Screw Up (Hard Rock Roots Book 10)

by C. M. Stunich

  Pressing the condom back into his hand, I slide my lips from his mouth to the slight stubble on his jaw, kissing my along the length of it until I find his ear. Trey lets out this long, deep moan when I nibble his ear, reminding me suddenly that we're sitting in the middle of a parking lot with a van full of bodyguards and religious warriors hunting my ass.

  We shouldn't be doing this here.

  But I guess Treyjan's right—when you're attracted to someone, you can make it work. I want to make it work right now … so goddamn badly. So, so goddamn badly.

  “Put it on,” I whisper against his ear, wanting to see if he'll follow my lead.

  He does.

  I have a rockstar … a husband? … wrapped around my little finger right now—and I love it. This is basically the exact opposite of anything that ever happens at the compound. Men there don't give a shit what a woman wants. Their wives are nothing more than chattel, and their needs aren't considered important in the least. It's why I took my sister, Oaklyn, when I left, grabbed her from her bed and make her run with me.

  She was also engaged to marry the prophet.

  But she's out and she's free and tomorrow, I'll get to see her and tell her all about this.

  I lean back a little, watching as Treyjan slides the latex down his shaft, the bright red color of the material drawing all the attention in the car to his member. I think he likes it, too, the way my eyes are drawn to his body, his face. I can feel my nipples pebble beneath my dress as I sit up on my knees and push my panties to the side. It really is a lot easier than it should be for us to connect like this, to slide together into one person. It feels fated almost, natural.

  Maybe marrying some random stranger wasn't the smartest choice I ever made … but it doesn't seem like a bad thing right now. In fact, it kind of feels like a blessing.

  Or I could just be horny, there's that, too.

  Treyjan pulls me forward until I'm straddling him, meeting my eyes for a brief moment before he guides me down and reaches between us. When he finds the hot slickness of my opening, I gasp and fall forward, sheathing him fully inside my body, running my palms up his tattooed arms until I find his shoulders. Our mouths crash together as Treyjan slides his hands around my waist and pulls me forward. He holds me tight as I start to move, using the pleasure coursing through my body to guide my movements.

  The wind teases my hair around both our faces as I grind into Trey, the unfamiliar sensations between us making my skin feel hot and tight, slicking my flesh with sweat. I feel suddenly like I can't get enough of him, like I might never be able to get close enough.

  “Ride me, wife,” he says against my lips, silencing my moans by kissing me hard and deep, taking over my mouth with his own.

  Trey's right hand moves to my breast, squeezing the soft mound through the fabric, brushing his thumb over the hardened nipple and activating this ferocious need inside of me.

  In a convertible at a public beach, I ride the lead guitarist for Indecency and decide that maybe, he's not such a complete douche after all. I mean, he is kind of a rude asshole and all that, but if this is something we can do together as husband and wife, then I think I might be willing to overlook that.

  With a deep breath, I sit up further, pushing his body a little deeper between my thighs. As Trey looks up at me, I revel in the feel of him between my legs, moving faster, gyrating my hips until the pleasure coils in my belly, makes me feel like I might just lose my mind if I can't catch up to it, racing and spinning and pulling away from me.

  My lids flutter and my head drops back, Trey's hands on my hips the only thing keeping me moving. He guides me to the precipice of my own pleasure and drops me over the edge before he does the same for myself, giving me the only orgasm I've ever had with a man right there on the edge of the California Coast.

  I think my decision to stay here was the right one.

  At least, that's what I think until I find out that my sister's missing.

  Trey and I don't talk on the way back to the mansion, but I can see him grinning over there, the wind teasing his messy, spiked hair into a frenzy as we head for Beverly Hills and pull into the security gates with the van behind us.

  I find myself biting my lip, playing with my hair, trying to find some release for all the energy inside me. Having sex with Treyjan was … well, it was goddamn fucking amazing.

