Stricken
Boxed Set
Books 1 – 4
DESIRE— UNVEILED— TRUST—RESOLVE
S.K Logsdon
~~~
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2013 by S.K Logsdon
ISBN- 978-0-9903792-2-5
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
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Acknowledgements
I wanted to give a special shout out to authors Samantha Towle and Michelle A. Valentine. Who inspired me to write this series.
And thank my friend Goldie who has been full of inspiration and encouragement throughout my writing endeavors.
If it wasn’t for her “The Raunchier the better” theory I might not have written these stories as colorful as they have become.
Thank you for starting this story and I hope that you find enjoyment in it and follow Emily through this four book series to achieve what we all want for her. A happily ever after.
This book is a work of fiction created by the author S.K Logsdon and is not associated with any real band, lives or stories.
Table of Contents
DESIRE
I - Chapter One
I - Chapter Two
I - Chapter Three
I - Chapter Four
I - Chapter Five
I - Chapter Six
I - Chapter Seven
I - Chapter Eight
I - Chapter Nine
I - Chapter Ten
I - Chapter Eleven
I - Chapter Twelve
I - Chapter Thirteen
I - Chapter Fourteen
I - Chapter Fifteen
I - Chapter Sixteen
I - Chapter Seventeen
I - Chapter Eighteen
I - Chapter Nineteen
I - Chapter Twenty
I - Chapter Twenty One
I - Chapter Twenty Two
I - Chapter Twenty Three
I - Chapter Twenty Four
I - Chapter Twenty Five
I - Chapter Twenty Six
UNVEILED
II - Chapter One
II - Chapter Two
II - Chapter Three
II - Chapter Four
II - Chapter Five
II - Chapter Six
II - Chapter Seven
II - Chapter Eight
II - Chapter Nine
II - Chapter Ten
II - Chapter Eleven
II - Chapter Twelve
II - Chapter Thirteen
II - Chapter Fourteen
II - Chapter Fifteen
II - Chapter Sixteen
II - Chapter Seventeen
II - Chapter Eighteen
II - Chapter Nineteen
II - Chapter Twenty
II - Chapter Twenty One
II - Chapter Twenty Two
II - Chapter Twenty Three
II - Chapter Twenty Four
II - Chapter Twenty Five
II - Chapter Twenty Six
II - Chapter Twenty Seven
II - Chapter Twenty Eight
II - Chapter Twenty Nine
II - Chapter Thirty
II - Chapter Thirty One
II - Chapter Thirty Two
TRUST
III - Chapter One
III - Chapter Two
III - Chapter Three
III - Chapter Four
III - Chapter Five
III - Chapter Six
III - Chapter Seven
III - Chapter Eight
III - Chapter Nine
III - Chapter Ten
III - Chapter Eleven
III - Chapter Twelve
III - Chapter Thirteen
III - Chapter Fourteen
III - Chapter Fifteen
III - Chapter Sixteen
III - Chapter Seventeen
III - Chapter Eighteen
III - Chapter Nineteen
III - Chapter Twenty
III - Chapter Twenty One
III - Chapter Twenty Two
RESOLVE
IV - Chapter One
IV - Chapter Two
IV - Chapter Three
IV - Chapter Four
IV - Chapter Five
IV - Chapter Six
IV - Chapter Seven
IV - Chapter Eight
IV - Chapter Nine
IV - Chapter Ten
IV - Chapter Eleven
IV - Chapter Twelve
IV - Chapter Thirteen
IV - Chapter Fourteen
IV - Chapter Fifteen
IV - Chapter Sixteen
IV - Chapter Seventeen
IV - Chapter Eighteen
IV - Chapter Nineteen
IV - Chapter Twenty
IV - Epilogue
Artful Attractions: Chapter 1
Lex: Chapter 1
DESIRE
-Book One-
Chapter One
Standing in the front row of this hot as hell outdoor venue in Las Vegas I think my skin is about to melt off. July in Vegas wearing a gray tweed jacket and matching pencil skirt embroidered with big pink roses, what was I thinking? I should have probably went with less clothes but I wanted to appear half professional when I finally get the chance to introduce myself to the band. I’d finally stepped up in the world. Luck of the draw as I see it. Thanks to my very friendly, very male, best friend Stacy. He works the music biz and is a road manager to Stricken, an overnight rock phenomenon. With eight years’ total experience under his belt, he was plucked specifically for this job four years ago once the band catapulted into stardom. But now it’s been too much to handle. With his mom sick, deteriorating thanks to dementia, he was forced to place her in the best nursing home money could buy. All because he’s been so busy that he hasn’t had the ability to take care of her himself. Not that she deserves it.
