Brothers Ink Tattoo (Complete Box Set #1-4)

by Nicole James

  “Well, piece of advice, this is what happens when you keep a woman waiting; they change their fucking mind.”

  “Lou—”

  “I’ll stall her as long as I can, but you better be ready when we get there.”

  Rory disconnected and dashed to the back. He quickly put on a clean shirt and then made the bed, shoving everything else in the small closet. He moved past the rows of bunks. They were all unused except for the one Tommy occupied, still asleep, and the other one he had all his crap on. That was an easy fix; he yanked the curtains shut. Then he cleaned the table and counters of beer bottles, food wrappers, and ashtrays. He shoved them into the cabinet. Then sprayed some air freshener, waving his hand and coughing at the awful smell.

  Dipping his head to glance outside, he saw Lou, a woman who must be Brandy Brock, and her cameraman and sound guy following in her wake as she headed across the lot toward his bus.

  He took in a deep breath and sat on the couch. Then his gaze fell on a pair of lacy panties stuck in the fold of the opposite couch. Shit! He dove across the space, snatched them up and shoved them under a throw pillow behind him.

  The bus door opened and he stood, smiling.

  Lou waved the female host ahead of him. “After you, Ms. Brock.”

  She walked up the steps and into the bus. “Well, hello, Rory.”

  “Ms. Brock.” He extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for coming out today.”

  “My pleasure, Rory.” She indicated the couch. “How about we do the interview right here.”

  “Sure. That’s great.”

  They both sat and Lou stood in the kitchen, watching. The sound guy and cameraman got set up and indicated they were ready. “And go.”

  “Hi, this is Brandy Brock coming to you from Miami. We’re catching up with the hottest new artist climbing the charts today, Rory O’Rourke.”

  “Hi, Brandy.”

  “So tell me, what’s it like to have this sudden success? Your song took off practically overnight from a video a fan posted.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I owe that break to Charlotte Justice. She heard my song and pulled me out on stage to perform it for her fans. It was an amazing gesture, giving me time out of her show like she did. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  Brandy smiled big. “I can tell you’re a big Charlotte Justice fan.”

  “Huge. She’s talented and one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”

  “Her tour is sold out, so a lot of people agree with you.” She leaned closer. “I have a surprise for you, Rory.” She looked at the camera. “He doesn’t even know this yet.” She looked back at him. “I was just told by your manager before we sat down that I can share some big news with you. Taking into account digital downloads and streaming, your single, A Song for Rayne, has just achieved platinum status! Congratulations, Rory!”

  “Holy…” He covered his mouth before the swear word escaped him, and Brandy laughed. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No, sir. It’s true.”

  “Oh, my gosh. That’s freaking awesome!” He turned to look at Lou, who nodded confirmation.

  “So, tell me about A Song for Rayne. Is it based on someone you know?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her brows rose. “And who is Rayne?”

  Rory rubbed his hands up and down his jeans. “Just someone who told me about the pain in her life. Her story touched me, deeply.”

  “It’s a beautiful song about loss. Is it a true story?”

  “Yes, well, based on one.”

  “How did she take it—having her story out there in a song that’s on practically every radio station’s playlist?”

  Rory shifted in his seat, crossed his legs, put his boot on his knee and cleared his throat. His boot began bouncing a mile a minute. “Well, I, ah, haven’t talked to her since the song went big.”

  “I see.”

  Lou motioned with a wave of his hand, and she changed the topic.

  “So the tour takes you up the East Coast, the West Coast, and then there’s a break before the European leg begins. Will you be headlining that part as well?”

  Rory glanced at Lou who just lifted his chin, in a non-committal way. “Well, that’s not set in stone yet. We’ll have to see how the audiences like me.”

  She smiled at the camera. “Well with A Song for Rayne going certified platinum, I’m betting Europe is ready for Rory O’Rourke. Stay with us, we’ll be right back with my interview of Charlotte Justice.”

  The camera cut off, and she lowered the microphone.

