Rock Reckoning: A Rockstar Suspense Romance Collection

by Cari Quinn

  “Oh, Simon. You’re so much more than that.”

  “I am now. Because of you. And maybe…” He pulled back and crouched down until his eyes were level with her still flat stomach. “And maybe this little girl or boy in here.” His gaze locked on hers, glittering in the half darkness. His long fingers and the silver rings he wore glowed against her black dress as he touched her belly so carefully. “Maybe one more chance to get it right.” He pressed a gentle kiss right over her belly button. “He or she can be so much better than me.”

  She cupped his face and drew him to his feet. “Too late. There’s already a beautiful and strong man standing right in front of me. And we’ll probably stumble and screw up, but this baby will know he or she is loved. We know what our parents did wrong and we won’t do the same.”

  He frowned and pressed his forehead to hers. “How do you know?”

  Her heart stuttered when his voice cracked. She thumbed away the tear tracking down his cheek. “Because I love you. That you’re worried about being a good dad is why I know. And the only thing keeping me from falling apart.”

  “Why?”

  “Lest we forget who was chasing who to get married? Babies are forever, Simon.”

  “You already raised me, this is easy.”

  She laughed and a few of her own tears leaked out. “This is very true. We also have a family to help keep us on track.”

  He snorted. “I’m sure Li will give us all the books. Actually, more like Nicky. He has a goddamn library for us to plunder.”

  “That is very true.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up. “Holy fuck, we made a baby! Hey, I guess I really am Superman like Jazz said.”

  She was pretty sure that wasn’t what Jazz had said, but she laughed into his kiss.

  For the first time, fear wasn’t the first emotion she fought her way through.

  It was love.

  Ten

  This was it. The night I’d waited for. The culmination of years of planning and hoping and working…

  And here I was in the goddamn washroom, trying to blend concealer over the cut next to my mouth.

  I swiped the makeup brush over the last bit in the little tray. I’d had this shit for years. Probably would give me a raging infection to boot.

  Swallowing a curse, I dumped the makeup in the trash and grabbed a bit of tissue to wash off what I’d just applied. It was all caked on and looked worse than the cut. Maybe the ladies would think I looked rakish instead of like a street thug.

  Besides, the makeup crew would fix me up for the show. As for the people I saw before then, the bigwigs and such, bollocks to them. I was me, and I wasn’t changing for anyone.

  Tell that to your mum.

  I exhaled and ran my fingertips through the wave of hair in front that wouldn’t stay down no matter what I did. My big night wasn’t starting the way I’d planned.

  Stepping back, I tugged down my tight black T-shirt and threw back my shoulders. The door squeaked open and I turned, smiling cheekily.

  Cocky mask firmly in place.

  “Well, look who it is.” Byron Christensen, my main competition on the show and the biggest diva on the planet, flashed me a Cheshire grin. “Feeling hale and hearty tonight, mate?” he asked as he passed, clapping me on the back as he went.

  I nearly snarled, though my smile never wavered. “For certain. And you? Big night this evening.”

  “Just a night.” Byron’s grin spread as he went to the urinal and opened his pants. He spoke as he pissed. “But I’m eager to get on with the rest, I must say.”

  I just bet. The road to certain obscurity must be awfully enticing.

  “Me too. Good luck out there.” I turned for the door.

  “Say, glad I found you. Mitchell was looking for you. He’s in the room down the hall.”

  “Couldn’t have led with that, could you, mate?” My mask slipped and crunched under my heavy black boots as I reached for the door handle.

  Fuck it. I was tired of kissing ass, and after tonight, I wouldn’t have to.

  Especially since Mitchell Scott wanted to speak to me. The guy was one of the biggest music dudes in the UK—if not the world. His agency was huge. He’d already been buzzing around me after one of the earlier performances, offering up his business card and all that. If Mitchell wanted to talk to me in private, I’d obviously already impressed the guy.

  All I had to do tonight was win and collect the recording contract that would launch my career.

  Finally.

