by Ella Frank
HALO
Fallen Angel Series #1
ELLA FRANK
BROOKE BLAINE
Copyright © 2019 by Brooke Blaine & Ella Frank
www.brookeblaine.com
www.ellafrank.com
Edited by Arran McNicol
Cover Design © By Hang Le
Cover Photography by Rafagcatala
Cover Model Victor A
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Synopsis
Also by Ella Frank
Also by Brooke Blaine
1. Viper
2. Halo
3. Viper
4. Halo
5. Viper
6. Halo
7. Halo
8. Viper
9. Halo
10. Viper
11. Halo
12. Viper
13. Halo
14. Viper
15. Halo
16. Viper
17. Halo
18. Viper
19. Halo
20. Viper
21. Halo
22. Viper
23. Halo
24. Viper
25. Halo
26. Viper
27. Halo
28. Viper
29. Halo
30. Viper
31. Halo
32. Viper
33. Halo
34. Viper
35. Viper
36. Halo
37. Halo
38. Viper
39. Halo
40. Viper
41. Halo
42. Viper
43. Halo
44. Viper
45. Viper
46. Halo
Thank You
Special Thanks
About Ella Frank
About Brooke Blaine
Synopsis
Massive world tours. Over a hundred million albums sold. Groupies galore.
Every day is a party for Viper and the guys of TBD, the biggest rock band in the world. But it all comes to a screeching halt when the lead singer walks out of the studio one day and never comes back.
Ear-blistering vocals. Butchered lyrics. Fame chasers.
After months of lackluster auditions, Viper, the lead guitarist and resident bad boy of the group, is ready to find solace in the bottom of a bottle. Time’s running out and the pressure’s on to find a new singer, but it isn’t until an angel walks through the door that the band’s prayers are answered.
Charismatic. Talented. Magic behind the mic. Halo is everything they’ve been looking for.
With a voice to match his stunning good looks, it isn’t long before Viper’s taking notice. But there are several reasons this is a bad idea:
1. Interpersonal relationships in the band are discouraged
2. Viper has already broken rule #1—big mistake
3. Halo is straight
Too bad Viper’s body isn’t listening to his head—at least not the one on his shoulders. But you can’t fake chemistry, not onstage and certainly not off it, and Viper and Halo? They have it in spades.
As both men try to resist the fire blazing between them, and the band is forced to reinvent themselves, it’ll be a complicated rise back to the top. But from the ashes of what was, something beautiful is born. Something better. And when the world finally sees Halo stretch his wings, they’ll discover what it’s like to fall for an angel.
Also by Ella Frank
The Exquisite Series
Exquisite
Entice
Edible
The Temptation Series
Try
Take
Trust
Tease
Tate
True
Confessions Series
Confessions: Robbie
Confessions: Julien
Confessions: Priest
Confessions: The Princess, The Prick & The Priest
Sunset Cove Series
Finley
Devil’s Kiss
Masters Among Monsters Series
Alasdair
Isadora
Thanos
Standalones
Blind Obsession
Veiled Innocence
PresLocke Series
Co-Authored with Brooke Blaine
ACED
LOCKED
WEDLOCKED
Co-Authored with Brooke Blaine
Sex Addict
Shiver
Wrapped Up in You
All I Want for Christmas…Is My Sister’s Boyfriend
Also by Brooke Blaine
South Haven Series
A Little Bit Like Love
A Little Bit Like Desire
The Unforgettable Duet
Forget Me Not
Remember Me When
L.A. Liaisons Series
Licked
Hooker
P.I.T.A.
Romantic Suspense
Flash Point
PresLocke Series
Co-Authored with Ella Frank
Aced
Locked
Wedlocked
Standalone Novels
Co-Authored with Ella Frank
Sex Addict
Shiver
Wrapped Up in You
All I Want for Christmas…Is My Sister’s Boyfriend
One
Viper
EARLY MORNINGS. THERE was nothing I hated more. Yet here I was at the ass crack of dawn at Electric Sound Studio in NoHo waiting to meet the latest wannabe Trent Knox replacement. It was the third time this week Killian had dragged our asses out of bed and told us to get over to the studio, and this shit was wearing thin.
It’d been nearly seven and a half months since our illustrious lead singer had walked out during a recording session, and about seven and a half months since I’d decided I hated his fucking guts. Trent Knox had deserted TBD—and his bandmates—at the worst possible time. We’d just come off a worldwide tour that had been a gigantic success and were heading back to the recording studio, when he decided he needed to go and “find himself.” Meanwhile, the rest of us had been left holding our dicks in our hands.
Yeah, did I mention I hated his guts?
“Viper?” Killian, TBD’s bassist and my longtime friend, cut into my not-so-pleasant thoughts and had my attention returning to the reason I was up before noon. “You ready?”