That’s where I come in. I got a call three weeks ago to the day from Stacy. We’ve been long-distance best friends for most of our lives. Growing up in the same small rinky-dink town in Indiana it was hard not to know everybody, their brothers, cousins and uncles. Our entire school K-12 consisted of less than eight hundred kids. Stacy was four years ahead of me in school but my seventh grade year and his junior, our destinies collided on the sports field. I was running the track that surrounded the football field. I was a long-distance runner for our school and was good, won a few championships locally and I even competed state-wide a few times. And he was busy being the hottest football player in the district. From an early age Stacy was used to having girls dripping off his arms. It’s not like he could help it, being six one, nearly two hundred pounds of all muscle with shaggy dirty blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. Sex is all most people could think of when looking at him. Myself included.
&
nbsp; But that fated day was when our paths finally crossed. I was running, minding my own business, my cd player attached to my hip in a special hot pink fanny pack I’d gotten for Christmas, jamming to N-sync, the best boy band ever. I was going for endurance more than speed and I was oblivious to what was going on around me. Too busy focusing on the science test I had coming up the next day on the periodic table of elements. Those are some tricky buggers, let me tell ya. I’m not exactly sure how it all happened but I was running, my new bright blue Adidas pounding into the dirt when I was pummeled from behind. I hit the ground hard, my entire body went down in a free-falling dive. And Stacy was the one who landed on top of me. Nearly all two hundred pounds of him and it felt like having my ass handed to me by a brick wall. Needless to say he was fine, not a damn scratch but I fractured my ankle and tore the shit out of my hands. There was no more track for me that year. I figured being a famous football player and all he’d just shrug it off and leave me to fend for myself. But instead Stacy felt terrible and scooped me up into his big arms and carried me to the nurses, my parents were called and I had to go to the hospital. Wore a cast around my ankle and foot for nearly a month. He sent me flowers and even visited me once I got home. Somehow, we’ve been great friends ever since. I was his platonic date to prom his senior year and once he graduated he went off to college at UCLA to study music biz and play football.
I’ve held his hand through, not one, but two divorces. No kids resulted in either of them. Thank god because with those money hungry bitches, I am sure he’d be screwed even more than he already was. At least with the second he was smart enough to get a prenup. I’ve been through one major breakup and he was my rock through it all. Although I never dove too deep into any relationship. It’s never been my thing. I can’t get attached. I think it might be a defect in my DNA. Stacy’s agreed with me a few times on that one. He dates women like it’s an Olympic sport and I could care less. Thankfully I’ve never been into him and he’s never shown any interest in me, except maybe when he’s super drunk and about to go home alone. Alcohol plus Stacy equals boobs, pussies and usually more than one of both. From what I hear from his dates, if you’d call them that, he’s rockin’ in the sac.
So now at the ripe old age of twenty-four my best friend has called in a favor. I’m between jobs anyhow, thanks to my old boss who decided my position as PR manager for his small publishing company was no longer employable. All because I refused to sleep with him. I guess after working there for eight months and not opening my legs to a fifty year old, overweight, married man with four kids, meant I couldn’t keep the best job I’ve landed since I graduated from NYU. Not— that I’m bitter or anything. When I told Stacy he nearly croaked and offered to come to New York where I live to personally kick his ass. Which, knowing Stacy, he’d do it. That’s just the kind of man he is. Loyal to his friends and I’m the longest one he’s ever had and the only female. Well maybe not the longest, I think he might still talk to Kyle, my old next door neighbor who played football too. But I don’t know.
So when he asked me to come to Vegas to see Stricken play and take a job as his assistant, I couldn’t resist. He needed some of the pressure off himself and the record labeled agreed to pay me only because they can’t afford to lose Stacy. So here I am standing in the front row sweating my ass off with a mob of sweaty men and women behind me.
Stacy wanted me to get the full effect of the show, so he forced me to take front and center. I could almost reach up and touch the stage if it weren’t for the big ass bodyguards dressed in all black standing in the way. Some punk rock band calling themselves Xtreme Sex just exited. They were the opening gig and to be honest I’ve heard a lot better. Not sure how they decide who opens for the band but I can only hope my job entitles me to help in the scoping out new bands because they were seriously under par. Maybe not for some Podunk rock show back home, but in the big leagues they sure as hell don’t belong.
The fans roar as the roadies set up the stage for the main event. I can feel sweat dripping down the back of my neck. Thank god I wore my hair up tonight and waterproof mascara. No raccoon eyes for me. Stricken’s drummer enters first, playing around with his bright purple set. Which drives the crowd wilder and they all move forward to get a few inches closer. My body is pressed tightly up against the bars, leaving imprints on my stomach. This is so not my scene. Drinking coffee and reading a book in bed are the real highlights of my life. Not having a woman’s sweaty breasts pressed against the back of my two hundred dollar suit. I am so going to kill Stacy for this. And I will make sure it will be a slow painful death. He deserves it for putting me through this. It’s so not sanitary.
