New Adult Romance Box Set

by Emme Rollins, Julia Kent, Anna Antonia, Helena Newbury, Aubrey Rose

  John and Dale and Aimee and even the prosecutor, who I’d met with twice, reassured me my stepfather wouldn’t ever have the opportunity to hurt me again. I gave them my Dear Rockstar journals, all of them detailed accounts of what had happened since I was fourteen years old, enough evidence, the prosecutor seemed to think, to put my stepfather away at least for life. New Jersey had the death penalty, and with attempted murder on the list of crimes he was being charged with, it was possible they would sentence him to death.

  Not that anything would bring my mother back.

  They hadn’t told me for three weeks, until I was out of the hospital and settled. John and Dale had moved all my stuff, my clothes and art supplies, into Dale’s room. I’d asked about my mother—she hadn’t come to see me, and when I’d asked, John mentioned something about a women’s shelter, but when I got home, Dale sat me down on his bed and had finally told me the truth.

  I wanted to go see the apartment, even though it was still a crime scene and we weren’t supposed to. I still had a key and I told him I would go myself if he didn’t come with me, so Dale had walked me down the stairs. There was yellow crime tape over the door. Inside, everything was still the same. It smelled like stale cigarettes and beer and the heavy, coppery odor of blood.

  The bathroom door still hung off its hinges. My door was open, but theirs was closed. I didn’t open it—she had used my stepfather’s nine millimeter Glock, the one he had held to my head the first time he raped me when I was just fifteen. I don’t know when she discovered it, but she knew, long before I told her. And she pretended not to know, pretended it wasn’t happening, even after that.

  I stood in the middle of my room, looking around at the images of Tyler Vincent still papering my walls. It was all that was left, aside from the furniture. I sat on the bed, tears streaming down my face, looking at the blood-stained carpet in the hallway where I had nearly bled to death after my stepfather had stabbed me with the handiest weapon he could find, determined to silence me once and for all.

  “I’m so sorry, Sara.” Dale came over to me, brushing my tears from my cheeks as I looked up at him. He had been there. He had heard everything. He knew what my stepfather had done to me—and I had told him everything once I could talk again, while he sat beside my hospital bed and held my hand, in short, hitching whispers.

  I had trusted him with it all.

  I even told him about getting pregnant last year, how I had dropped out of school to have the baby. And how, unlike Holly, who had given birth to hers only to have to give it up—I had carried mine for just six months before the stepbeast had beaten me within an inch of my life and my little girl had died inside of me. She’d been dead a week before he took me to the hospital. Long enough for the bruises to heal.

  “What is the secret of this belt?” I mused, smiling as I tugged on it, pulling him close enough so I could put my arms around his waist, the studs digging into my bruised cheek, but I didn’t care. “Is it magical? Did you trade your soul for it? Does it give you your amazing voice?”

  Dale stroked my hair and I heard the click in his throat as he swallowed. “You’ve told me so much truth in the past couple weeks. I guess it’s time I told you mine.”

  I blinked up at him, bemused. “It really is magic?”

  “No.” He smiled, sitting next to me on the bed, taking my hand in his. “It’s my father’s.”

  “John’s?”

  “No. Not my dad. My father. My biological father.” He met my eyes, waiting for me to connect the dots. It took me longer than it should have.

  “Well if it’s not John’s…” I paused, my gaze distracted by a photograph on the wall, the one I had painted—Tyler and Chloe, father and daughter, the picture I had transformed into my symbolic wish fulfillment.

  And I remembered how he had said her name that day he saw my painting, like he knew her, and of course, he had. His mother had been having an affair with Tyler for… years.

  “Tyler?” I guessed.

  “She told me the day she left. I suspected, after what I saw, but she admitted it was true.”

  “And John doesn’t know,” I whispered, my heart breaking for him, for both of them. “Does Tyler know?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “And your sister?”

  “Tyler’s. Chrissy knows. She chose to stay with my mother.”

  “You’re both his?” I blinked at him, stunned by his revelation. “And John… he never knew? How could he not know?”

  “How did your mother not know your father was…” His face hardened, eyes pained.

  “But she did,” I whispered. “I even told her, eventually. And still she didn’t want to believe.”

  “Sometimes the truth is too hard for any of us to face.”

  I rested my cheek against his chest, running my fingertips over the studs on his belt. “So why do you wear it, if it was his?”

  “To remind me…” His put his hand over mine at his waist. “Every day I put it on to remind me what not to be… what are you doing?”

  I had opened the locket around my neck with my fingernail and was prying out the picture of Tyler, the one Dale had cut into a heart shape and put inside.

  “I don’t need this anymore.” I looked at the image of the man I had admired, the one I had created in my mind, built up and put on an impossibly high pedestal. I put it down on the bed, closing the locket with only Dale’s picture left inside—he was all I needed, all I had ever needed.

  “He belongs here. But I don’t.”

  “No, you belong with me.” He put his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. “You’re mine. Now and forever.”

  “I love you, Dale,” I whispered against his chest as he rocked me slowly back and forth.