I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Ready? Considering I’d never expected to be in this position in the first fucking place, that would be a hard no. But I couldn’t say that to Killian after everything we’d been through, and if he wanted to try and find someone to replace Trent, who was I to stop him?
“I guess” was my less-than-enthusiastic response.
A snort from across the room had my eyes landing on Slade, our drummer, who was sprawled on the red velvet couch twirling his drumsticks through his fingers. “Yeah, you sound real excited over there.”
“Eat me.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Slade retorted, to which I shot the finger.
“The last three weren’t that bad,” Killian said, trying to make the most of the shit situation we were all in.
“‘Weren’t that bad’ isn’t gonna work for me, Kill,” I said. “As much as I hate to admit it, Trent was dynamite on the stage—”
“Fucker,” Slade grumbled, to which I nodded. Trent was a fucker, and I’d made sure to let eve
ryone who asked me about him leaving know it.
But I was getting off track, something that happened a lot whenever I thought about the way my dream had come to a grinding halt because of one goddamn person. I walked over to Killian and said, “Whoever walks through that door needs to be able to match Trent. You know that and so do I. I’m not about to settle for less.” If anything, I wanted more. I wanted better if it existed. So we could shove it up Trent’s ass.
“You’re right.” Killian looked at Slade, and then to his watch. “Where’s Jagger?”
“Dude, I don’t know. Out getting his shoes shined? Picking up his dry cleaning? Take your pick. You know if you need him somewhere, he needs more warning than two hours to be presentable for the public.” Slade’s comment drew a chuckle from me but had Killian shaking his head.
Since our rise to fame, our keyboardist, Jagger, had developed quite an affinity for the finer things in life. Finer clothes, finer cars, and, as he would say, fine-ass women.
Whereas the only thing I liked finer these days was my alcohol. Right now I’d settle for a shot of whatever was on hand to get me through the next couple of hours of hearing some aspiring singer do covers of our hits.
“Text his ass and see where he’s at, would you?” Killian glanced at his phone, checking a message, and then added, “Halo should be here any minute now.”
Wait up… “The guy’s name is Halo? What kind of a fucking name is that?”
Killian aimed a pointed glare my way. “Okay, Viper.”
“You know what I mean. Halo doesn’t exactly make me think TBD. This ain’t no church choir.”
“Thanks for clearing that up for me. But right now, I wouldn’t care if he was a priest. As long as he can sing. You wanna sit here for another seven months?”
Letting out a sigh, I took up a spot by one of the windows. I crossed my arms and resigned myself to the fact there was no way I was getting out of this unless I quit—and I was not a quitter. But before this morning of monotony began, one thing needed to happen.
“You think I could get a drink sometime this century?”
“It’s nine in the morning,” Killian pointed out.
“It’s noon somewhere. And if you want me to sit through hours of some amateur chewing up and spitting out our songs, I need something to dull the pain. Okay?”
Killian held his palms up. “Whatever gets you through it.” Then he pulled open the door and called out for four whiskeys. Before he got an answer, Killian raised a hand and waved to someone down the hall, and it didn’t take a genius to know that Halo had obviously turned up.
“Hey there,” Killian said, while I braced myself for another torturous audition. “I see you found the place okay?”
The response was muffled but had Killian grinning, and when he looked inside the door to me, I could see the message in his eyes loud and clear—play nice. Killian should’ve known better, though. We’d been friends for nearly thirty years now, and one thing about me he knew damn well was that when I played, I certainly wasn’t nice.
Two
Halo
AM I REALLY doing this? I thought, not for the first or even tenth time, as I stepped inside the front doors of Electric Sound Studio. I’d been pinching myself since I’d gotten the call from Killian Michaels himself, telling me he’d seen my audition tape, and could I come in for a face-to-face with him and the rest of TBD?
Uh, meet one of the biggest rock bands in the world? To audition as their lead singer? It was surreal.
But as I signed in with the receptionist and she pointed down the hall to studio 1B, the initial excitement I’d felt when Killian called twelve hours earlier started to morph into full-on anxiety. What the hell had I been thinking when I sent that video in? Then again, someone had to step into Trent Knox’s shoes. Why couldn’t that be me?
My steps faltered, and I almost dropped my guitar case as I turned the corner and stared down the long corridor. The walls were lined with what looked like rich black velvet, chandeliers shimmered overhead every few feet, and at the end of the hall, behind the door with “1B” etched in silver, would be the guys of TBD. A band I’d listened to for a decade, through all my formative years, and now here I stood, on the brink of something that could change my life.
But I couldn’t make myself move. If I turned around and walked out the door now, they wouldn’t have a chance to reject me, and then I could live the rest of my life without the soul-crushing anguish that snub would bring.
Or…I could man the hell up, walk into that room, and show them exactly why I was the perfect guy for the job. Life was about risks, right? If I didn’t try, I wouldn’t fail, but I’d also never get anywhere, and I wasn’t content playing covers at mostly empty dive bars for the rest of my life. Not when I knew what I was capable of.