  Except that isn’t the point. You’re needed in LA. A UK contract won’t get you to America, now will it?

  I clenched the door handle. For a moment, I’d forgotten. This wasn’t about me. Getting a recording contract on my own merits would impress exactly no one, unless it came with a large signing bonus. And even then it would never be enough to repay my debts.

  Hadn’t I been told that enough times for it to sink in?

  Evidently not.

  Still, I’d gotten this far all on my own. Sure, I had the Kagan name, but I’d never made a thing out of it until last night. Simon’s band was performing in London, and I hadn’t been able to stop myself from tipping my hat. But I’d risen through the talent show ranks all on my own.

  Hell, half the time people didn’t even know my last name. But they heard my voice loud and clear.

  “Sorry, got distracted by the state of your face.” Byron washed up in the sink. “Not the best timing for schoolyard scuffles, now is it?”

  My fingers clenched around the door handle as I pulled the door wide. Suddenly, I couldn’t stand the stench in the tiny room a moment longer. “Good luck to you,” I said through gritted teeth.

  Wanker.

  “Wait a moment, I’ll walk with you.”

  “No, that’s quite all right. I’ve been capable of walking myself since I was in nappies.”

  “But Mitchell wants to see me as well.” Byron dried off his hands and moved forward, his smile blinding. The bloke must’ve used varnish on his teeth. “I think he gathered a few of the others too.”

  He clapped me on the back again, this time low enough that he managed to graze one of the bruises given to me by my dear older brother. He couldn’t have known where it was, but I certainly didn’t miss Byron’s low chuckle at my hiss of pain.

  God, I couldn’t wait until the fucker lost.

  “Oh, sorry. Did I hit a sore spot?” Byron clucked. “Such a shame you have to perform such a tough song tonight after a physical altercation.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I rotated my jaw. Assuming I didn’t get in another “physical altercation” before the evening was through. “So who else is in there?”

  Mitchell named two other contestants, who had both been sent home in recent weeks. I frowned. “Why would he want to see them?”

  Not that they weren’t talented guys, but usually only the top three drew offers from the big talent agencies and recording companies.

  Byron shrugged and led the way to the room where we were having the impromptu meeting. “Scouting probably. Guess we’ll see, hmm, mate?” He smiled broadly and opened the door, gesturing me in ahead of him. “After you.”

  One more mate from that guy and I was going to rip open my busted knuckles against his smirking mouth.

  I walked inside and smiled at the other two men, Doug and Callum, before I extended my hand across the table to Mitchell, who had risen to greet me. “Pleasure to see you again, Mr. Scott.”

  We shook hands.

  “Same. Call me Mitchell.” The silver-haired man frowned as he took in my face. “What’s this now? Did you have some trouble, son?”

  “Just a touch.” Byron produced his phone as if he’d been waiting for this moment and flicked through screens before passing it to Mitchell. “Makes for a good picture though, doesn’t it?”

  My fists clenched at my sides. “What is that? What are you looking at?”

  All at once, I realized. Natasha
’s little photo of our brotherly fight had probably already made the rounds. Which meant Jerry would also have seen it. Or he would soon.

  My life was about to get a whole lot stickier.

  Mitchell’s salt-and-pepper brows climbed near his hairline. “Simon Kagan? That’s who you fought with?”

  “Give me that.” I grabbed the phone before sense kicked in.

  Filling the screen was the picture Natasha had taken of me and Simon fresh from our fight. Both of us bleeding.

  Lovely.

  “You knew who I fought with.” I glared at Byron. “Yet you called it a playground scuffle.”

  Byron jerked a shoulder. “I didn’t read all the particulars.”

  “Are you able to perform tonight?” Mitchell asked, without bothering to demonstrate an ounce of concern for my physical state.

  I was still ambulatory, and apparently, that was good enough.

  I nodded and dropped Byron’s phone on the table. I hoped the cheap thing shattered.