  “It was nice meeting you, Rory. Congratulations!” She shook his hand and stood.

  Lou nodded to his assistant, who spoke into a radio. “We’re headed up to Charlotte, now.”

  Rory stood. “Thank you so much for coming out, Ms. Brock.”

  “My pleasure, Rory.”

  Lou led her off the bus, pausing to pat Rory’s shoulder as he moved past. “Good job, kid.”

  When they were gone, Rory collapsed onto the couch and stared into space. He ran both hands through his hair and whispered, “Holy fuck.”

  His song had gone platinum!

  He jumped to his feet and moved down the corridor to the bunks, yanked aside the curtain, and shook Tommy. “Get up, Tommy! Get up.”

  Tommy surged up, hit his head and muttered a string of curses. “What the fuck, man! Is the goddamn bus on fire?”

  “No, my song just went platinum!”

  Tommy swung his legs to the side and dropped down to stand. “Are you shittin’ me?”

  “No! Just now! Lou let Brandy Brock break the news to me live in an interview. Can you believe it?”

  “Wait. Brandy Brock was here?”

  “Yes. Just now.”

  “Here? On this bus?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t wake me the fuck up? What kind of friend are you? That chick is hot as sin, man.”

  “Sorry. It all happened so fast.”

  Tommy brushed past him.

  “Where are you going?”

  Tommy opened the refrigerator and peered inside. “We need champagne. You have a hit song. We need to celebrate. Ain’t nothin’ in here but a bottle of Patron Silver.”

  “That’ll do.” Rory grinned.

  Tommy got two glasses and poured them each a shot. He passed one to Rory and held his up. “Here’s to my good buddy, Rory, who finally hit the big time and who will hopefully keep me employed for many years to come.”

  Rory chuckled. “Maybe.”

  Tommy continued. “To fame and everything that comes with it, good buddy—fast cars and faster women.”

  Rory clinked his glass to Tommy’s and downed his drink.

  Three quarters of a bottle later, Rory sat on the couch, took a long toke off a joint and passed it to Tommy who sat at the table.

  Rory leaned back and exhaled slowly toward the ceiling, his thoughts on the question Brandy had asked him—about what Rayne thought of having her life story on every radio station across the nation. He couldn’t get it out of his head. It was stuck there in a way that told him it would gnaw at him all night.

  He couldn’t help but wonder how she was reacting to the song, and doubts began to plague him. Was he wrong to record the song? Was he wrong to perform it on stage that first time? Hell, was he wrong for even writing it to begin with?

  He believed in that song and the power of those words, but it was her pain he was laying out there, not his. She was the one made vulnerable, not him. What really bothered him was he hadn’t been able to play it for her before it was out in the world, that he hadn’t even been able to tell her about it.

  Leaning forward, his forearms on his knees, he ran a hand down his face in disgust with himself. He was a first class asshole for doing this to her. Hell, he could have at least changed the names. What was he thinking? She must hate him now.

  He pushed to his feet and staggered a step, but righted himself as he swaye
d, suddenly lightheaded. He took a step and reached for the near-empty bottle, pouring himself another shot.

  “Sit down, man. You’re swaying, and it’s making me seasick,” Tommy murmured, drawing on the joint.

  Rory collapsed in the booth across the table from him. “I fucked up, man.”

  Tommy quirked a brow and eyed him through the smoke trailing up from the joint. He exhaled slowly. “How’s that?”

  “With Rayne. I fucked up, man.”

  “The chick you were in love with.” He nodded. “Right. Whatever happened with that? You find her?”

  “Nope. Tried.” Rory slumped against the wall, one leg bent and resting against the back of the booth, the other extended. His eyes slid closed. He was tired; tired and drunk.

  “Party pooper.” Tommy kicked his side of the booth. “Wake up, fucker. We need to get some more booze… and women. We need some women. You’re a big rock star now. Start acting like one.”

  “Fuck off,” Rory muttered without opening his eyes.

