by Ann,Brooklyn
THEY’RE EVERYTHING
THEY DON’T KNOW THE OTHER NEEDS
HE’S THE BEST THERE IS
Dante Deity is revered by everyone who knows anything about heavy metal music, and he’s respected by everyone else. Rich, handsome, and successful, he has a voice like velvet-wrapped lightning and an ability to juggle numerous philanthropic ventures and still crank out hits. When he’s on tour, music is his life. When he’s taking a break, he’s thinking about his next tour—or working on a project that helps him forget he’s alone. In front of him lies his next endeavor.
SHE’S READY TO BE MORE
Shayna Gray is fleeing her past. Tragedy, infidelity, heartbreak: the twenty-five year old has suffered it all. She was strong enough to run, however, like a spunky heroine from one of her novels, and soon she’ll be flying…just as soon as she can walk again. But this time, she has help. Unlike her abusive ex-husband or her bullying mother, the man standing before her is determined she succeed. In fact, Dante commands it. But while his intensity and generosity can easily win her heart, to gain her trust a man must first prove she’s something worth worshipping. Even—or especially—a rock god.
PRAISE FOR THE HEARTS OF METAL SERIES
“I really enjoyed this book. It’s one of those that hit all my happy buttons and allowed me to live out a fantasy through the words of the author.”
—Smexy Books on Kissing Vicious
“KISSING VICIOUS is a sensual, rockin’ romance with a hero to die for.”
—Fresh Fiction
“This is not your usual rocker romance. I thank the author for creating strong characters and taking a different course from usual. We really need more strong characters like Kinley and Quinn in the romance genre.”
—The Romance Reviews
“Romance is deftly blended with humour, fantasy is tinged with tragedy, and the whole thing rolls along, nicely underpinned by a solid soundtrack of metal. It’s sexy, it’s absorbing and whole-heartedly refreshing, and while at the heart of it ‘Kissing Vicious’ might be a romance novel, there is much more to it than that. Consider me impressed and very pleasantly surprised.”
—Jim Goforth, Author of Undead Flesh Crave
“This book is amazing. Well-written with great character development. If you love heavy metal or stories about heavy metal bands, you are gonna love this one. Well worth reading and one I highly recommend to all.”
—All Things Book Review
“Hearts of Metal is a rock series that is not to be missed.”
—Kara’s Books
“I was hooked the minute I started reading!! This is a totally different rock star book, but that’s not a bad thing at all!! It’s refreshing to see a rock star not be all about the ‘rock star’ lifestyle. Klement and Katana’s relationship is pure and genuine and I can’t say enough good words about it!”
—B1tches N Books
“WITH VENGEANCE explores the importance of building trust within relationships…. Brooklyn Ann paints a believable picture of Kat’s PTSD. She also gives enough background for her characters that they read like real people. It is nice to read a book where characters have histories and hobbies as it makes them more realistic… The novel grabs you from the first line and doesn’t let you go. A stay up all night read.”
—The Romance Reviews
OTHER PRAISE FOR BROOKLYN ANN
“Following her promising debut (BITE ME, YOUR GRACE), Ann hits her stride with solid writing, a tasty dash of originality, and realistic relationships that zing with sexual energy. A strong sense of fun mixed with a little feminism keeps things lively and light, while the well-developed story keeps eyes on the page.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Ann’s delightful vampire world is a fun place to stop for a swift, lively evening’s enjoyment. Yes, it is a dark world, but with Ann’s propensity for subtle humor and eccentric characters, it’s an enchanting world as well. Four Stars.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Brooklyn Ann’s series is a definitely must read.”
—Romantic Reads and Such
ROCK GOD
a HEARTS OF METAL novel
Brooklyn Ann
www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.
ROCK GOD
Copyright © 2016 Brooklyn Ann
All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.
ISBN 978-1-944262-35-8
E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar
www.gopublished.com
Dedicated to Karen Ann
6-11-62 – 2-14-09
Every happily ever after is for you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you so much to all the people who made this book rock! To Bonnie Paulson, Jill Cooper, Shelly Martin, Jamie de Bree, Erica Chapman, and Rissa Watkins for fabulous critiques.
Thank you to my aunt, Wendy Masten for using your ER nurse expertise to help with my research.
Thank you to my agent, Nephele Tempest, and my editor Chris Keeslar for all your hard work with me.
Thank you to Bad Movie Club for providing me with a place to relax and laugh.
And thanks to Kent Butler, my own personal rock star, for being a supportive muse, and to Micah for being a better son than I deserve.
