by Seven Steps
The Last Rock King
By Seven Steps
The Last Rock King
Copyright © 2016 by Seven Steps.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: September 2016
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-803-3
ISBN-10: 1-68058-803-6
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
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Chapter 1
Unknown
Los Angeles, California
Stars clouded Sarah Banner’s eyes as his fingers tightened around her throat.
She tried to scream, but his thumbs pressed against her windpipe, squeezing with a strength that belied his age.
Pain pumped through her head. Her heart banged against her ribs. The stars burst into stunning colors: magenta, indigo, emerald, and gold.
Time slowed.
In her final moments, Sarah’s mind sharpened, recalling with breathtaking clarity the seemingly small decisions that drove her to the final seconds of her life.
I should have stayed in the car.
The Evergreen Motel was built in the middle of a pine forest, the sharp scent heavy in the air. Giant trees stretched leafy fingers toward the sky, blocking the moonlight and sinking the place into deeper shadow.
When they’d first pulled into the deserted, barely-lit parking lot, she refused to get out the expensive rental, demanding instead that he take her to his office like he’d promised.
“Just a few minutes,” he’d said. “And after that,” his hand touched her cheek, “we’re gonna make you a star, baby girl.”
Excitement took hold, and she allowed him to lead her to a side door. The glass had been cracked in the top left corner, the break slowly spider webbing. He slid the key card over the outside door card reader. The door clicked.
They walked into the air conditioned hallway, and found room number six—the first one on the right.
He slid the keycard into the card reader to their hotel room and held the door for her.
She stepped over the threshold.
He was such a gentleman.
The door closed. He whispered her name, “Sarah.”
She turned.
His fist connected with her jaw, shattering it.
She cried out in surprise as she fell to the ground.
That was when he’d climbed on top of her. That was when he’d wrapped his hands around her throat.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small, dying voice brought her back to the present.
Move, it screamed. Fight. Survive.
She swung her bare knees and small hands in desperate, wild arches, frantically attempting to find flesh.
Struggle. Live. Escape.
He pressed harder, her throat crunching as it splintered and broke beneath his herculean grip.
The stars in Sarah’s eyes faded.
Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t…
Chapter 2
Noah
One Year Later
New York City
“Great show tonight, Noah!” Walter Washington’s dark hand slapped the rock star’s bare back, splashing tiny droplets of sweat in all directions. “You killed it! You blew the roof off! I ain’t never seen nobody rock Madison Square Garden like that!”
Noah used a large grey towel to wipe down his tanned, glistening body. The crowd’s screams echoed down the tight, humid hallway. They couldn’t get enough of Noah LaRock.
After sixteen years of being together as rock star and manager, the two men’s steps were perfectly synced as they moved swiftly down the black tiled corridor. This despite Noah being six inches taller, and Walter thirty years older. The two were knit together in spirit, with one goal, one purpose: to keep the bright star that was Noah LaRock shining.
The green room laid just ahead.
“You just let old Papa Bear take care of everything.” He jabbed one finger into Noah’s shoulder. “This tour was big, but the next one will be even bigger.”
“I don’t know, Walter,” Noah said. “Did you think it was a little empty?”
“Nonsense, my boy. That crowd loved you!”
Noah frowned, and threw the towel over one wide shoulder, covering the flame tattoo there. The same orange flames licked at the toes of Noah’s black cowboy boots.
An explosion of cheers rung through the corridor when he filled the green room doorway.
“Whoooooo!” Throwing his arms up, he hooted in his trademark fashion. The crowd returned the call. Noah waded through the swirling mass of groupies, entourage, staff, and backstage guests, accepting his accolades with a mega-watt smile.
Walter stayed close behind.
At the age of eight, Noah LaRock released his first album of classic rock song covers. Over the past sixteen years, he went on to sell nearly a billion albums worldwide. His face graced the cover of magazines in first, second, and third world countries. Noah LaRock was legend, a true king adorned in leather pants and flame covered black boots.
And then, as it did every few years, pop music rose from the ashes. An army of boy bands and auto-tuned pretty blondes had begun waging an all-out war against the King. His sales slacked. He sang to stadiums and concert halls barely three-quarters filled. The pre-pubescent troops reinforced themselves with bloggers, gossip mongers, statuses, and tweets all screaming for a music revolution. Their arrows were aimed at the gates. The media, once so firmly in Noah’s pocket, now laced stories about him with the terms like has been, washed up, and retiremen
t.