  “Whoa, look who's back,” Turner says as we climb out of the car and head for the porch. He's just sitting there shirtless in a pair of dark jeans and smoking a cigarette. “Hey Naomi!” he calls out as we ascend the steps and Trey pauses to give him a look. “They finally fucked!”

  “Dude, what the hell?” Trey says, glancing over at me. But honestly? At this point I'm still riding the high and I just don't care that the lead singer of Trey's bad is an annoying little asshole. Naomi was right: he's definitely worse than Trey. “I'd say to ignore him if I thought that would help, but frankly, he never frigging stops.”

  “Ask me about the time he lost his virginity—at age twenty, mind you. It's a hoot and a fucking holler.” Turner stabs his cigarettes into the stones at our feet and grins as we head inside, past Naomi Knox who's smiling and trying to pretend like she's not curious about what we were up to out there.

  “I'm picking your sister up at ten, right?” she asks as we head for the stairs and I wonder what the hell we're going to do up there. Are we going to talk? Do it again? Should I go in my room and call Oaklyn? I have no idea.

  “Right. I gave her your number and told her to text you, but she can be a little flaky. I'll call her later and confirm.”

  “Sounds good,” Naomi says, raising a blonde brow and heading outside to sit with Turner.

  When Trey and I get upstairs, there's this awkward moment where we end up pausing between his door and mine. He acts like he doesn't give a shit, leaning against it with his shoulder and running his tongue across his lower lip—the typical douchebag bad boy slouch. It doesn't quite translate to his facial expression though. Whatever he's trying to be, Treyjan Charell has a sensitive heart inside that tattooed chest of his.

  “You want to come to my room?” he asks, looking me up and down and then letting a douche-y smirk tease his lips. “I mean, we are married and all that, so it wouldn't exactly be a scandal.”

  “You told Turner you wanted love,” I say, tilting my head to the side as I study him. “In your marriage. Do you think we could … get there one day?”

  Treyjan flushes slightly, killing that whole bad boy thing with all of that red suffusing his cheeks.

  “I know we just met, but if I'm going to be here and we're going to not only spend time together but also sleep together, why not try it?”

  He just stares at me like I've grown a second head. I realize for a playboy rockstar this might be a little much to handle.

  “Sleep on it,” I tell him as I reach for the handle of my bedroom door. “And talk to me in the morning.”

  Without waiting for a response, I head inside and leave the gaping rockstar behind me.

  In the morning, Oaklyn texts me just before her flight leaves. I wake up long enough to text her back and then promptly fall asleep. It's been a while since I could not only sleep in, but do it without a single worry that Jessop or his men might find me. In here, I'm safe.

  Wish I could say the same thing for my sister.

  A few hours later, I wake to an incoming call on my phone and find that it's from Naomi Knox.

  Crap.

  I meant to get up to see her off, but glancing at the time, I see that she's probably already at the airport.

  “Hey,” she says as soon as I answer the phone, “Netty, I need you to go find Indecency's manager, Milo, and ask him to call a man named Brayden Ryker.”

  I sit up and lean against the padded headboard, wrinkling my brow at the anxiety in her voice. That can't be good. That can't be good at fucking all. I try to rationalize it in my mind, tell myself that maybe there's an issue with a rabid fan or something.r />
  But I know it's more than that.

  I fucking know it.

  There's a pit of dread in my stomach as I clamp a hand over my mouth and lean forward, forcing myself to take a deep breath. After a moment, I sit back up and throw my feet over the side of the bed.

  “Okay,” I tell her, heading for the door without asking why. Naomi Knox is a capable woman, and if she's asking me to do this in all due seriousness than I'm damn well going to do it.

  “Hey,” Trey says as soon as I step out of the room. When I see him standing there in a pair of black and white striped jeans, eyeliner, and a totally ridiculous hairdo, I can tell he's been waiting for me for a while. “Can we talk?”