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Brooklyn Ann
ROCK GOD
Chapter One
Dante Deity shook his head when the next girl in line begged him to sign her breasts. “I’m sorry, I don’t do that for legal reasons.” For one thing, for all he knew she could be a minor. For another, a few years back a woman had attempted to slap a paternity suit on him for doing less. Favoring the young lady with his most charming smile, Dante softened the blow. “But I can sign your shirt if you’d like. This marker’s permanent.”
The girl beamed. “Okay.”
As he signed her right sleeve, Julian, his bassist, leaned over and muttered, “Can we go after this one?”
Dante shook his head. “Not until we get everyone. You know the rules. We’re not too good to give our fans due
credit for being the reason we’re here. They paid good money to see us.” Just as he’d paid good money to see his idols in his youth.
Turning to the next fan, he gave the guy a firm handshake and thanked him for coming to the show before signing his record. He highly approved of the fact that vinyl was making a comeback.
He glanced over at Alex, his guitarist, and Dom, his keyboard player. The two embraced his autograph policy because they’d been so often overlooked in their previous bands—especially Dom, who was so quiet. Alex was still new and regarded Dante with a combination of fear and hero worship. He’d get over it, but in the meantime, it came in handy because Dante didn’t have to waste time explaining why he wanted anything done a certain way. Zander, his drummer, could go either way about sticking around for every autograph. Tonight he looked impatient, but that was likely more because this was their last show of the tour and he was eager to get back home. He and Dante both lived here in Sacramento, and the tour wrap party was at Zander’s house.
Niteblade, their opening band, headed out. Dante was pleased that they’d stuck around so long. Ash, the lead singer, bade them farewell, eyes wide with awe as he shook Dante’s hand. Dante shook his head, amused. Sure, he was one of the top-selling metal artists and had been in the scene for two decades, but he’d never be the top dog as long as bands like Iron Maiden were still touring.
As Dante signed various shirts, CD album sleeves and posters, he mentally ticked off his to-do list. First, they’d have a two-week break before the guys came to his place to start writing new material. Then they’d fly up to Coeur d’Alene for Viciöus’s lead singer Quinn Mayne’s wedding to his guitarist. Dante and his ex-wife Collette had agreed to sing their infamous duet there. It was one of the bride’s favorite songs.
A nauseating mix of emotions rose up in Dante—remorse, at his failure of a marriage, and anger at Colette for retreating from the public two years after their divorce—but he tamped it down and moved to the next item on his list: More song-writing in July. Then it would be off to the recording studio in August, and they’d be back on tour next spring.
Next spring? That was too big of a gap. Which was why Dante was coordinating another mini benefit tour. This time, he’d give the proceeds to the Stand Up and Shout Cancer Fund.
A new fan interrupted his inner checklist, sliding a picture of a cat in front of him. He knew that cat.
“I adopted Havoc from your program!” the fan gushed. “You are such a saint for saving cats from the shelter and fostering them! Are you ever going to do the same with dogs?”
Dante shook his head. “I’m not able to give dogs the care they need, so instead I donate to other foster programs.” With the need to train canines, walk them, and take them outside to poop, he couldn’t get anything done. The worst cats did was walk on his keyboard when he was trying to answer email.
“Havoc was fun,” he recalled as he signed the picture. “I hope you’re keeping the catnip locked up.”
Dante chuckled, remembering the time the determined feline got the nip out of the cupboard and spread it all around the kitchen, dining room, and living room. Oh shit! he almost said aloud. The memory had prodded a realization that he’d missed something on his list. He’d forgotten to call the shelter to arrange to pick up more cats. He’d have to do so first thing in the morning.
The autograph session finally finished, and Dante and the band headed out to the wrap party. His bandmates, all younger than him, chattered eagerly about the babes that awaited. Dante yawned. As he was pushing forty, he found himself less and less enthused by this aspect of the rock-star lifestyle. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy sex, though it had indeed been awhile; it was that he didn’t do casual sex. And having a girlfriend—or God forbid, another wife—was more trouble than it was worth. He was just too much of a workaholic.
Also, so he’d been told, he was too emotionally distant to be in a relationship.
He was fine with that. He had his projects to occupy him.
Dante and his band were nearing the tour bus when he heard a scream. The terror and desperation of the voice made his hackles rise. Whoever had made the sound was close. Really close.
His bandmates and the band security guards paused then quickened their steps toward the bus. Dante shook his head. That just wouldn’t do.
He headed around the corner of the building.
“What’re you doing, man?” one of the security guards demanded.
“Hey, the bus is the other way,” Zander, his drummer, called out.
Dante ignored them and came upon a sight right out of an action movie. Two thugs decked out in gold chains and basketball jerseys were advancing upon what at first looked like a little girl, but as she scrambled to her feet and wiped the blood from her chin, rage glinting in her dark eyes, he saw that she was a full-grown woman.
