A FILTHY Rock Star: a filthy line novel

by Kidman, Jaxson

  I laughed. “Look, I have to go. Lunch with the old man. He’s…”

  My voice trailed off when I saw a massive bus pass me by. The thing looked bigger than a train. All black. Windows black. Wheels black. And right behind the bus there were two police SUVs, lights flashing, but no sirens.

  Police escort?

  “Liv?” Eve asked.

  I was frozen watching the scene before me.

  The second the bus stopped, people rushed toward it.

  It went from a normal street to a mob scene.

  “Liv!” Eve barked.

  “What?” I snapped. I looked at the phone screen. “Sorry. I mean… I have to go. I’m here. At the office. Something is happening. Look.”

  I turned my phone for a few seconds to show Eve the scene.

  “Holy shit,” she said. “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Probably someone my father works with.”

  “Get an autograph if it’s someone we know,” Eve said.

  “Gotta go. Heart you.”

  “Heart you back,” Eve said.

  I ended the video call and kept walking toward the front doors of SLECK RECORDS.

  The bus was off to the side.

  With another door opened.

  Security was standing there, pushing everyone back.

  I tried to see who was going to get off of the bus but the crowd was too much to take.

  When I walked into the lobby, it was sort of the same.

  Everyone and their brother trying to sneak a peek at who was here.

  “Hey, darling,” a voice said next to me.

  Harold was in charge of the entire building’s security.

  “What do we have here?” I asked him.

  “Rock stars,” he said. “Final Line?”

  “Final Line?” I asked. “Never heard… oh, you mean Filthy Line?”

  “There it is,” Harold said, snapping his fingers together.

  “Wait,” I said. “Filthy Line is here? For real?”

  “You know them?”

  “Who doesn’t?” I asked.

  “Me,” Harold said. “I’m more of a bluesy kind of guy. Or three chords and a message.”

  “Right,” I said. “Well, I better try and beat this rush.”

  “Just wait here, Olivia,” Harold said. “Your father sent me to check on you. Keep you here.”

  “Of course. So, he’s cancelling lunch?”

  Harold frowned. “Just humor me and hang out here.”

  I showed my hands in defeat and walked to the reception desk.

  The three ladies were standing, phones out, biting their bottom lips, waiting to catch a glimpse of Filthy Line.

  Waiting to see Nash.

  Fucking Nash.

  I let out a breath, almost ashamed to admit that there were pictures of him in my room at the old man’s giant house. From when Filthy Line first broke big and I was obsessed with them. Not that I wasn’t still a fan or anything, I just didn’t have pictures of Nash taped to my walls in my apartment. Then again, before judgment is thrown my way, the sight of him with his hands behind his head, those wild thin lips in a smirk that could break anyone’s heart, ripped jeans pulled down almost too far…

  I cleared my throat and looked down at the paper on the counter.

  FAMED BAD BOY ROCKER STEALS CAR, DRIVES IT INTO LAKE, THEN STANDS ON ROOF OF CAR AS IT SINKS, ASKING WHAT A PIRATE’S FAVORITE LETTER IS

  It was a story about Nash.

  Stealing a car and sinking it into a lake. Drunk, pretending to be a pirate. Labeled as another black checkmark for the band’s history of excess, drug abuse, lawsuits, jail time, and even death.

  I read the entire article and it was nothing but a death sentence for Nash and the rest of the band. Laced with rumors too. That Nash had a sex addiction problem. That Jay was being sued for an undisclosed sum for an incident in Vegas last summer. That Dex had so much white powder up his nose he sneezed snowflakes. That Reed had checked in and out of an alcohol treatment center four times this year alone. And that Sab was working on a side project that was causing tension in the band.

  Basically… Filthy Line was about to explode for good.

  I called bullshit on the entire thing.

  It was for attention and nothing more.

  I looked to my left and saw the crowd growing even more.

  I was going to be stuck there for a little bit.

  So I took out a pen and notebook and decided to have a little fun.

  * * *

  The coast was clear about twenty minutes later.

  The girls behind the desk all got their precious blurry cell phone pics of the band as they were hurried through the lobby and into the private elevators, reserved for people like my father.

  It wasn’t as exciting as they all painted it to be.

  I barely got to see them.

  Just the tops of their heads as they scrambled to safety.

  The fans were crazy. That was for sure.

  Doing anything to get near their favorite rock star.

  Which I totally understood.

  “You’re good to go,” Harold said.

  “Tell my father I’m on my way?” I asked.

  “No, Olivia. I meant… you know, go.”

  Harold nodded toward the front doors.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  I backed up.

  “Olivia?”

  “I’m going to have a little chat with him,” I said.

  “I can’t let you go up there now.”

  “Come closer and I’ll pepper spray you, Harold. And I don’t want to do that.”

  Harold stepped toward me and I reached for my bag.

  I had no pepper spray.

  The deadliest thing I had was a tampon. Not to cause harm but for most guys it would gross them out. You put that where? And it does what? And then my favorite… Does it feel good when you put it in?

  Harold stopped. “Olivia…”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll make sure you don’t get into trouble.”