Next on stage enters the bands two guitarists. Well, I think one’s a bass guitarist. Whatever that means. I’m not into the music biz. I love music, all kinds of it actually. And I’ve listened to all of Stricken’s albums, only because Stacy mailed them to me prerelease. I even have one album they’ve signed the cover of, thanks to Stacy. I’d never ask for that. They’re good. I mean real good. Hard rock with a touch of soft into the mix. I can see why the women love them; each member is like sex on a stick. I turn my head to watch the crowd and that’s when Johnathan enters the stage in all his Grecian god glory. Stricken’s lead singer. Sex god and womanizer extraordinaire. I know all this because Stacy tells me, not because I’m some media whore. I don’t do gossip and I sure as hell won’t buy a magazine with it. Books are the only thing I read and maybe the New York Post if I want a change of pace. Which isn’t often.
God Johnathan is hot though. He grabs the mic like he’s making love to it and belts out the first song to kick off the night. Women all around me are screaming his name and shirts start to come off in masses. I’ve never seen so many women’s boobs in my whole life. Big, little, old, young, tattooed. Oh god I think I might be sick! I cover my mouth and take in a deep breath. This is too much.
“How’s it goin' Las Vegas?” he yells into the mic.
A whole lot of ‘I love you Johnathan,’ ‘Show us your cock’ and ‘Hell yeah’s’ are screamed in retort. I think I might go deaf by the end of the night. Too much flesh. God this life is so not for me. What was I thinking coming here? I do PR for publishing companies not managing and PR for rock stars. I am going to kill Stacy!
“I want to give a little shout out to my friends tonight. You know who you are.” He says again seductively speaking into the mic. Then jumps off into the next song. I can’t tear my eyes from the stage. They are mesmerizing. The atmosphere totally sucks but the playing is out of this world. They are even better in person. I looked over to the side of the stage and there stands Stacy, his hands tucked into his ratty jean pockets, talking to some tall blonde. She is definitely his type. I think just about everyone Stacy’s dated or even just fucked has been a blonde. That’s probably why we’ve been friends for so long. I do not in any way shape or form fit into the leggy blonde model classification. I’m five two at best. Not sure where my height or lack thereof comes from because my mom’s almost six foot and my dad’s six four. Sometimes I think I’m adopted. I have red hair and when I say red I don’t mean auburn. I mean red, red. It’s wavy and long, hitting about the middle of my back dry and my butt when it’s wet. My skin is pale; I couldn’t tan even if I wanted to. Now that is something my mom and I both share and my dad used to be a redhead like me but now he’s bald and his eyebrows are gray with age.
Finally, the show is over. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the music because I did. But needless to say the experience as a whole was, I-need-to-take-a-cold-shower-and-sanitize-myself worthy. I have a feeling I will spend the next two days showering the sweat and female crotch stench out of my hair. Yuck!
“Hey Em!” I hear a familiar voice yell my name. I’m outside the venue after pushing through the hordes of crazy fans. I need to get to my rental car but it’s going to take hours to get out of this parking lot.
I turn my head and I see Stacy alone, running towards me.
�
�What are you doing out here? I thought you wanted to meet the band?” He’s out of breath. Even panting, my best friend is beautiful. Going on thirty and still looks like he’s twenty one. Lucky bastard.
“After all of that I should fucking kill you,” I screech, smacking him hard on the arm.
“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” A dirty little smirk washes across his sweaty face.
“Was it that bad? Are you serious? You did this on purpose didn’t you?” I put my hand on my hip for effect.
Laughing loudly he says “Well I know you need to loosen up a little so I thought a night in my world would help with that.”
I roll my eyes and smack him again, harder this time.
“Ouch Em, it can’t be that damn bad,” he adds, rubbing his reddened arm. Serves his ass right!
“Well, when you live in my world of books and coffee and T.V. shows that don’t consist of naked women, the smell of sweat, BO and rotten crotch. This is so not sanitary,” I say rubbing my hands on my skirt, trying to cleanse the night away. But I can’t help but think about that nasty brunette behind me pressing her sweaty boobs against my back. Oh shit, I think I might actually vomit. I cover my mouth and take a deep breath again.
“I’m sorry Em, I thought you might like the full experience.” He shrugs.
“I forgive you. But don’t do this again without warning me. I know you’re footloose and fancy-free. But I’m just not. I may not be a prude but there’s a fine line between being a prude and having to endure what I just did. Panties hitting the stage like a damn waterfall. One even landed by my foot because somebody couldn’t aim. After meeting the band I am going to have to shower.”
Wringing his arm around my neck to pull me into a hug, he plants a kiss on my forehead.
“I promise. Come on, I want you to meet the men. There’s an after party at one of the hottest clubs in the city and I want you to come with.” He looks me up and down and shakes his head with obvious disgust. “But not wearing that.”
Stricken Rock Series: Complete Box Set Page 1
