Dirty Like Jude: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 5)

by Jaine Diamond

  Piper was the spitting image of our dad—blond and dimpled, blue-eyed, all Nordic-British regal cheekbones, but our mom’s full lips—and mom’s personality. Passionate and whip-sharp, fierce, intense, given to flights of imagination. Dreamed big, maybe too big.

  On the other side, I looked like our mom.

  Mom’s parents were Hawaiian and Brazilian, and I got everything that came with that. My brother got a killer tan to go with his blue eyes. He looked like a California kid.

  I looked like the only half-brown boy in a lily-white mountain town, and got my ass kicked regularly because of it.

  I hated growing up in that pissant town, and after our parents split, hated having to go back, spending summers at Dad’s place. Lived for my new life in the city at Mom’s, even though her and Piper were like oil and water by then: too much alike, too fucking incompatible.

  And even though I looked like her, Mom saw right through me. Right to my dad.

  She told me, often, that God had made a carbon copy of my dad’s personality, and that carbon copy was me. Despite the fact that she once fell in love with the man and gave birth to his two sons, it wasn’t a compliment.

  I knew she was right. I had my dad’s grudging sense of humor, his restlessness, his loyalty. His stubbornness. His heart.

  His unwillingness to change.

  Like my dad, I was a lone wolf in the middle of a pack, struggling to balance those two disparate sides of himself.

  Unlike my dad, I had two packs to negotiate.

  2:27 pm.

  Piper got off his fucking phone and we rode to the clubhouse.

  And these moments… On my bike, in the wind, with my brother. These were the moments that made me feel the most alive.

  The most free.

  2:48 pm.

  I sat down to lunch with the boys at the clubhouse. The bar was packed, whole lotta dudes from nearby chapters rolling in, some for the meeting, others just for the party afterward.

  Sat right next to Ben, road name Blazer. Not because he “blazed” up the road or anything like that. Because he once wore a blazer to a Kings party and no one would ever let him forget it. Good guy, old friend I hadn’t seen in a while. Also the Vancouver Kings’ Secretary, I gave him the respect he was due.

  Did I love that I was now sitting next to a man—that I was in a room with two men, actually—who had, once upon a time, fucked Roni Webber? Not so fucking much.

  But I’d been forced to make peace with that uncomfortable reality years ago.

  These were my brothers.

  Nothing would ever change that.

  3:28 pm.

  Jesse texted.

  Flynn checked in again from Whistler.

  Delete.

  Delete.

  The routine.

  The timetable in my head.

  The mental tally of everyone who needed me.

  4:00 pm.

  Church—club meeting in a room in the back of the clubhouse that we called the chapel. Fourteen men present. Not the entire club, just the local and semi-local officers.

  And me.

  Not local, not an officer. Just a Nomad with special privileges. Because everyone knew if I was local, if I was a Vancouver King, my brother would yank me up the ranks and slap a patch on my chest I wasn’t ready for. Would maybe never be ready for.

  So they put up with me, sitting in on their meetings. Because, in truth, they needed me.

  They needed us all.

  Heavy shit was coming down. Shit I did not wanna think about, did not wanna deal with, but had to.

  I didn’t need the Kings. I had Dirty. I’d always had Dirty.

  The Kings needed me.

  My brother needed me.

  4:41 pm.

  Meeting adjourned.

  I passed by the photo of my dad up on the wall in the hallway outside the chapel—fallen members of the Kings MC. My dad had been up on that wall for five years. I knew it meant something to my club brothers, that it was important to have the photos there, my dad’s photo there. But it was still hard for me to see it every time I was here.

  Sometimes I didn’t even look. It was too hard to see that face, that face that could’ve been my brother’s, that one day would very possibly be my brother’s, grinning down at me.

  Today, I looked.

  When I walked out into the club bar, the women were starting to arrive. To set up for the family barbecue. In summer, the party would be out back; tonight, it would be in the bar.

  Seth had texted me a photo. A blurry image of a blobby thing that looked vaguely like a humanoid alien, obviously from the ultrasound Elle had yesterday.