With my decision made, I took a step forward just as the door to studio 1B opened and Killian Michaels appeared in the doorway, yelling out for four whiskeys. When he saw me, his eyes lit up and he waved me over.
“Hey there,” he said, smiling my way, and I almost looked behind me to make sure there wasn’t someone else he was calling out to. “I see you found the place okay?”
I forced my feet to keep moving as I nodded. “Yeah, hi.”
“Hi.” Killian glanced over his shoulder, back into the studio, and then faced me again as I came to a stop in front of him. He stood tall, about the same height as me, with a shock of dark hair that was longer on top and styled back in a way that screamed indifference, though it had probably taken him a half hour to perfect. It was so strange to see him standing there in regular jeans and a hoodie instead of the rocked-out persona he used onstage.
“I’m Killian,” he said, holding his hand out like everyone in the free world didn’t know who he was.
“Halo.” I switched the guitar to my other hand and gave him a firm handshake.
One of Killian’s eyebrows rose. “That your real name?”
“Is Killian yours?” It came out before I could stop it, but instead of being offended, Killian laughed and clapped me on the shoulder.
“I like a smartass. Come meet the guys.”
He led me inside, and immediately my senses were overwhelmed. The first thing I noticed were the thick crimson curtains that were artfully draped from floor to ceiling and took up an entire wall. The second thing that caught my attention was the massive chandelier in the middle of the room that made the ones in the hallway look like ants. Good God, this is how the other half lives.
“Hey, hey,” came a voice behind me, and with his hand still on my shoulder, Killian turned us around to where Jagger, the keyboardist for TBD, strolled inside. Dressed to the nines in a long-sleeved black collared shirt and matching slacks only a few shades darker than his skin, Jagger was the impeccably put-together charmer of the band, which was evident as he came to stand in front of us.
“You’re late,” Killian said.
Jagger ignored him and gave me a winning smile. “You must be Halo.”
“And you’re Jagger,” I said. As I shook his hand, it was hard to miss the gold Audemars Piguet on his wrist, or the diamonds winking from the rings on his fingers.
“I didn’t miss the show, did I?”
“No, he just got here,” Killian said, shooting him a look that made me think Jagger’s late arrival wasn’t unusual.
“Then I’m not late.” Jagger winked and then went to where the other two members of TBD were sprawled across the velvet couches in front of a row of windows.
Shit. They’re right there.
As Killian brought me front and center, he nodded toward the man covered from neck to toe in colorful tattoos. “Halo, meet Slade.”
With a piercing stare and his head shaved except for the two-inch-thick section at the top that he sometimes mohawked out, the drummer of TBD may look intimidating, but he wasn’t the bad-boy member of the band. No, that honor went to the man on the opposite couch.
“And this is Viper,” Killian said, and
as I looked at the lead guitarist, my first thought was that this guy didn’t look at all pleased to see me. With an ankle thrown over his knee, and casually stroking his lip with his forefinger, his body language may have read relaxed, but his dark eyes said something completely different. They were narrowed, assessing, and even if I didn’t know from my years following the band that he was the toughest critic of the group, I still would’ve been wary based on that look. There was a reason he’d earned the name Viper, after all. Observant, but quick to strike—that was what all the stories about him claimed over the years.
My heart began to pound a bit harder, and I prayed they couldn’t hear it.
“Guys, this is Halo. I watched the video he sent in last night—really good stuff.” Killian faced me again and said, “Show us what you got.”
“Okay,” I said, but my voice came out raspy.
The door to the studio opened again, and a woman entered with a tray of four glasses half-filled with amber liquid. She passed one to each of the band members, and when Killian took his, he offered it to me.
“Need some liquid courage?” he asked.
I wasn’t one to down hard liquor first thing in the morning, but I wasn’t sure I’d get through this audition without it, so I gratefully took the glass and swallowed it in one go. It was a smooth burn going down, nothing like the cheap stuff I was used to. But of course it wasn’t. This was the big time, with fuckin’ chandeliers and velvet in studios instead of ripped egg crates covering a room the size of a closet.
With all four pairs of eyes on me, I bent down to unlatch my guitar case, which I managed to do on the first try—amazing, considering my hands had begun to shake.
Just breathe. Don’t think about the rock gods sitting six feet away. They’re just another dive bar crowd half listening.
I strapped on my guitar and tuned up, and when I was ready, I ran my fingers through my hair, blew out a breath, and faced the four men who held my fate in the palms of their hands.
“Was there something in particular of yours you’d like me to play?” I asked.
Killian shook his head. “Anything you like.”
“Right.” I plucked quietly at the strings as I debated whether to just go for it with one of TBD’s biggest hits, and after a few seconds of deliberation, I figured, fuck it—go big or go home—and began to play the opening notes of “More than Enough.”
