk grimly announced. “We’re in this together.”
“Damn straight,” I seconded.
Carl Zattman was a sleazebag wannabe promoter. When Ozzie and Mia broke up years ago, the conman lured her in with promises of superstardom. But instead of promoting her, the sick fuck drugged her, locked her in a closet, and raped her. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the demented prick photographed her abuse in an attempt to keep Mia under his thumb. Once the sack of shit realized she wouldn’t play his manipulative games, Zattman cut her loose. Of course, he’d kept the photos and warned Mia that if she reported him to the police, he’d release them to the press and ruining her chances of becoming a rock queen.
After years of hard work and determination, Mia had achieved her dream of fame and fortune. But the constant worry of Zattman deciding to rip her star from the sky whenever he wanted was taking its toll on her. Once we secured the photos, Mia planned to expose Zattman and send him to the bowels of hell, where he belonged.
“Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?” Burk arched a brow.
“Because I have.”
“Really? How many burglaries have you committed?”
Fuck! This wasn’t the time or place to start vomiting up confessions. “Enough to do the job right.”
“Give me a number,” he continued.
“I’ve lost count.” Sadly, that was the truth.
“Ballpark. Ten? Twenty? A hundred?” Burk narrowed his eyes.
I sighed heavily. “Do you want to play twenty questions and risk Zattman coming home or get the photos?”
“Leave him alone,” Ozzy growled.
I flashed the keyboard player a tight smile and wiped the sweat from my brow.
Yeah, I was nervous. No, I was scared shitless. Technology had made leaps and bounds since my last burglary. I had no clue if this particular security system had a fail-safe alarm. If it did, we were totally screwed.
Only one way to find out.
Sucking in a shallow breath, I snipped the wire.
When no alarms began blaring or floodlights pierced the darkness, I inwardly cheered and jogged to the back door. The others gathered around me as I peered through one of the small windowpanes. Muted light from an adjacent room spilled over the stainless-steel appliances of the deserted kitchen.
Fairly confident the house was empty—I’d have confirmation one way or the other in a second or two—I pulled a small pickax and cloth from my pocket. Wrapping the fabric around the metal head, I smashed out the pane of glass above the lock. Though muffled, the cl
atter was far louder than I’d expected. In the distance, a dog began barking, which only heightened my angst. It was spiking to the same level I could feel rolling off my bandmates.
Though Mia hadn’t seen a housekeeper during her captivity, it didn’t mean that Zattman hadn’t hired one in the interim. I held my breath for long seconds, listening for any sign of life inside the house. When none came, I shoved my tools away, then reached in through the empty frame and flipped the deadbolt.
After tugging my ski mask in place, I motioned for the others to do the same.
In the band’s thirteen-year career, we’d sold over a hundred and eighty million albums. We couldn’t step foot in public without being recognized and usually mobbed. Anonymity had been nothing but a distant memory of our youth for a long, long time. Though we were putting our careers, our livelihoods on the line, we’d all agreed that nothing was going to stop us from helping Mia take Zattman down…except maybe the LAPD.
It was ironic and a bit humbling, in a weird way, that I was committing my B and E for altruistic reasons. When I was young the jewelry, electronics, and food I stole were simply for survival. Back then if someone told me when I grew up I’d make more money than I could spend in three lifetimes playing a fucking bass guitar, I would have pissed myself laughing and punched them in the mouth. Not because I hadn’t wanted to believe them but because I’d been a badassed motherfucker with a giant chip on my shoulder.
Disturbing memories of my juvenal delinquent days crowded my brain. Specifically, the memory of coming face-to-face with a pissed-off homeowner while pilfering his wife’s jewelry box. It was the summer I’d turned sixteen. I’d already had two strikes against me for fencing stolen property. I knew if the cops showed the old man my juvie hall mugshot, he’d instantly ID me. The terror of being tried as an adult—as the last judge promised—and sent to the state prison to be gang-raped and beaten scared me so badly I’d bolted out the door. Like a coward, I’d run. I’d left Arkansas that night and didn’t stop running until I’d reached Detroit.
Before the crushing memories of that fateful night wormed their way into my brain, I shoved them aside and slammed the lid closed. I couldn’t afford to let guilt and shame drag me into the dark chasm I still struggled to ignore.
Sucking in a deep breath, I focused on the surreal fact that we were actually implementing the plan we’d cooked up less than forty-eight hours ago.
Yesterday morning Ozzy called a virtual meeting. I sat on my deck, sipping coffee as a visibly anxious Mia spilled the details of her encounter with Carl Zattman. By the time she was through, I’d wanted to vomit. All of us were brimming with rage and disgust and wanting to seek vengeance. With that kind of motivation, it didn’t take long for us to concoct a perfect plan. Aside from the chance of confronting someone in Zattman’s house, I was ninety-nine-point-nine-percent certain we’d covered all our bases.
I sure as fuck hope we have.
After the meeting, we’d packed our bags, booked hotel rooms, and arranged private jets to fly us to LA. Before Mia and Ozzy left Phoenix, she’d placed a call to her former hairdresser, Iris, who still lived in LA, and asked the woman for a huge favor.
Ten hours later, Iris was waiting for us inside the bar at the Beverly Wilshire to finalize our plan. She was young, beautiful, and vivacious. But like Mia, Iris was a rape survivor. And she was all but salivating to help set up Zattman.