  “Trey,” I say, and immediately he seems to notice the warble in my voice. “Naomi wants me to ask Milo to call Brayden Ryker.” His eyebrows go up and the door next to me opens, revealing the drummer—Ronnie I think is his name. The way he looks at me … there's true fear in his expression.

  “I'll get Milo, hold on,” Ronnie says, leaving me in the hallway with Trey.

  “I don't want you to panic, but I found your sister's luggage in the airport … but no sister.”

  “What?” I ask, heart pounding, trying to rationalize the fear. Oaklyn could be in the bathroom right? She could be speaking with an employee at a counter. She could … “How do you know it's her luggage?”

  “Because there's a black and white cat in a carrier sitting right next to it. Netty, the tags have your sisters name on them.”

  A moment later, another call comes into my cell phone.

  “Hold on,” I whisper, voice hoarse as I answer it.

  But then, I already know who it's going to be and what they're going to say.

  “Sister Izatt,” my father's voice says, smooth and smug and almighty. The very sound of it makes me feel weak in the knees.

  My eyes lift up and meet Treyjan's, and even though we barely know each other, he seems to sense that I could use some support right now. Stepping across the hall, he puts an arm around my waist and guides me to sit on the floor beside him. The clean, soapy scent of his skin actually helps put a small measure of confidence in my voice when I respond.

  “Where the fuck is she?” I ask, and my father just sighs, like I'm an impossible child, one well-deserving of punishment.

  “Oaklyn is just fine. She's back home with her family. In fact, I feel like I've received a testimony from Heavenly Father. He wants me to seal her to Jessop Barlow.”

  “If you touch a head on her hair, I will kill you,” I tell him, and it's not a threat—it's a promise.

  “We'd love to see you at home, Martha. You have a lot to answer for, you know. I feel like if you were to come quick, Jessop might not want to take on two new wives at the same time. I think he'd much prefer you over your sister, don't you agree?”

  The sound of him hanging up on me is the darkest, most ominous sound in the world.

  “Are you okay?” Trey asks, but I'm not. My heart is pounding, and my soul feels sick. If I want to protect my sister—I'd give my life for her—then I have to go to Price Canyon. There's no way around that.

  “No,” I tell him, glancing over at my husband and wishing he were more than just a stranger, wondering if he'll be able to help me, if I can lean on him.

  I guess I'll find out.

  “My sister … she's back at the compound,” I tell him, and I don't really need to elaborate. I can see understanding flash across his handsome face.

  Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and try to formulate a plan.

  In the midst of my fear and pain, vengeance rises heavy and hot within me.

  I won't let them hurt my sister—and I won't let them hurt me either.

  My husband said he pegged me for a fighter; I've never been so desperate to prove someone right.

  To Be Continued...

  Forbidden love shouldn't feel so good.

  A Brand-New Rockstar Trilogy From C.M. Stunich. Five Gorgeous Guys, One Tough Choice.

  .

  A hot rocker boy with a sultry Southern accent. A Weeping Bones Motorcycle Club daughter turned assassin.

  DESCRIPTION

  Sold to a billionaire.

  That's not my love story; that's my nightmare.

  Dash Buchanan, lead singer of Pistols and Violets, risked his life to rescue me from that auction block.

  Once upon a time, his father stole millions from my father's motorcycle club.

  Now, the business he started with that money is worth billions.

  Because of that, Dash and I could lose more than just our lives.

  BDSM as a weapon.

  Dash would be my Dom; I would be his sub.

  It was the only way to get into their club, to make them trust us so we could save the others.

  I just didn't expect to like it so much—or want it outside of our mission.

  A hot rocker boy with a sultry Southern accent.

  A Weeping Bones Motorcycle Club daughter turned assassin.

  A billionaire auction gone wrong.

  Revenge, sex … romance.

  As dangerous as it is spectacular, as fierce as it is unexpected.