  I texted him back. Looks just like you.

  Then I deleted the conversation.

  I was aware that my cell provider could always be compelled to cough up my phone records. Not much I could do about that. But the thought of dropping my phone and some fucknut picking it up, breaking into it and seeing my friends’ personal shit, like ultrasound photos of Seth and Elle’s baby, and leaking it to some shitty magazine so they could slap it on the cover—First Photos of Rock Star Baby!—really fucking disturbed me.

  Cynical.

  Paranoid.

  Sharp.

  5:23 pm.

  I stood in the bar amidst the families that had converged in this unlikely place, nursing my beer. Dinner would be eaten. The families would stay a while. Eventually, they’d leave.

  The girls would pour in.

  The party would go all night.

  Same.

  Old.

  Thing.

  I wouldn’t drink much. I never did.

  I might not stay long.

  Everyone in the band was pretty much in for the night. Jesse was in for the night. With Katie. I’d officially lost my wingman. Wingmen. I couldn’t remember the last time Zane had been on the prowl.

  Everywhere I looked, the single guys were dropping like flies. They’d all drank the relationship Kool-Aid.

  Shady texted. He’d come to the clubhouse for lunch but left when the meeting got underway, was now with Zane for the night. Braiding each other’s beards or whatever.

  Bromance.

  Delete.

  Lex: V. Home.

  It was Saturday evening. She was probably home for dinner, get ready for whatever she was doing tonight. Roni Webber wasn’t the kind of girl to sit at home on a Saturday night.

  Unless, maybe, if Taze was coming over.

  Delete.

  7:06 pm.

  Brody sent a group text, with photos: Nick spit up in my truck. There’s baby milk barf between the seats.

  The responses came in pretty quick.

  Dylan: GOOD BOY. (Fist pump emoji.)

  Jesse: Dude. Get a new truck.

  Zane: Good thing it’s November.

  Jesse: ??

  Zane: If it was summer the heat would bake in the barf smell.

  Brody: Fuck me.

  The petty complaints of my wealthy friends. Brody had a healthy baby boy and the woman of his dreams—Jessa Mayes was a lingerie model, for fuck’s sake—and he could buy a new truck, if it came down to it.

  Plus, I knew a brilliant detailer who’d take care of it. If he could make DNA disappear, he could handle a little baby barf.

  Me: Take it to my guy. Have Bishop swing back for you.

  I deleted the conversation.

  7:18 pm.

  I looked around at my brothers in the bar. The harder lives lived. Men with larger complaints, but who weren’t necessarily any less well-off, in terms of family. Love.

  I looked at their loved ones—the women, the kids. The people who didn’t want to know the half of what their men had just talked about in that room in back.

  Not a life I’d want to bring a woman into, much less children.

  Too many secrets.

  Too much darkness.

  Too much risk.

  But this life, it wasn’t something I could ever give up. Piper was VP now. There was a target on his back
.

  There always would be.

  He was in too deep. I was in too deep. And I would never turn my back on my brother. Our father may have been many things, but he raised us well.

  My brother taught me well.

  Lone wolf.

  Two packs.

  Family.

  11:17 pm.

  I sat at the bar, not drinking, not really listening to whatever my brothers were talking about around me. Ignoring the women climbing into their laps, trying to climb into mine.

  I didn’t even know if I wanted to be here. If I wanted to get laid. If I wanted to be alone.

  If I wanted to go to sleep and ignore my phone for twelve hours, turn off the clock in my head.

  I stared at Lex’s text on my phone.

  V, it said. Artemis Club.

  Chapter Five

  Roni

  “Have you ever had that feeling you’re being watched?”

  Talia strode through my front door, dropping her purse on the floor before giving me a quick hug.

  I shut the door behind her. “Watched?”

  “There was a guy downstairs,” she said, “sitting on a bike, and I swear I saw the same guy when I was at JJ Bean the other day, picking up coffees for us. And both times, he looked at me. Like looked at me.”

  “A bike?” I followed her into the living room.