  “This is good. Already you’re making news and you haven’t even been signed.” Mitchell rubbed his silver chin whiskers. The longer I looked at him, the more he seemed like a wizened old wizard. Or maybe a puppet master.

  I already had a pair of those. I didn’t need any others.

  Byron snatched his phone and pocketed it with his patented sneer. “No reason to get touchy, pal.”

  “Have a seat.” Mitchell waved a hand at the few still available around the table. “We’ll have a chat, all of us.”

  Swallowing the vitriol hovering on the back of my tongue, I took the seat nearest the door. I had a thing about exits, especially when my stomach was tightening like a dozen snakes.

  None of this felt right.

  Not just because Byron had set me up with the picture thing either. Mitchell hadn’t assembled all of us just to be kind. He was cooking up an idea, and if it was anything close to what I thought, I was going to be out of there so fast the chairs would spin.

  Byron sat down beside Mitchell, his smile wide enough to crack the stingy narrow window with its insincerity. “Thank you so much for wanting to meet with me. Whatever you have in mind, I’m eager for the opportunity. I can assure you there won’t be any such…incidents like this for you to clean up when it comes to me.” He spared me a brief look.

  I barely noticed since I was crafting a tiny voodoo doll in the guy’s likeness out of the spare thread dangling from my pants.

  My best pair, no less. Gone to rubbish like everything else.

  “On the contrary, we can’t buy press like this. There’s an old saying in the biz. The only bad publicity is none.” Mitchell rubbed his hands together, his glee clear.

  My only reply was a grunt. We’d just see about that.

  “I wanted to preface this conversation with genuine admiration for your obvious talent.”

  “Thank you,” Byron said quickly, obviously assuming he was alone in the room.

  “All of you,” Mitchell said, his gaze touching each of us in turn.

  I only guessed that it eventually reached me. I was occupied. I’d reached the head of the voodoo doll and was wrapping it mummy-style with a stray black thread from my shirt.

  Ah, fuck, maybe it should be actual hair? I’d be happy to get a sample straight from the source. Though pulling on Byron’s overbleached shit would probably make the rest fall out.

  Too bad.

  “You each came far in this competition because of your combination of charm and vocal ability, and of course, physical presence.” Mitchell smiled, his lips rolling under until he was all teeth like a shark.

  What was it with these guys and their teeth?

  “All important attributes for what I have in mind.” Mitchell folded his hands. “Assuming you’re all willing and able to sign my company’s stringent morality clause.” This time, I couldn’t have missed his stare if I tried. “There will be no exceptions.”

  “Morality what?” Callum kicked back in his chair and looped his arm around the back. “I thought we were supposed to be fuckin’ rockers.”

  “Well, yes, of course, and some of that is acceptable. But you have to keep in mind that your younger fans look up to you, and their parents will only tolerate so many shenanigans before they cut the cord—and the access to their credit cards to buy your music. Not that that’s what it used to be, of course. It’s all about streaming services now. And touring. We would get you on the road right away.” Again, he shifted his focus to me. “No delays.”

  Unless my tour led me to LA straightaway, it was next to worthless.

  But I didn’t say anything. Unlike Byron, who was practically pissing himself with joy, I had a feeling that stupid morality clause wasn’t going to be the worst of what Mitchell presented to us.

  “I can do that.” Byron smiled. “Right after I win tonight, I’m ready to go on the road.”

  I choked back a laugh. “Gotta admire your stones, mate. Such unwavering faith.”

  “Why shouldn’t I have it? I’m clearly the fan favorite.”

  “You lost.”

  I might’ve laughed at Byron’s shocked expression if not for Mitchell’s swift turn toward me. “So did you.”

  The jab hit me square in the chest, killing my amusement at Byron’s expense. “How—you—there’s no way you could know that. It’s sealed voting, with the last percentage to come from call-in votes during the performance—”

  “That’s fifteen percent of the overall total. Even if you got every vote registered, even if you did,” Mitchell added, turning to include Byron in his statement, “you couldn’t overcome the winner’s overall point tally. It’s already been decided. The judges’ votes weigh the most.”