  One soft kiss on my forehead. “I know.”

  “Will you sing to me?”

  “There’s nothin’ more that I can do

  There’s nothin’ more that I can say

  With your wall of thorns you have barred my way

  But I will always come for you

  My task is set before me, girl

  My mission clear and true

  There’ll be black knights and dragons, girl

  But I will always come for you…”

  We were at the front of the stage, front row center, the best seats I’d ever had, to the best concert I’d ever been to in my life. Aimee and Matt were behind me in the crowd, Carrie and Wendy not far behind them.

  Black Diamonds was the very last act in the MTV Battle of the Bands Finals—out of thousands, there were only ten left. MTV was filming it live in the Carrier Dome in Syracuse, and the place was packed far beyond its 33,000 person capacity. The winner would be announced after a final deliberation of celebrity judges and several celebrity performances.

  It turned out I didn’t have to go to Maine to meet Tyler Vincent after all.

  Dale moved across the stage toward me and suddenly his eyes met mine, and the jolt was electric. He squatted down, girls all around me reaching for his outstretched hand, just for a chance to touch him once. His fingertips brushed mine, and I knew he sang the words just for me, like he did every night, held close and safe in his arms.

  “You watch from your tower

  Want to trust I’ll come through

  You can set any trials, girl

  I will always come for you…”

  “Sara, this is Tyler Vincent.” John introduced us and I had to smile and look dazzled for his sake, but thought I was a good enough actress to make it all seem real. I’d been hiding my feelings for years, thanks to the stepbeast, so Tyler Vincent simply thought I was just another fan asking for his autograph.

  Until Dale came up and put his arm around me, leaning down and capturing my mouth with his, a full-on backstage kiss from the only rock star in the world who mattered to me anymore.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in Maine?” Dale asked him. “Some contest?”

  “I was.” Tyler glanced at his watch. “
Two hours ago. Met with the winners and presented awards, hopped on a plane, and here I am. How’d you know about that?”

  Dale squeezed his arm around my shoulder. “Sara here entered.”

  “Did you do the painting?” Tyler’s eyes widened. “The one of me and… well…”

  I nodded, blushing. “Yeah, that was me.”

  “Well, girl, you won!” Tyler laughed. “Congratulations! Everyone wondered where you were?”

  “Sara, you won?” Aimee cried. She’d found us backstage, Matt, Wendy and Carrie bringing up the rear. “The full scholarship?”

  “Apparently. But I don’t need it.” I slipped my arms around Dale’s waist, looking up to meet his eyes. “I got a far better offer.”

  Aimee’s eyes widened. “You did?”

  “It’s not what you think.” I laughed, reaching around and pulling a folded envelope out of the back pocket of my jeans. I glanced up at Dale, seeing the love shining in his eyes. “I checked the mail at my old apartment before we left. I hadn’t thought about it for weeks.”

  “What’s that?” John asked, peering over my shoulder.

  I smiled at him. “This is my acceptance to the New York Studio School. John asked me to apply, so I did. Full tuition. I start in the fall.”

  “Congratulations!” John leaned over, kissing my cheek, which was still bruised, although I’d covered it the best I could with makeup. “When are you going to start calling me dad?”

  I looked slyly over at Dale. “When your son asks me to marry him.”

  “Well what are you waiting for, son?” John laughed, clapping him on the back.

  “Excuse me.” A young brunette approached us, tapping Tyler Vincent on the shoulder. “Tyler, you have to announce the winner. It’s time.”

  Dale grabbed my hand. “That’s what I’m waiting for.”

  “Good luck!” Tyler glanced over his shoulder, giving Dale a wink. “Careful what you wish for, man…”

  “Are you ready to be a rock star?” Matt asked Dale, grinning and taking Aimee’s hand as the band gathered around us too, all of them looking nervous, hearing the cheers of the crowd as Tyler took the stage again. He’d performed earlier, but I’d been backstage with Dale and had missed it—and didn’t care at all.

  All ten of the bands, each huddled in groups, waited for the announcement backstage.

  “Hey.” I clutched his hand in mine, squeezing hard. He looked down at me, eyes glazed, a little wild. My stomach clenched with nerves. I couldn’t even imagine what he was feeling. “Win or lose… you’re my rock star.”

  “Sara...” Dale put his arms around me, whispering in my ear so only I could hear him. “I don’t care. I really don’t care anymore. I have you. That’s all that matters.”

  “And the winner is…” On stage, Tyler Vincent opened the envelope and the crowd was so loud we could barely hear him. “Black Diamond!”

  Thirty-thousand people went insane.

  It felt like a hundred people were hugging us at once, but Dale had me in his arms, his mouth on mine, and the rest of the world just melted away.

  Then a small entourage of people came to usher the band onto the stage, telling them where to stand, what to say. But Dale wouldn’t let me go.

  “Go!” I laughed, hitting his shoulder, trying to wiggle out of his arms. “This is your moment!”

  “No, it’s ours. You’re coming with me,” he insisted, ignoring the handler’s instructions, dragging me with him onto the stage with the band to accept the title as Best New Band. It was all being filmed live on MTV and I stared out at the crowd, completely overwhelmed, wishing I could turn invisible.