Fury welled up in Dante’s chest. Whatever was happening here, it definitely wasn’t cool.
“Hey, assholes!” he yelled. “Leave her alone!”
The girl’s attackers glared at him, and Dante suddenly felt silly. This wasn’t an action movie. He wasn’t a superhero or a martial arts expert. As a lead singer, he didn’t even have a guitar to hit them with. His microphone stand might come in handy, but it was in the truck with the rest of the gear.
At least his interruption had helped. While the thugs were gaping at him, the woman took advantage of their distraction. Dark eyes blazing, she swung her backpack and struck the closest guy upside the head. There was a loud clunk and the guy went down. Whatever was in there must be hard.
Dante started forward again, and the other attacker’s eyes widened before he fled. A surge of triumph washed over Dante, but then he saw that the security guards and his band had come onto the scene behind him.
“If they’d been armed, I’d have sued for hazard pay,” one of them growled.
Julian grunted. “Get over yourself. This is your job.”
At the sight of the approaching muscle, the other thug got to his feet and ran away. The woman limped toward Dante and the others, panting with exhaustion, her chin bleeding.
“Thanks for saving me,” she gasped.
“No problem,” Alex replied, as if he were responsible.
Dante rolled his eyes at his guitarist and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, ignoring the reek of dirt and old sweat emanating from her. Clearly she hadn’t had a bath in some time. “Are you alright?”
She looked up at him with rich brown eyes shadowed with dark circles of pain and fatigue…and something else: a drowning grief that seemed to spear his soul.
“I’m fine,” she said in a hollow voice.
She didn’t look fine. Her cheeks were ashen, and her large dark eyes were glazed and heavy-lidded with blatant exhaustion. Not drugs, though. He’d seen enough of that to recognize the symptoms. No, this looked more like he might after a week in the studio, with constant work and no sleep. What had she done to put herself in that state?
As Dante scrutinized her, the woman babbled on. “Did you guys enjoy the concert? I could hear it from out here. The band sounded great.”
She thought they were just concertgoers. Dante exchanged amused looks with his bandmates.
“It was a good show,” he agreed, hiding a smile. “Hey, do you need a—?”
“Could you tell me where the nearest homeless shelter is?” she interrupted. “It’s raining and…” Her eyes rolled up into her head and she collapsed. He just barely caught her.
“Oh, that’s just great,” Zander groaned. “She’s a bum. Put her down, Dante, before you catch something.”
“Fuck you,” he replied to the drummer, lifting her fully into his arms. For some reason she didn’t strike him as a bum, despite her grimy hair and filthy clothes… Something about her cried out that recent circumstances had put her in this state. “I was gonna offer her a ride anyway. The least we can do is take her to a shelter. Can one of you guys grab her backpack?”
Once he had h
er settled upon a plush bench seat on the bus, Dante tried to wake her up, but she just mumbled and her head lolled to the side. He quickly realized that a shelter wasn’t the best option. Her forehead burned with fever, and her shoes, or what was left of them, were stained with fresh blood. He removed them as gently as possible, which was difficult as her feet were swollen. The remains of her bloody socks came off easier, revealing broken, bleeding blisters. He cringed from both their rancid smell and her whimpers of pain.
Zander drew back. “God, that smells!”
“Shut up and look at this,” Dante growled, though his drummer had a point about the odor. His own eyes were watering. “She needs to go to the hospital.”
Rising from his bench, he repeated that edict to the driver. When he returned, Alex breathed, “Jesus. What happened to her?”
“I don’t know,” Dante said, just as impatient to get answers. Had she escaped some psycho kidnapper? Gotten high on something and wandered through the desert? Run away from an abusive husband…?
“Get a cold cloth or something. Maybe we can revive her and she’ll tell us.” He gently shifted the woman on the seat so that her head was in his lap. Her hair was so grungy that it had started to form dreadlocks, but at least it didn’t smell as bad as her feet. Then he had another thought. “And we should probably check her backpack and see if she has any ID.”
As he reached for the backpack, Dante realized just how fascinated he was with this woman. This sudden mission to aid her had chased away the ennui that always crept up on him between tours and recordings. Helping this poor lady would be a new project, albeit a brief one: only a few hours tops. That was probably for the best, though, as it would be quite a bit more intensive than fostering cats.
Careful not to jar the woman, he opened her backpack. “Jackpot,” he said cheerfully to the others. “There’s a laptop. She’s no vagrant.”
Dom carefully pulled out the laptop and opened it. “No good,” he said. “The screen’s busted, and the case is cracked from bashing that son of a bitch’s head in. And, how do we know she didn’t steal it?”