  “But it’s supposed to be sealed,” I sputtered. “You shouldn’t have access to those results yet. They were to be announced live.”

  Mitchell’s thin lips stretched into a smile. “You’ll learn that in this business, son, it’s who you know.” His smile slid away. “And who you don’t piss off.”

  I gripped the arms of my chair to keep from bolting. If this was all a sham, what the hell was I even doing here? They couldn’t make me stay. I wasn’t going to go up there to lose. For what? To fill a preplanned slot and to show I wasn’t a sore loser?

  Fuck that. In real life, there weren’t participation prizes. I’d learned that well enough years ago. And if this deck was stacked too, I wasn’t hanging around to shake hands.

  “Such a shame you have to perform such a tough song tonight after a physical altercation.”

  My song. Goddammit. I couldn’t split. If the news about my fight with Simon had reached the airwaves—thanks, Natasha-who-didn’t-even-get-me-off—people would be watching me. Waiting for me to trip and fall flat.

  You lost. The one thing in your life you were counting on, and you couldn’t even close the deal. How much flatter can you go?

  Jerry would remind me of that right quick.

  The one thing I could do was go out there and nail that song. I’d been working on it for weeks, and no matter how frustrated and disappointed—and yes, hurt and ashamed—I was that I’d come this far only to choke, I could do what I was meant to. My job.

  So they would remember who they didn’t pick. Once again.

  The method changed, but I was no one’s choice. Had never been. Even my own mother had never let me believe she’d picked me. The only reason I’d been with her was because I’d had the misfortune of being in her belly when she’d fallen for the Englishman who’d broken her heart. First of many broken hearts.

  For both of us.

  “So you’ll see why this deal makes the most sense for all of you. We all know the history of contestants who come in second, third, or worse on these shows. Sure, you could be that rare bird who soars. Most likely? You’ll plunge into obscurity as soon as the screen fades to black.”

  I clued back into the conversation with a start. I’d probably missed a good chunk of it. Not that I cared. Whatever meat market deal M
itchell was putting together, I didn’t want any part of it. I wasn’t anyone’s consolation prize. If this guy thought he could snap me up when I was down and desperate, he didn’t realize who he was dealing with.

  My version of down and desperate was a lot bleaker than this. At least I had food in my cupboards, which was more than I could’ve said many of the days of my life.

  And I had an ace of my own to pull. It would be risky. I’d considered it before, deciding to wait until I was better positioned.

  But sometimes you didn’t choose the time. The time chose you.

  “What kind of deal are you talking about here?” Even Byron seemed to have lost some of his artificial sheen. “And wouldn’t it be better if you spoke to each of on our own? Surely if you’re going to discuss financial details, you don’t want us to be privy to each other’s information.”

  “Oh, if this goes the way I’m hoping, you’re going to be privy to a lot more than that of each other’s.” Mitchell grinned as if he was about to produce a shiny, new car for each of them. “I’d like to create a brand new pop outfit, with you four as the members. You’ll be stars.”

  “Pop outfit?” I jerked to my feet, the string voodoo doll falling to the floor near my boot. “A band? Of people who don’t even know each other and can barely stand each other at that?”

  “Hey,” Doug said, affronted. “I never had a problem with you.”

  “Same.” Callum pushed back from the table and placed his hands on his thighs. “I don’t know what exactly Mitchell has in mind, but I’m willing to hear him out.”

  “This isn’t against you, mates,” I said, and wanted to carve out my own tongue now that Byron had desecrated that word. “I’m just already quite sure that what Mr. Scott has in mind doesn’t jive with the plan I have for myself.”

  “Oh, is that so? What plans do you have? Let me guess. You’re planning on riding the coattails of your brother. See how far that gets you.” Mitchell cocked his head. “The only problem with that is there’s already a Simon Kagan out there, and he’s a superstar. You, my dear boy, are nothing but an imitation, and a pale one at that.”

  Same song, different day. I’d heard this one enough that I knew the lyrics by heart.