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

by Jaine Diamond

  No fucking way I was gonna make it.

  I parked under a tree in the dark between the streetlights. Sat down on the curb.

  Then I called Con to come get me.

  He was still at the clubhouse, but I knew he wasn’t drinking heavy tonight. He was one of the few Kings who never crashed at the clubhouse, would always make sure he was sober enough to drive home at the end of the night.

  “No bike,” I told him, spitting blood out onto the pavement at my feet. “Bring a car and come alone. Bring some cash. Can you get a couple grand?”

  “Yeah. Okay. I’ll be there in about… forty-five.”

  “And Con?”

  “Yeah, boss.”

  “Not a fucking word to anyone.”

  “The fuck happened to you?”

  I opened my eyes.

  2:36 am.

  I looked up to find Con standing over me with a white-toothed smile, blond hair rimmed in the streetlight like a bloody halo.

  “Jumped.”

  He laughed uneasily. “Shit. Who the fuck jumps you?”

  “Coupla kids.” I spat pink, bloody spit on the ground at my feet. My tooth had cut into the inside of my lip when Taze hit me, apparently, and it was still bleeding. “And a tire iron.”

  He sat down next to me on the curb, looking me over. “You okay?”

  “Not really fuckin’ sure.”

  “Who the fuck was it? Where did this happen? You want me to call this in?”

  “No.” I looked him in the eye. “We’re not telling anyone about this.”

  He stared at me a minute, processing that. “Even Pipe?”

  “Especially my brother.”

  Con was silent for a minute.

  “I’m gonna assume the cash is for the doc, then?”

  “Like to make sure my kidneys are still functioning,” I said.

  3:19 am.

  When we arrived at Dr. Singh’s clinic, he was already there. He let us in with a smile. The man was incredibly upbeat for a dude who’d been woken up in the middle of the night by a couple of bikers, one of whom was spitting and pissing blood.

  Dr. Singh always wore a smile and the man had crazy eyes. He looked to me like he was always on some kind of uppers. Or maybe he was just high on life. Or the cash the Kings steadily siphoned his way.

  Or all of the above.

  He looked me over and took some X-rays, asked me not one single thing. Other than what had hit me in the back. When I told him it was a tire iron, he said, “Lever? Or like a four-way lug wrench?”

  “Lug wrench,” I said. “L-type.”

  “Ouch,” he said, with a smile.

  While we waited for the results, Con came at me a few times about the “kids” who’d attacked me, wanting to know what the fuck really happened.

  “I told you,” I said. “I was jumped.”

  “For what? Your fucking wallet?” He looked pointedly at my wallet, which was in my hand, and the wad of cash I was pulling out of it.

  “Next time I tell you to bring two grand,” I said, “bring two grand.”

  He just grinned as I added two hundred from my wallet to the eighteen hundred he’d brought.

  When Dr. Singh returned and showed me the X-rays he assured me, with a smile, that there was no breakage. Bones, organs, or otherwise. Just one hell of a gnarly bruise.

  There was that pesky blood in my piss, which he told me not to worry about—unless it got worse. Then he hooked me up with some painkillers.

  Con paid the man and drove me home, where I planned to piss some more blood and sleep for a year.

  “Have a prospect pick up my bike and deliver it here before the sun comes up,” I told him when he dropped me off.

  “Yup. We sticking to this story about the world’s stupidest kids jumping you for no good reason?”

  “Yes,” I said. “We are. And… I need you to do something else for me.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jude

  What fucking time is it?

  This shitty feeling, in the confusion before I was fully awake.

  Where was I, and what day was it?

  Wake the fuck up…

  Sunday morning. Late morning.

  Fucking 11:03 am.

  Home.

  Bed.

  This shitty feeling, lingering. That my life had been reduced to an endless accounting in my head. Every moment filed away for later recall, in case of the need to provide an explanation, to produce an alibi. And as it was filed away, the moment was already gone, so when was I ever really living it? Was I here?

  What if I really wanted to be there?