  “Yeah.” She unpacked her laptop, laying it on the coffee table next to mine. “Like one of those big-ass biker bikes, you know? Like a Harley or whatever?”

  “Was he wearing a Sinners vest?” Talia had met Taze, so it couldn’t have been him, but I wondered if it was one of his guys. “Or, you know… Kings, or something…?”

  Would it be too much to imagine that Jude had some dude parked out there, stalking me, because he was as obsessed with me as I was with him?

  Yeah. Definitely.

  “No,” Talia said as she tapped on her computer, getting set up. “His jacket didn’t say anything on it. I never would’ve noticed, actually. Totally not my type.” She glanced at me. “No offense. But when I looked at him he did this thing. He like, showed me his teeth.”

  I felt my eyebrow raise and she grinned. “His teeth?”

  “Yeah… I’m assuming you have beer?” She headed into the kitchen, not even needing an answer. “It wasn’t exactly a smile, but he touched his tongue very deliberately to his canine tooth, and it was like, silver.”

  Nope. No one I knew. I did not know any dude with silver canines.

  I leaned against the kitchen door frame. “Maybe he wanted you to know he’s got a silver dick?”

  “Sadly, I don’t go for anything less than solid gold.” She helped herself to a beer from my fridge.

  “And why should you?” I teased, flattering her. Talia was gorgeous, a peppy little blonde-Italian ex-cheerleader type, and if I was a dude, I’d totally want to sink my teeth into that.

  “Neighbor of yours?” she teased back.

  “Is that hope I hear in your voice, or trepidation?” I held out my hand for a beer, and she passed one to me.

  “Both?”

  “I’ve never seen him. So probably not.” We cracked open our beers and headed back into the living room. “What if the teeth are platinum or something?”

  “Well, damn. Now I’ve got myself a dilemma.” She grinned, getting comfy on the couch. “So. What’re we working on?”

  “Something big,” I said. “Potentially huge.” I took a swig of beer and wondered how to… well, pitch this to her. Talia often worked with me on the events I was promoting. She worked for me, really; I hired her on as an assistant when I needed one. But when it came to Dirty, she was definitely the authority in the room.

  Talia had been working with Brody and Maggie, on and off, for the past few years, as one of their many managerial underlings-slash-slaves. She’d worked a lot of Dirty events and she definitely knew a shit ton more than I did about the inner workings of the Dirty world.

  Honestly, I’d really never paid all that much attention to the inner workings of the Dirty world before. It really wasn’t my world.

  Until now.

  “Oh?” She blinked at me, waiting for more.

  I settled in on the floor, cross-legged, across the table from her. “You can’t tell anyone yet. It’s top secret until we’re sure it’s a go.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s… Dirty.”

  She stared at me. Then she cocked her head a bit. “What? How?”

  “Jessa brought it to me. She told me the band wants to play a New Year’s Eve show, in town, and Brody’s looking to put it together. Have you heard anything?”

  “Yeah. Of course. But I thought Maggie was on it.”

  “I guess not? Jessa said Maggie and Brody are both too busy. She said they need a venue, basically, and suggested I find one and make it happen.”

  Talia sat back, considering that. “Wow.”

  “Yeah. So I really want to make a go of this, obviously.”

  “You have a venue?”

  “No. Which is why I need your help.”

  Talia’s pretty face immediately tightened, in that way a person’s did when they really didn’t want to have to break the bad news to you, but knew they had to—because you had a giant tarantula on your head or something.

  “Roni…”

  “I know, I know. Everything in town is booked. But there has to be some way. Let’s just put our big, juicy lady brains together and see what we can do, okay?”

  “Okay…” she said, sounding not at all optimistic, but at least willing.

  “I’ve started a list, of all the places I’d love—”

  “Don’t bother,” she said, clicking around on her laptop. “I’ve got the only list you’ll ever need.” She turned the laptop toward me. “These are the only places in town Dirty will even consider playing. This is Brody and Jude’s approved list.”