  I turned and started to run, only to smash head-first into some guy’s shoulder.

  He stumbled to the left and I dropped my bag.

  Trust me, this wasn’t some cute thing where I’d meet a hot guy and he’d whisk me away forever.

  This guy was on a cell and looked pissed.

  He was short, chubby, and had his hair slicked back.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  He put his right foot on a piece of paper and pointed. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  He crouched. He swiped the fake article I wrote about Filthy Line off the floor.

  “Hey!” I yelled.

  “Hold up, sweetie,” he said.

  “Sweetie? You don’t know who I am.”

  He looked at me. “You don’t know who I am either.”

  He looked sleazy.

  “This is amazing,” he said. “Not wanting to miss the next show and let down the loyal and amazing fans who have followed the band for so many years, Nash decided to take matters into his own hands. The car was fast and Nash knew he had to make up for lost time. Swerving to miss a squirrel, he lost control and ended up head first in the lake. Most people would have panicked, but not Nash. He climbed to safety and waited for rescue by standing on the roof of the car…”

  The man looked at me.

  “I was bored,” I whispered.

  “You spun that shit article on Nash into this. Making him look halfway decent.”

  “One quarter decent,” I said.

  “Fair enough.” The man stood up. “I’m keeping this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so, sweetie.”

  The man winked and walked to the elevator I was going to use.

  His cell rang and he answered it. “Little Pecker Pete, let me call you back. Something just fell into my lap. It’s going to make us all a to
n of fucking cash.”

  He looked at me again.

  Then as the elevator’s door shut, he looked down at the paper.

  He nodded.

  What the hell just happened?

  3

  NASH

  “You can’t smoke in here, my man.”

  I turned and exhaled smoke into the face of some young pup in a polo shirt with nice hair.

  He coughed and waved his hand in front of his face.

  “My uncle died of lung cancer,” he said.

  “Condolences,” I said. “You should have one to calm your ass down, mail boy.”

  “Mail boy? Who the hell do you think you are?”

  I lifted my eyebrow and shrugged my shoulders.

  I turned and dropped my jeans, showing off the tattoo on my ass.

  The plan was to get your mom tattooed there but at the last second I chose my own name.

  “Nash,” the mail boy said.

  I lifted my jeans and turned to face him again. I took my cigarette and dropped it into the mail cart.

  “Shit!” the young pup yelled.

  When he reached for it, I grabbed his wrists and pulled him toward me.

  “Don’t ever fucking tell me what to do again,” I said. “Got that?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Got a girl?”

  “Yes.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Nineteen.”

  I smirked. “You ever forget who I am or tell me where I can or can’t smoke… I’ll invite your girl to a show, invite her up on stage, and sip whiskey out of her pussy. And don’t ask me if that’s possible because it is. I’ll dance my tongue on her clit so hard and fast she’ll forget you ever existed. Got it?”

  The young pup looked ready to cry.

  I shoved him back and looked down at the smoking stack of mail.

  “They must be some steamy letters, huh?” I asked and laughed.

  “We have a fire!” he yelled.

  That got the attention of several others who had been secretly watching me and the guys as we wandered the halls of SLECK RECORDS.

  “Anyone got a fire extinguisher?” the mail boy yelled.

  “I do,” Jay said.

  He unzipped his fly and took out his dick and started to piss on the mail.

  “What the fuck?” the mail boy screamed.

  “Jesus Christ,” Toby’s voice boomed as he came running down the hallway toward us. “You’re supposed to be kissing ass for a new deal. And you’re pissing on the mail?”

  “He threatened to sleep with my girlfriend,” the mail boy said.

  “Not a threat, a promise,” I said. I flicked my tongue in the air at him.

  His face turned bright red.

  “Jay, put your dick away,” Toby said.

  Crazy enough, that wasn’t the first time Toby had to say that to one of us. And it wouldn’t be the last either.

  “I was just trying to save everyone from the fire,” Jay said.

  “Hey, man, two shakes and that’s it,” I said, nodding to his dick. “After that you’re just playing with it.”

  “Oh, fuck,” Toby said. He reached into his pocket and handed the mail boy some cash. “Keep this between us.”

  “Hey, bros, they’re ready for us,” Reed said. He sniffed the air. “Do I smell smoke? And piss?”

  “It’s Toby’s new cologne,” I said. “Eau du Fuck My Life.”

  “Right on,” Jay said with a laugh.

  For good measure I kicked the mail cart over. Spilling charred mail, ashes, and Jay’s piss all over the floor.

  “Nash!” Toby yelled. He threw some more cash at the mail boy. Then he grabbed my arm. “Get in that office. Now.”

  “You got it, Dad,” I said.

  I strutted into the boardroom and all the suits stood up.

  There was a woman in the mix.

  Wearing a fucking fine as hell skirt.

  My eyes went to her and I smirked.

  She lifted her left hand and showed me a diamond ring.

  “Do you think I care about that, babe?” I asked.

  “Gentleman, please, come on in. Let’s talk. You might know me. You might not. Call me Dale. I’m the one who gives the final say on everything.”