  Her.

  I almost reached for my phone, almost checked for a message from Lex, almost forgot he wasn’t tailing her anymore. Almost forgot about last night.

  Fuck, last night.

  Roni.

  Ash.

  Fucking Taze.

  The pain in my lower back as I climbed out of bed, as I got dressed.

  Breakfast smoothie.

  Painkillers.

  I checked my phone—found texts from Brody. He’d brought Roni to his place last night, like I asked. But Bishop drove her home in the morning, after she promised Brody she’d come back.

  Found texts from Jesse, wanting to know where the fuck I was.

  Shit.

  I texted Jesse back, let him know I wasn’t coming over, that I was heading to Brody’s. That I’d check in with him later.

  I texted Con with a simple question mark, meaning: send me an update.

  I called Piper, told him, “I need to pull Hazard or Bane for Dirty crew. Today.”

  “Today?” My brother did not sound happy about it.

  “Today.”

  I’d already talked to him, and to both Hazard and Bane—both Kings—about joining Dirty’s security crew this year on the road. Piper had approved of me hiring on one of them, not both, and not until the tour started in January.

  But thanks to Taze’s bullshit play last night, I was not gonna be able to wait that long.

  Piper sighed and said, “Take Bane. Fucking guy annoys me anyway.”

  “I owe you one.”

  “You owe me more than one, little brother.”

  I hung up and sent a quick text to Bane. Call me.

  Then I called Brody. “Roni went home?”

  “She went home to shower and change,” he said. “I tried to keep her here, but I couldn’t exactly make her stay.”

  “Bishop’s bringing her back?”

  “They’re back already. She’s having lunch with Jessa. Said she has some kind of business proposal for me.”

  “Stall,” I said. “Don’t talk to her until I get there.”

  “When will you be here?”

  “Soon,” I said. “Just fucking stall.”

  When I hung up, a text came in from Con. Not yet. But this shit will be easy.

  I threw on my leather jacket, grabbed my keys. Found my bike parked in the driveway, where whatever prospect had left it.

  Fucking newspaper.

  I got into the Bentley, awkwardly. The painkillers were kicking in, but I felt stiff all over.

  Morning drive. Metallica. “Die, Die My Darling.”

  The mental inventory in my head.

  11:52 am.

  I arrived at Brody’s place, headed straight into his office. Endured his stare-down, aimed at the damage on my face. It wasn’t that bad. Just a small bruise and scrape on my left cheekbone from Taze’s fist.

  “What happened?” he finally asked, flatly, like someone who didn’t really expect to get an answer.

  “Nothing you want to know.”

  I sat down on the couch, ready to go the fuck back to sleep. I was walking normal by now and I was no longer pissing blood, so that was something. Maybe a few hundred more hours of sleep and I’d be like new.

  There was a knock at the door, which was half-open, and Jessa appeared.

  “Hey…” The smile fell right off her face when she saw me. “J
ude! What happened?” She pushed the door open; baby Nick was snuggled in the crook of her arm, half-asleep.

  Roni was right behind her.

  Roni’s face fell when she saw me, too, though probably for an altogether different reason.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Had a little disagreement with a door.”

  “A door? You want me to believe you walked into a door, and it gave you that?” Jessa frowned at the scrape on my cheek. Then her gaze flicked over to Brody, and her shoulders dropped. “Alright. Whatever.” She brought Nick over to me as I got to my feet.

  I ruffled his silky little tuft of hair with my fingertips and offered the obligatory, “Cuter every day, huh?”

  “Yes,” she said proudly, kissing his head. “Your uncle Jude’s a badass,” she whispered to him in her super-sweet mommy voice, “and you are never, ever riding one of his motorcycles. No… you’re not.”

  “His dad get a say in that?” I glanced at Brody.

  Brody just rolled his eyes.

  “Nope,” Jessa said. “He’s not riding Daddy’s motorcycles either.”

  “Right,” I said.

  Jessa flashed me her bratty face.