The King was being overthrown.
Walter wore his impending defeat for the world to see, draping himself with slouched shoulders, watery eyes, and pinched expressions. If Noah returned to the peasantry, Walter would follow.
Chapter 3
Cassie
Standing in the threshold was Walter’s daughter, and on-staff nurse, Cassie Washington. She didn’t move into the domain of the man the media had dubbed The Last Rock King. She was there for one reason and one reason only. From June twenty-second until September first, between the hours of seven p.m. and twelve a.m., she was tasked with keeping a vigilant watch for any injury that might come upon Noah or his crew. Although Noah had been perfectly healthy the entire summer, his groupies always seemed to acquire mysterious bruises, scrapes, and scars.
Her honey brown eyes glided down to her cell phone.
Eleven fifty, she thought. Ten more minutes.
She looked back into the room, praying for an accident-free night.
Yawning, she kept her eyes on Noah. The Rock King was currently standing on the couch, throwing stacks of hundred dollar bills in the air. They floated down onto the crowd like rain.
Cassie rolled her eyes. Ten days to go.
Barely clad bodies packed tight between bare white walls.
Vultures, Cassie thought.
They each craved the same thing. Recognition. A look. A nod. A word perhaps. A single moment in time, a definitive action that would catapult them into the stratosphere of fame and fortune. They always tried Noah first. The women would push their lush bodies against him. The men would try to dazzle him with their whit. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes. When it didn’t, the men would shake the disappointment from their faces and move on to Walter, hoping for a smile, an iota of praise. The women would smile their goodbyes at Noah, hide in the bathroom for a few minutes, then make a beeline to Dondo Rodriguez, Noah’s best friend and backstage staple.
A chuckle escaped Cassie’s lips as she watched them.
The most they’ll get from Dondo is a broken dream and an STD, she thought.
The room smelled of whisky and hot cheese dip, both readily available from the long white folding table that had been pushed against the far wall. A few women in barely there skirts and mid-drift bearing tops buzzed near the table, nibbling on chips and waiting to be acknowledged by someone, anyone. Two worn, black leather couches were positioned at a ninety-degree angle, separated only by a dingy, bulb-less, shaded lamp atop a scratched wooden table.
Walter walked around the green room for a few minutes, throwing friendly hellos here and there, and speaking briefly to Dondo, before joining Cassie by the door.
“I think I’m getting too old for this crowd.” He smiled.
“Walter,” Cassie said, “you’re only sixty.”
“I’d prefer that you call me dad.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes, I’m working on that. I just need more time.”
Turning her attention back to the room, she spied Noah now spraying champagne at the screaming crowd. She shook her head.
Rock stars.
“Well, don’t be too long,” Walter said. “We have an early day tomorrow.”
His eyes perused the left wall, then the right. He took an unsure step toward her, his arms raising slightly.
Cassie didn’t move toward him. She wasn’t interested in one of her father’s awkward hugs tonight. He’d missed too many hugs already.
He dropped his arms, took a step back, and sighed.
“Good night, Cassie.”
“Night, Walter.”
As she watched him amble toward the private parking garage, Cassie couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man whom she at one time in her life called Dad.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted on the right side of the room. Hurt howls echoed through the hallway.
She ran inside, hoping it wasn’t serious enough to keep her on shift past twelve.
“Move aside, please. I’m the nurse!”
Another howl pierced her ears as she pushed her way through the partiers, who, for the most part, were only slightly concerned with the screaming taking place deeper in the room.
Finally, she reached the center of the commotion. There, cradling one of his wrists, was Dondo, crowned prince of the green room.
And world class, grade A womanizer, she thought.
Crouching down, she reached a hand to his swelling wrist.
“Don’t touch it!” he screamed, swinging his body away from her. “I think I broke it.”
She sat on her haunches and placed a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him on his back.
“What happened?”
“He fell over a table,” someone said.
Cassie looked behind her and into the frightened eyes of a girl who couldn’t have been more than eighteen. “Call 9-1-1.”
The girl nodded fiercely, causing the top of her large breasts to shimmy in her too small dress. The girl pulled a small cell phone from her red clutch purse, dialed, pressed one finger to her ear, and disappeared into the crowd.