  “Dale Diamond, as the lead singer of Black Diamond, what do you have to say?” Tyler handed the microphone over to Dale, who dropped my hand to wave at the crowd.

  “Thank you!”

  They roared their approval.

  “I want to say thank you to all of you who supported us. And thanks to the judges. And congratulations to the band, Black Diamond—Terry Miller, Rick Baker, Eddie Allen… and me, Dale Diamond!”

  Another swell of applause from the crowd. Eddie Allen! That was Bear, the drummer’s, full name! I smiled, hugging myself, standing back and letting them have their moment. I didn’t belong out here on stage. Glancing over, I saw John and Aimee and Matt standing next to Wendy and Carrie backstage. They waved, all of them giving me a thumbs up. That’s where I belonged. I wasn’t a rock star—I was just a fan.

  Dale Diamond’s biggest fan.

  Then he was turning to me, the love in his eyes almost knocking me over, still holding tight to the microphone.

  “I just need to say one more thing.”

  Then Dale Diamond sank to one knee in front of thirty thousand people and made me the luckiest girl in the world.

  The End

  About Emme Rollins

  Emme Rollins is an up and coming author of New Adult/Mature Young Adult fiction. She’s been writing since she could hold a crayon and still chews her pen caps to a mangled plastic mess. She did not, however, eat paste as a kid.

  She has two degrees, a bachelor’s and a master’s, one of which she’s still paying for, but neither of which she uses out in the “real world,” because when she isn’t writing, she spends her time growing an organic garden to feed her husband and children (and far too many rabbits and deer!) where they live on twenty gorgeous forested acres in rural Michigan.

  She loves tending her beehives (bees are wonderful pollinators and Hello!? Honey!) and keeping up with her daily yoga practice and going for long walks in the woods with her boxer, Rodeo, who loves chasing squirrels almost as much as Emme loves writing!

  Emme loves hearing from fans, so feel free to use the contact page on her site to connect with her. (www.emmerollins.com)

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  RANDOM ACTS OF CRAZY

  By Julia Kent

  I never intended to pick up a naked hitchhiker wearing nothing but a guitar. A guitar. Really. I don't collect guys like that (don't ask what kind of guys I do collect), but when you spot a blonde, tanned, sculpted man with a gorgeous smile and his thumb poking up and practically begging you to stop - you stop.

  And I definitely never thought I'd be staring into the bright blue eyes of Trevor Connor, the lead singer for Random Acts of Crazy, an indie rock star I followed like the slobbering fileshare fangirl I am. How he came to be nude and lost six hundred miles from home is quite the tale, but how we fell in love is even more unreal.

  Because someone like Trevor Connor, headed to Harvard Law next year, isn't supposed to want someone like me, a rural Ohio chick majoring in Boredom at Convenience Store University who is all curves and frizzy blonde hair and manners so unpolished they have sharp edges that make you bleed.

  But he did.

  When his best friend, Joe Ross, the bass player for Random Acts of Crazy and a man who makes Calvin Klein models look like Shrek, drove eleven hours through the night to rescue him, though, it got real complicated. It's one thing to like two different guys and be torn.

  What do you do, though, when maybe - just maybe - you don't have to choose?

  As my Aunt Josie says sometimes, "It's always complicated."

  * * * * *

>   Random Acts of Crazy is a standalone, full-length novel (300+ pages, 85,000 words) featuring Darla Jo(sephine) Jennings, the 22-year-old niece of Josie Mendham from the Her Two Billionaires series. It has, like many New Adult novels, an exploration of sexuality for the three main characters, doesn't shy away from mature content, and Darla has a sailor's mouth.

  RANDOM ACTS OF CRAZY

  By Julia Kent

  Chapter One

  Darla

  The last everloving fucking thing I expected to see as I drove down I-76 toward my little hometown of Peters, Ohio was a buck-naked man wearing a spiked collar and a guitar.

  I mean, only wearing a collar and a guitar. The man was barefoot, for goodness sake. On the highway. In May, in Oh-fucking-hi-o, where winter isn't a season but a state of mind.

  How could I not stop and offer him a ride? Seriously? Where was he hiding a weapon? OK, OK, maybe up there, but think about it for a minute—he'd have to twist quite a bit to access anything he hid up his puckered—well, there!

  And he wasn't a bit hard on the eyes, either. Kind of a Brad Pitt circa 1991 look, before he married Miss Toothpick and then left her for that wan Elvira and her weak Michelle Duggar imitation.

  Anyhow...back to the naked hitchhiker. My 1986 Toyota Tercel wasn't anything special but it, um, had a floor. And a windshield. And a place for Mr. Naked to rest his weary nuts. The vinyl might be cracked and faded and it wasn't no Giving Tree from that Shel Silverstein book, but at least the man could give his balls a rest. Those muscles looked like they could sure use some eyes hungrily ogling them, too, for they screamed for loving attention. If I couldn't touch, I could at least be the one to stare, right? I'm a giver like that.