  “Come in, Roni,” Brody said, gesturing for Roni to join us. She was standing way back, just inside the door, arms crossed.

  “We’re not staying,” Jessa announced, heading for the door with Nick. “I need to feed Nicky.” She gave Roni a quick hug. “Don’t take no for an answer,” she told Roni, then she threw Brody a sharp look over her shoulder and left.

  I stared at Roni.

  It was the first time I’d been this close to her since the meet-the-baby party a week ago, and my guard was way the fuck up. The ways I felt about this woman… were incredibly conflicted. That was never more obvious to me than when I was face-to-face with her.

  I was definitely pissed about her choices. Taze, for one. And last night… whatever the fuck was going on with Ash.

  But at least I wasn’t pissed about the past anymore.

  Mostly.

  Either way, I’d definitely told myself I was never gonna be with her. Which pretty much meant never being in the same room with her, apparently.

  Because as soon as me and Roni Webber were face-to-face, I could feel it… how the entire dynamic of our non-relationship shifted. Her relationship to me shifted—from someone I needed to stay the fuck away from, to someone I had to get close to.

  Fucking dangerous, this woman…

  She looked at me, barely, as she took a couple more steps into the room.

  Her black hair was smoothed down past her shoulders, parted to one side. She wore it long all over, without the bangs she’d had as a teenager. She still had a preference for black eyeliner, just a lot less of it. Back then, she looked kinda like a doll. Now, she looked like a total sex kitten, even when she dressed for business.

  She wore a fitted black skirt with tall leather boots and a collared blouse. The blouse was a deep green with a bit of a shine to it—totally fucking gorgeous with her green eyes—and it was tucked into the skirt, so her full breasts pressed against the fabric. The top couple of buttons were undone, though not enough to show cleavage.

  She’d dressed to impress, but not to seduce.

  “Thank you for meeting with me,” she said—to Brody. If I wasn’t mistaken, she seemed to be waiting for him to ask me to step out. But of course, he didn’t. I could’ve sat in on any band-related meeting in existence. Brody never asked me to step out.

  And if Roni had any kind of “business proposal” for Brody, it had to do with the band.

  Dirty was Brody’s business.

  And mine.

  He offered her a seat in front of his desk.

  We all sat.

  “Jessa mentioned to me that you’re looking to book an event for Dirty on New Year’s Eve,” she said, still talking to Brody, and only Brody. “As you know, I’ve been doing event promotion for a while now, so I thought I might put something together.”

  Brody’s eyebrows raised. He sat back in his chair. I couldn’t tell for sure if he was pulling away, totally fucking against the idea, or just surprised.

  “I’ve got the Pandora Ballroom,” she added quickly, before he could say anything. “And DJ Summer on the bill, after midnight.”

  Brody just stared at her for a few seconds. Then he glanced at me.

  I said nothing, but the gears were turning in my head.

  DJ Summer. That’s what that was last night? Ash pulling her behind the stage at Summer’s show…?

  She was there to talk business with Summer?

  Brody looked at her again. “You want Dirty to open for DJ Summer?”

  “Not open. They’d have the prime—”

  “But they’d play before her.”

  “In the prime spot,” Roni said. “Right before midnight. They’d do the New Year countdown—”

  “And then Summer would take over.”

  Roni sat back. “Are you really gonna tell me that Dirty wants to play until three in the morning?”

  Brody said nothing.

  “It would be a double bill. Best rock band in town. Best DJ in town. Best New Year’s Eve party in town.”

  I sat back, watching. Listening.

  Impressed.

  It was a good idea, and a good venue.

  Dirty would like it. Zane would like it, and that was the main thing. If Zane was happy, no one else was likely to bitch about much. They’d be happy to play to a packed house, pretty much wherever we—Brody and me—sent them.

  They trusted us like that.

  But more than that—I was impressed she’d actually gone ahead and gotten the ball rolling on this, brought it to Brody.

  I was also more than a little surprised. Because she had to know working on this event would mean working with my ass.