“No.” Dondo’s face twisted into a grimace, his thin mustache glistening with sweat. “Don’t call 9-1-1.”
“Don’t you worry about that. Now, let me have a look at that wrist.”
Dondo sheepishly extended his injured right wrist to her.
She examined it. “You’re fine. It’s only a sprain.”
“It doesn’t feel like a sprain.”
“Once the paramedics come, they’ll wrap it up and give you some aspirin. You’ll be fine.”
Someone spoke from behind Cassie. “Dondo.”
She craned her neck to find a clean cut man in dark shades shaking his head at Dondo, avoiding Cassie’s eye.
Dondo’s eyes opened wide, and he looked back at Cassie. “Please don’t call 9-1-1.”
Cassie shook her head. “Too late. They’re already on their way.”
“Tell them not to come.”
“I can’t.”
His voice was on the verge of panic. “My pockets. You have to empty my pockets!”
“Your pockets?” Frowning, Cassie reached her hand into the right pocket of his grey dress pants. She pulled out his wallet and presented it to him. “This?”
“No. The other one.”
Rolling her eyes, she reached into his left pants pocket. She immediately felt the smooth plastic bag and pulled it out. The white powdered substance shifted as she held it up to the light.
She gasped. “Is this what I think it is?”
“If they catch me with it, I’ll go to jail!”
“Why do you have coke in your pocket?”
The shaded man gripped her shoulder. She winced as his fingers pressed into the bone, threatening her without words. “They’re here,” he said. “Be cool.”
The hand left her shoulder, and Cassie turned in time to see the navy blue hats of two female EMTs pushing through the crowd.
She whipped back to Dondo. “Did you use it?”
“What?”
“Did you use this yet?”
He shook his head.
Just as the EMTs stepped forward, she dropped the bag into her white medical jacket and rose to greet them.
“He fell over the table and landed on his right wrist. It looks like a sprain.”
She stepped out of the way as they moved in.
He howled again. The sound followed Cassie as she pushed through the crowd, burst into the cooler hallway, and retreated toward the first aid station down the hall.
Great, she thought. Now I’ll have to file an incident report. That’s just how I wanted to spend my night.
She rotated her sore shoulder as she walked down the corridor.
There’s probably a bruise thanks to Dondo and his druggy friend. Jerks!
Chips and cracks marred the white painted bricks on the walls. Strips of red commercial carpet were strewn over the floor here and there. The color reminded Cassie of her mother’s rose garden. The tho
ught congealed into a lump in her throat. She swallowed it down.
Cassie hadn’t seen her mother, Janice, in two months. It was the longest they’d ever been away from each other, and although they tried to text and call each other every day, it was not the same. After a rough night like this, Cassie wanted nothing more than to smell her mother’s perfume, feel her warm hugs, and hear her say that everything would be okay in her almost musical Irish accent. Janice had been in the country for nearly thirty years, yet she still spoke like she was fresh from Dublin.
Ten more days, Mom, Cassie thought. Ten more days and then we’ll be together again.
Pulling a napkin from her pocket, she dabbed her forehead with it. Her tawny colored foundation came off on the napkin. She closed her eyes and shook her head.
Why do I even bother with makeup? she thought. It always melts down here anyway.
The first aid station was a little more than an emptied out supply closet. The words First Aid Station were printed in black ink atop a white background. Using the key that hung around her neck, she opened the door and stepped inside. The smell of iodine hit her as the overhead lights automatically clicked on.
A short, clear, locked cabinet was shoved against the back wall, stocked with a small stash of pain relievers, bandages, alcohol wipes, and other medically related supplies. A tiny desk, barely tall enough for the arms of her rolling chair to fit under, was against the left wall. Atop the desk was a computer and a landline phone with multiple red-lit buttons. On the right wall was a high shelf with papers on it. She pulled a blank incident report from the shelf and sat in the rolling chair.
It crossed her mind to include the cocaine in the incident report just to teach Dondo a lesson. As quickly as the thought arrived, she pushed it away. Noah or Walter would have Dondo out of jail in no time. The whole incident would be swept under the rug, and he’d be back up to his old tricks within a day. It seemed, though, that the tricks were getting worse.
Usually Dondo only smokes pot with the groupies. What made him turn to cocaine?
She frowned and bit her lip.