  PROLOGUE

  Adelaide

  Seventy miles north of Las Vegas …

  Seven Days Later …

  The gun pressed tight against the back of my skull, a kiss of metal held in arcadian stillness. The wind swirled my hair against the barrel and whistled around me, ominous cries of pain that mimicked my sister's whimpering. I wasn't crying yet, but I couldn't blame her for shedding some tears—she'd already been shot.

  I swallowed hard and tried to get past the taste of sand in my mouth. The gritty granules rubbed against my teeth and scoured my tongue, drying up what could very well be the last words sitting in my mouth. Why you? That's all I wanted to ask, all I needed to know. Of all the people in my life, why did it have to be him? As hard as I tried though, I couldn't speak. I tried to turn my head, but the gun changed my mind about that in an instant, pressing even tighter against me. It was like a violation, an assault.

  A creak of leather sounded behind me before I could feel his breath on my neck. A droplet of blood, twice as scalding as the white sun above us, slid down my tattooed arm and pooled against the silver chain on my wrist. In the back of my mind, I imagined that I could hear the squealing of tires on the pavement, the growl of hogs in the distance. But that was all my imagination. Nobody was coming for us this time. My brothers had always said that one day, I'd bite off more than I could chew.

  I guess I had.

  And I'd taken Layla along with me.

  “Let her go,” I pushed those words out in a whispered hiss, sand soaked saliva sliding over my lips and drying instantly in the sun. My mouth felt cracked and blistered from my fall; I didn't even want to know what my face looked like. Let's see, thirty miles an hour? Hard packed sand and dirt? Some rocks? Gravel. That hurt. That really, really hurt.

  “Nobody's going anywhere. Not you, not her. Not even me. We're all going to sit here and wait.” I could hear the disgust in his voice. I supposed if I was in his position—ignorant and arrogant and stupid as hell—I'd have it, too. He knew it all. Everything. The sordid details of my existence for the past week. Out here with the desert sky looking down on me and the mountains' pointed glares, I had no reason to deny it. For years, I'd played it safe, not wanting people to look at me the way he was looking at me right now.

  Guess I was getting what I deserved.

  Seven days. That was all it had taken for my life to transform completely, set me on a path I never knew I'd be following. From lying to myself to seeing a crack form inside of me that would set all my dark truths and desires free. From hating what I'd become to relishing it.

  And it all started with a boy—with an asshole.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Dash

  I loved it when my ol' man called me into his office—mostly because I liked to screw his secretary.

  “F
uck,” I groaned, grinding my hips against the petite little blonde's, twisting my fingers in a handful of her hair. She tilted her head back and gave me access to her pale, perfect throat. I ran my tongue along her skin, tasting the sweat that was beading there, eating up the proof that I was doin' this right, doing her right.

  See, I didn't just like to fuck women—I wanted to pleasure them, shake them to their cores and feel them tighten around me when they came. Can you even believe Miss Laura here didn't have her first orgasm until she was twenty-four? That's a goddamn travesty if you ask me. Thankfully, I was able to take care of that for her. Imagine how many other women must be suffering in the same way?

  I might've just been one man, but I aimed to make the world a little better—one hot, frenzied fuck at a time.

  “Oh my god, Dash,” she moaned as I rammed her into the granite countertop of the ladies' bathroom. Hopefully nobody walked in on us. But if they did? Oh well. I was the prince of this palace so to speak, future CEO of Buchanan Bikes—much to my own damn chagrin. Besides, my sins weren't nothin' when compared to my daddy's. They could deal. “Deeper, Dash. Deeper.”

  “Turn your ass over and I'll be happy to oblige.” I slid out of Laura's slick, wet heat and spun her around, pushing her chest into the sink. We both groaned as I filled her up again, pounded my pelvis into her firm round ass.

  And I'd thought visiting my dad today was going to be boring?

  Hell, if this was on the agenda for the workday, I'd gladly quit avoiding his calls and drag my butt over here more often—even if all he ever fuckin' did was bitch about my music and my band. That crotchety old bastard could go screw himself; he was more twisted than the panties hanging off Miss Laura's dainty white ankles.