  “I’m goin’ to find some women.” Tommy stood and stumbled off the bus. Rory waved him off weakly.

  “Go. Go get women. It’s too fucking hot out there.”

  ***

  That night after the show, the bus was filled with musicians, groupies, and pot smoke. The place was cluttered with empty bottles of booze and overrun ashtrays.

  Rory was in the booth, necking with some blue-eyed blonde with a fake tan. He didn’t feel anything for her, but he was a big deal now, and shouldn’t he be enjoying this? Shouldn’t he want the women, the partying? Why wasn’t it making him happy? Didn’t he have everything he’d always wanted?

  But it was lavender hair he wanted to thread around his hands. It was pale skin he wanted to run his mouth along. It was brown eyes he wanted staring at him as he sank into her body.

  He closed his eyes, remembering her sweet scent, but when he drew in a breath all he smelled was this blonde’s exotic, spicy perfume. He pulled his face away and reached for a bottle of booze. He turned it up, and she put her hand over his crotch. It did nothing for him. He just wanted her off him, so he pushed her away and got up out of the booth.

  She fell back. “Hey!”

  He grabbed her hand, pulling her up and pushed her into the drummer’s arms. “Here, man. Take her.”

  The drummer smiled and pulled her onto his lap. “Hey, pretty girl.”

  The blonde gave Rory a pouting look, but he ignored her and stumbled back to his bedroom. Tommy was on the bed, mauling some topless redhead.

  “Tommy, get out,” Rory snapped.

  The girl rolled and looked at him, smiling, thinking she was going to have a turn with him, too.

  Rory corrected her. “And take your lady with you.”

  She huffed and scooted off the bed, moving toward the door.

  Rory tossed her shirt to her.

  She made a show of shimmying into it, shaking her breasts in his face.

  He looked, his face deadpan.

  Tommy stood, and Rory glared over her shoulder at him. “Don’t ever use my bed again.”

  “You could have given me ten more minutes, bro.”

  When they were gone, Rory staggered to his bed and passed out.

  Chapter Seventeen

  February—

  As the tour rolled up the West Coast, making stops in San Diego, LA, San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle, Rory began drinking heavily after every show, and sometimes even before the shows. He did it to push away the women who were seemingly always around him now. Somehow in his twisted thinking, he figured if he got drunk, he wouldn’t have to turn them down; he could just go pass out.

  None of them appealed to him. All he could think about was Rayne. She was becoming an obsession with him. In one of his drunken stupors he’d thought of hiring a private detective to find her but had bungled and slurred his way through the phone call so badly that the guy had hung up on him.

  When he’d tried to call back, the guy wouldn’t pick up.

  Rory had ended up stumbling back to his room and passing out once again.

  When he was in Portland, Max and Liam came out to see him. He’d been at a press junket earlier in the day, but had left back stage passes for them at the box office.

  He’d started drinking during the sound check and halfway into his set, he was swaying and slurring his words. He’d even gotten some boos from the audience and had flipped them off before leaving the stage.

  Liam and Max stood there as he walked off.

  He could tell by the looks on their faces, they were disgusted with how he was behaving, but he was drunk and didn’t want them to bring down his mood.

  “It’s party time, bros. Come on back to the bus.”

  They’d followed him on, and when they saw the crowd of hangers-on all partying, they’d tried to hustle him to his bedroom.

  They’d really laid into him then, telling him he was acting a fool and he needed to pull his shit together before Charlotte kicked him off the tour.

  Even drunk, he knew they were right, but he was ashamed, and he didn’t want to listen. So, he turned the tables and told them to get the fuck of his bus. He didn’t need them. He’d earned this. He’d worked hard for this. He had everything he’d ever wanted, and they were just fucking jealous. Even as he’d yelled the words at them, he knew they were a lie.

  His brothers had indeed ‘gotten off his fucking bus,’ and he hadn’t heard from them since. Jameson had tried to call him, but he refused to pick up the call or respond to the texts he’d sent.