  “Guys, Dale runs SLECK RECORDS,” Toby said with his eyes wide.

  “Cut the shit,” I said. “This place is stuffing me up. You want to sign us? Give me the contract right now. If not, we bounce.”

  “You don’t have a label,” Dale said.

  “We’re fine,” Sab said.

  “Independent?” Dale asked. “Good luck.”

  “Before we start throwing punches here,” Toby said, “we have the numbers to back any concerns.”

  “What about the pirate?” the woman asked.

  I looked at her and curled my lip. I pictured her bent over the table, that skirt thrown up her back, my cock pounding her sweet and committed pussy.

  “Jess runs our marketing,” Dale said.

  “I can envision it now,” she said. “All of you dressed as pirates. Right?”

  “Oh, babe, play that game hard,” I said. “Watch what fucking happens next.”

  “You going to set something else on fire?” she asked.

  “Just your panties,” I said.

  She scowled.

  “Wow,” the other guy said.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Dick.”

  “Is that for real?” Reed asked.

  “It is,” Dale said. “His name is Dick.”

  We all looked at each other and smiled.

  “This is about the music,” Toby said. “Personalities, they don’t matter. These guys sell out every fucking show they play. You saw the chaos downstairs. That was just them arriving to a building.”

  “This is much more than music,” Dale said. "What happens when one of these assholes ends up in jail for a long time? Or dead?”

  “Then you package up the old shit and make it into a memory box,” Dex said. “Cash in on our ass.”

  “This isn’t thirty years ago, boys,” Jess said.

  “We know how a calendar works, girl,” I said to her.

  “Jess is right,” Dick said. “You might be the hottest band… or the baddest band… but you’re a liability to everyone around you.”

  “Thanks for the time then,” I said.

  “That’s it?” Jess asked. “Thought you’d work a little harder to get what you want.”

  I walked around the table and approached Jess.

  When I was just a few inches from her, she swallowed hard.

  I stared her down in silence.

  I could smell the desire pouring from her.

  I leaned in. “You like it rough, babe. You like the back door to be used but you're ashamed to admit it. But be careful how close you get to the flames… you will get burned.”

  “Okay, we’re losing this entire thing,” Toby said.

  “Bottom line is that SLECK RECORDS wants Filthy Line,” Dale said. “I said it. Maybe I’m not supposed to say it. But I did. There are serious legal and public issues we have to figure out though. Like the story that ran today…”

  “I did not steal that car,” I said. “That was a hit job.”

  “I bet you fucked that writer,” Reed said.

  “And you never called her back,” Dex said.

  “Why would I call someone back? I already fucked them.” I glanced at Jess and winked.

  “Either way, that kind of attention isn’t good,” Dale said. “Any press is good press? That’s bullshit. Because now you're looking at the cost of the car, the fact that emergency personnel were dealing with you instead of actual emergencies… need I go on?”

  “All of which could be contained,” Toby said. “Get these guys in the studio and watch what happens.”

  “You’re still touring, right?” Dale asked.

  “Almost done,�
�� Toby said.

  “Maybe you can stay out of trouble for the rest of the tour?”

  We all laughed.

  Toby put a piece of paper down on the table. “Or maybe we take a difference approach to things…”

  * * *

  “You want someone to write stories about me,” I said to Toby as we stood in the hallway.

  “Hey, you read this,” Toby said, waving the paper around. “This is good. This is funny good. They post shit about you, Nash, and then we come back with this. Two stories. Two sides.”

  “And which one are they going to believe?” I asked.

  “That’s the point. Throw enough shit at them and they’ll get confused.”

  “Stop saying the word shit,” I said. “I’m saying no to this.”

  “You might not have a choice.”

  I curled my lip.

  “Have you seen the office around here?” Dex asked. “I was just in the ladies room and-”

  “Why were you in the ladies room?” Toby asked.

  “Checking out the ass,” Dex said. “It’s a turn on for me.”

  “You all need to get back on the bus,” Toby said. “We have to get out of here before someone calls the police.”

  “The police are outside waiting for us, Toby,” Reed said.

  “Either way, fuck this place,” Sab said. He put his hands to the wall and played a drumbeat. “Let’s finish working on that song. Get some more stuff put together.”

  “I agree with him,” Toby said, pointing to Sab. “Go write. Make music. If we can put together some new tunes for Dale, we can make this work.”

  “I’m always ready to play,” Jay said. “But first I need to check out the ladies room.”

  “Hold up,” Toby said. “Everyone, back on the bus. My orders.”

  “We don’t take orders from you, Toby,” I said.

  “I know,” he said. “But just this once… this is a huge deal waiting on the table.”

  “And if I unzip my jeans and put my dick on the table, it’ll be an even bigger deal,” I said.

  Toby sighed and rubbed his jaw. “You need to do this, Nash.”

  “I don’t need to do a fucking thing. That’s the best part of my life. What I feel like doing though is playing a show. Tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Toby asked.

  “Yes, brother, yes,” Sab said. He grabbed my shoulders. “What should we hit?”