  My stomach dropped as I took a look at her list. There were exactly seven venues on it, with data about each venue and contact information. “Jude?”

  “Yeah. Jude. He’s a real hard-ass when it comes to security. On the road, Dirty only plays major venues. At home, they love playing smaller shows, trying out new material and just having fun. But it always has to meet Jude’s standards for security. He’s very protective of Jesse and Zane, especially. You know I wasn’t even allowed to meet Zane until the fifth show I’d ever worked for them?” She rolled her eyes. “I promise you, these are the only venues Jude will approve. And Brody won’t even consider anything Jude won’t approve.”

  “Great.” I closed my list, which was obviously a total waste of time, with a dramatic jab of my touchpad. Then I took a big-ass swig of beer.

  “I’m telling you,” Talia said, sympathetic. “You think rock stars are difficult? Try working with Brody and Jude.”

  I scanned her list again. “Booked, booked and booked. Every venue on there is booked. I’ve already checked.”

  “Yeah.” She sounded the least bit surprised.

  Shit.

  I knew I could pull this thing off—in theory. I had the main skill that was needed: the ability to negotiate. I knew I could negotiate this event into being, if I had a venue to negotiate with.

  At the look on my face, Talia squared her shoulders and turned her laptop back toward herself. “Let’s just look at these venues again.”

  “Maybe there’s no point.” I flopped back against the couch and pushed my hands into my hair. “Unless there’s any wiggle room on that list of yours, there’s no point.”

  “There’s no wiggle room. But let’s just look at each place, at their New Year’s Eve events. In case anything stands out.”

  “Like what? Someone’s already managed to book Dirty there since this morning?”

  She grinned. “Nope. I would’ve heard. But let’s not throw in the towel yet, right?” She was typing on her laptop. “Don’t even bother with the arena or the stadium or Pacific Coliseum. Not happening. Let’s look at the smal
ler ones.”

  “Jessa said they want something more intimate for this show anyway.” I thought through Talia’s incredibly short list… “That leaves the Ruby, Pandora Ballroom and Elysium Theatre. And the Back Door, which Jessa specifically told me Brody doesn’t want for this.”

  “I’m looking at the Elysium now. You do one of the others.”

  “Is this the part where I tell you that I already talked to the Ruby today, and they confirmed that they’re committed to four out-of-town DJs and the event is already almost sold-out?”

  “Yeah, okay. So cross them off the list.”

  I sighed. “Pandora it is.” I opened Google and searched Pandora Ballroom Vancouver - New Year’s Eve.

  “The Elysium is booked with Harper Sloane,” Talia informed me. “And some special guests. Ugh. Folk rock. Zane calls it ‘snooze rock.’ Not happening.”

  “Are the tickets on sale already?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Scratch that off.” I’d pulled up a flyer for the New Year’s Eve event at the Pandora, where I’d already discovered, earlier in the day, that DJ Summer was on the bill. “A Pandora New Year’s Eve,” I read aloud. “Featuring DJ Spyyder, DJ Summer… and some other small-time DJs I’m not even gonna bore you with… Fully booked.”

  “I love DJ Spyyder. We should totally hit that party.”

  “Yeah. Tickets aren’t on sale yet. I’ll see if I can score some from the venue. I know the new assistant manager.” After all, if this Dirty show wasn’t happening, I’d be looking for someplace to get good and drunk that night after I was done with my lame-ass pub event.

  “I’ll see if I can score some from Summer,” Talia said.

  I looked at her, considering. “How well do you know her?”

  “Not that well. I mean, I have her number.”

  I had her number, too. Didn’t mean I had the courage to use it, unless I had something to offer her. DJ Summer was, unfortunately, a little out of my playing field—both personally and professionally.

  But then again, so was Dirty.

  Talia was typing and clicking, and frowned. “How come when I go to the Pandora website, Spyyder’s not on the bill?”

  “What?”

  She spun her laptop toward me again. Her browser was open to a page on the Pandora Ballroom’s website—info about their New Year’s Eve event. Featuring DJ Summer, several other, smaller DJs… and: More to be announced.