  Fuck his brothers, and fuck Jameson, too. They had no idea the pressure he was under. They had no fucking clue.

  ***

  There was a pounding on Rory’s bedroom door.

  “Go the fuck away,” he yelled, burying his head under his pillow.

  “Open the fucking door, asshole.”

  Rory’s eyes popped open. That was Lou’s voice, and he was pissed. What the hell was he doing on his tour bus at… What the hell time was it? He focused in on the bedside clock. Noon. He frowned trying to recall what city he was in. Oh, right. Seattle. They’d rolled into this last stop on this leg of the tour late last night.

  Stumbling out of bed and across the room, Rory opened the door. “Sorry, man, I—”

  He froze when he saw Charlotte standing there, too, her arms folded, leaning against the wall of the narrow passage.

  “Put a shirt on and get the fuck out here. You’ve got two minutes,” Lou ordered, then shut the door.

  Rory went into his private bathroom and splashed water on his face. He grabbed a towel and dried off, his gaze meeting his reflection in the mirror.

  His skin was sallow, he had bags under his bloodshot eyes, and he looked like hell. What the fuck was he doing? And how much trouble was he in? There was a lump in the pit of his stomach the size of a basketball.

  His hands trembled. He didn’t know if it was because he needed a drink or because he was scared shitless. They were going to drop him from the tour and replace him with someone else for the European leg.

  He tossed the towel down in the sink and shrugged quickly into a shirt. Might as well get this the fuck over with; they were waiting. Hiding in the bathroom wasn’t going to help his case. He needed to face them like a man and own up to how badly he was fucking up.

  He strode out and took a seat across the table from Charlotte. Lou was leaning against the kitchen counter.

  She didn’t hold back. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rory? Seriously, is there some problem you’re dealing with? Because the man out on that stage in Portland last night was not the man I’ve known for years.”

  He ran a hand down his beard and shrugged. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “I’ll tell you what came over you,” Lou snapped. “Booze.”

  Charlotte looked from Lou to him. “Is it just booze or are you using?”

  Rory frowned. “Drugs? No, I swear. I’m not doing drugs. Well, except some pot now
and then.”

  Charlotte looked over at Lou. “Show him.”

  Rory’s eyes flicked between them. “Show me what?”

  Lou dug his phone out and pulled something up, then held it out to Rory.

  It was another YouTube video. But this one was not going to do him any favors. He was stumbling drunk and bungling through his songs on stage until the crowd began to boo. If that wasn’t bad enough, when he walked off stage, he flipped the crowd off.

  “Oh my God.” Rory put his hand to his forehead, rubbing it and pinching the bridge between his eyes. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m sorry.”

  “You want to tell me what the fuck is going on with you?” Charlotte asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess I just got caught up in the sudden fame. I’m not handling it very well.”

  “Ya think?” Lou grunted.

  “I know it happened quick, but I can’t have this on my tour,” Charlotte said. “You either clean your shit up, or you’re gone. It’s nothing personal, Rory. This is business. I gave you a shot. I’m thrilled to death with your success. I mean that. I put you on my tour. But I will not have this happen again, understand?”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  “You will be sober for tonight’s show, then you’re on a plane home for the break. Use the time to think about what you really want. You come back, you better be ready for what it’s going to take to move to the next level in this business. I have no time for this bullshit.” She stood up. “The only reason I’m giving you a second chance is because I know this hit you hard and fast. I pushed you out there on stage to sing that song, and maybe you weren’t ready for the next step in your career. That’s something only you can decide.”

  With that, she turned and walked out.

  Lou’s eyes followed her, his arms folded over his chest, and then he looked back at Rory, straightened, and moved to the table. He sat down and let out a long breath. “I like you, kid. I do. But everything she said is right and goes double for me. I do not waste my time with someone who is not worth my time.” He lifted his index finger. “You get one screw up. One. And now you’ve made it. I won’t have you fucking up her tour. Like she said, take the break and pull your shit together. Understand?”