While we were here committing our little B and E, Iris—posing as a singer anxious to break into the business—was meeting with Zattman for a late dinner at a restaurant a few miles away. We’d sent her in fully prepared to prove her vocal talents with a couple of songs that Ross’s fiancée, Harmony—who had a killer voice but was too shy to share it with the world—had recorded before the couple left Chicago. Harmony’s MP3s were a tempting combination of soulful innocence. I had no doubt the prick was promising Iris heaven and earth if she’d sign a contract with him. Of course, the lying sack of shit would only deliver brutality via physical and mental annihilation.
Per the plan, Iris was supposed to text Mia when her meeting with Zattman was over—providing he hadn’t drugged her and tossed her in the trunk of his Mercedes—then Mia would text Ozzy. So far, the keyboard player’s phone had remained silent. Still, a part of me wished Zattman would return unannounced so we could beat the living fuck out of him. It had been a long time since the guys and I had enjoyed an old-fashioned, bloody brawl.
“What are you waiting for?” Ozzy prodded, dragging me from my ruthless fantasy.
“Making sure the place is empty.”
“It is,” Oz assured.
“Busting out that window all but raised the dead,” Ross mumbled. “Nobody’s inside.”
Turning the knob, I opened the door. Glass crunched beneath our boots as we crept through the kitchen toward the front of the house. Thanks to Mia’s memory, we quickly located Zattman’s ostentatious office and the wall safe hidden behind a huge portrait of the arrogant predator.
Ozzy glanced at the keypad on the face of the safe before turning a worried scowl my way. “You said you can crack open any safe. What about this one?”
“Piece of cake,” I assured.
I pulled the heavy neodymium magnet, tucked inside a sock, from my pocket and held it against the metal by the keypad. A couple seconds later, I yanked the handle down and pulled the door open.
“Holy shit. You did it,” Burk said with awe. “What’s in the sock?”
“A magnet. It works faster than a hooker spreading her thighs.” I smirked.
Ozzy moved in closer. Like me, he ignored the copious piles of cash lining the safe and homed in on the tall stack of manilla envelopes inside.
Jesus, if each one of them contains photos of his victims…
I wasn’t naïve or weak of heart. As a kid, I’d lived on the streets. Slept in alleys. Seen and sometimes participated in violent acts. But as I gaped at the quantity of envelopes, the magnitude of Zattman’s depravity turned my blood to ice.
Mentally steeling myself, I lifted one from the safe. As I ripped the seal open, I turned and used my body to shield Ozzy from seeing inside. Lifting the contents, I saw several photos of a redhead—who’d probably been striking before Zattman got ahold of her—naked and tied to a bed. She was covered in bruises and dried as well as fresh blood and her eyes were swollen shut. My stomach pitched. Bile burned the back of my throat as an unholy rage flooded my veins.
“Motherfucker,” I croaked, wanting to tear Zattman apart with my bare hands.
“Is it Mia?” Ozzy asked.
“No. And you got no business opening any of those envelopes.”
“I don’t want to, man. I have to.”
“No. I’ll go through them for you.”
“Give me some,” Ross instructed. “I’ll help.”
“It’ll take hours to sort through that stack,” Burk reasoned. “We don’t have time.”
We didn’t. We’d been inside the house too long already.”
“Christ, how many women has that sick fuck abused?” Darren asked, eyeing the safe. Clearly, he wasn’t keen on seeing for himself.
“Too many,” I answered in disgust.
“Grab them all,” Ross instructed gruffly. “After we find Mia’s photos, we’ll give the rest to Reed Landes. Hopefully, he can track down Zattman’s other victims, then find a way to—”
“Send the cocksucker to hell,” Darren growled.
In unanimous agreement, Ross reached over my shoulder and extracted the envelopes in a beefy fist. Darren’s eyes grew wide, and he exhaled a curse that was interrupted by the chime of Ozzy’s cell phone.
After grimly glancing at the screen, Oz raised his head. “Iris’s meeting with Zattman just ended.”
“Time to haul ass, ladies,” I said, stating the obvious.
“Wait. Grab the cash,” Ozzy instructed.
“We don’t need his fucking money,” Darren scoffed.
“No, but we don’t want him usi
ng it to pay some sleazebag lawyer who’ll get him off scot-free, either.”
“Take it,” Ross barked. “Reed can divvy it out among Zattman’s victims.”
I pocketed the magnet and started tossing stacks of cash to the others, then closed the safe. I slid Zattman’s portrait back in place and followed the others into the foyer. As I reached the entrance to the family room, a loud thump came from the darkened hallway on my right. Freezing in my tracks, I held my breath, cocked my head, and listened intently.
“Syd, what the fuck are you doing?” Burk hissed. “Come on man, we gotta go.”
The thump sounded again, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.
“Someone’s here,” I murmured.
“All the more reason for us to get the fuck out,” Burk insisted.
“What are you fools doing?” Ozzy barked.
“Someone’s here,” I repeated.
“Then let’s haul ass before we’re spotted.”
“What if he’s got another girl tied up down there? What if he’s going to do to her what he did to Mia?” Not waiting for his reply, I flipped on the light and charged down the hall. “Hello? Is someone here? Do you need help?”
The series of furious thumps was all the answer I needed.
“We don’t have time for this shit, man,” Burk groused.
“Then we’ll have to make time.”
“Fuck,” Burk groused. “Fine. I’ll check the rooms on the left.”
“Keep banging so we can find you.” The words had no more left my lips than the pounding grew feverish, and muffled screams echoed from behind the door in front of me. “In here,” I said as I tried to turn the knob. “Fuck. He locked her in.”