  “Uh-huh,” Brody said. “Dirty won’t take the stage before Summer without a warm-up. Who’ve you got to open? The Pushers?”

  “The Penny Pushers aren’t right for this. Pushes the balance too far in the rock direction.” I listened carefully to her answer, and I liked it. If she’d wanted Ash’s band for this, I was gonna go ahead and assume she really was fucking him. “I’m thinking more of an electronic/pop rock vibe,” she said. “Someone who vibes with both Dirty and Summer.”

  I watched Brody. Closely. I could see that she was starting to win him over. Somewhat.

  “And you’ve got someone like that on the line?”

  “Not yet, but I’m working on it. I’ll come up with someone perfect.”

  Brody looked skeptical as he pretty much stared her down. He also looked like a new dad; like a dude who hadn’t gotten more than a few hours’ sleep per night the last two weeks and had no time for bullshit.

  “I came up with DJ Summer and the best venue in town for this party,” she reminded him, unflinching as she stared him right back down. “With five weeks’ lead time. For New Year’s Eve. I can come up with an opening band.”

  Brody took that in. Then he leaned forward on his elbows on the desk, seeming to relent. I knew he’d fucking love to have this event off his plate. But we both knew we couldn’t just hand a Dirty show over to anyone. “What do you need from me?” he asked her.

  “I need your agreement that Dirty’s in,” she said. “I need promo images of the band. Any requests you have on behalf of the band. A look at some previous contracts you’ve had with local venues would be nice, if you’ll let me see them. I’ll need to know what you need for sound check and security. And I’ll get a contract drafted, for you to review.”

  Brody’s gaze shifted to me. “That work for you?”

  Roni didn’t even look at me. She looked fucking annoyed as shit, though, that he’d turned this over to me.

  “Should be fine,” I said, “but we haven’t played the Pandora in a few years.” I met Roni’s green-eyed gaze as she finally looked over at me. “We’ll need to go over some things.”

  The Pandora was fine by me. Great staff,
I knew the owners, and they had huge bands play there all the time. We’d never had a problem there.

  But she didn’t have to know all that.

  “I’ll get to work on the contract.” Roni stood and extended her hand to Brody.

  Brody stood and shook her hand, still not looking totally sure about this.

  I stood and Roni turned on her heel, sailing straight out the door without another glance in my direction. Just a whiff of her faint sex kitten perfume, then gone.

  I looked at Brody. “You think she can handle this?” he asked.

  “I’ll make sure she does.”

  I could literally see his relief. He did not want to babysit Roni or anyone else right now. His hands were more than full.

  “Let me know what you need,” he said.

  “Alright, Bro.”

  As I left, he added, “Don’t walk into any more doors, yeah?”

  When I headed out to the foyer, I found Bishop waiting to drive Roni home. We waited together while Roni said her goodbyes to Jessa and the baby. Then I walked her out.

  Bishop got in his car when I waved him on, and I pulled Roni aside, alone.

  “We need to discuss security,” I said. “You’ve got a big band going into a small venue. I cover Dirty, you’ll need to bring in an outside security agency to cover crowd control, work with the venue staff. I can give you a few names.”

  “Fine,” she said. “We can schedule a call tomorrow.”

  “A call won’t do. We need to meet.” And fuck tomorrow.

  “A phone call will do.”

  “A phone call will not do.” Because in a phone call, I couldn’t see her jade-green eyes and her perfect tits. “We’ll do dinner.”

  “It’s concert security, not rocket science,” she said, taking a little dig at my profession. “What can’t be discussed over the phone?”

  “You ever promoted an event this big?” I dug right back.

  She didn’t respond. But the answer was no, she’d never promoted an event this big, and we both knew it.

  She sucked in her cheeks as she drew a breath, and pushed out her full, round lips, looking annoyed.

  Jesus fuck, those lips.

  “We’ll set something up,” she finally agreed, fucking vaguely, and got into Bishop’s car.

  I watched them drive off, knowing exactly three things.