by Livia Grant
Black Light: Rocked
Livia Grant
Black Collar Press
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
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
Also by Livia Grant
Thank you from Livia
Copyright © 2016 by Livia Grant
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by Black Collar Press
Editing by Paul Von Karmann
Cover Artist - Eris Adderly
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9982191-2-7
Author’s Note: Black Light: Rocked is a steamy bad-boy rocker romance with an HEA. It is meant for mature audiences only. It has explicit sexual situations as well as BDSM power exchange elements that may not be suitable for all readers.
First Electronic Edition: December, 2016
Created with Vellum
Writing stories is my passion. Being an author is my dream. It’s only made possible because of the love and support of my dear husband and kids. With a more than full-time day job and writing into the wee hours each night and every weekend, it doesn’t leave much time for ‘normal.’ Thank you for the hundreds of meals you’ve prepared, dozens of loads of laundry you’ve washed and thousands of hours you’ve let me put on my headphones and slip away into my own little world rather than being present in yours.
I adore you for your understanding and support.
Black Light: Rocked
They had unfinished business.
She went there for closure, but he deserved his revenge.
They both learned to be careful what you wish for.
When Samantha Stone hears the popular rock band Crushing Stones created by her childhood sweetheart is headlining at a new dance club nearby, she considers it fate. She’s waited seven years to get answers. Why had he deserted her without even saying good-bye?
Jonah “Cash” Carter has scanned the throngs of fans for years looking for her. Waiting. When he spots Sami in the crowd, he freezes mid-song. He’d named his band for a reason, and tonight would be the night he finally got to crush a Stone.
Too many secrets. Too much history. Can they find their way to the truth without destroying each other?
Chapter 1
“I give up. You win. I’m gonna leave your boring ass here alone, sitting on this couch in your raggedy old robe surrounded by your boring law books. I’m meeting the girls at Mickey’s Pub and we’re gonna have fun without you.” Samantha’s friend Megan paused to pin her with a pitying smile before delivering her parting shot. “It’s Friday night! You’re supposed to take a break. The saddest part is you’ll probably be parked here studying all night.”
God, she hated to lie. She sucked at it. For the briefest of moments Sam considered letting Megan in on her little secret, but just in the nick of time, Megan leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek good-bye and spun to head out of her apartment.
Samantha called after her friend just before the door slammed, “Have fun!”
The second the door closed, Samantha sprang to her feet, throwing her terry cloth robe to the back of the chair to reveal the black mini-skirt and fitted gold blouse she'd been hiding. She caught her reflection in the long decorative mirror next to the entertainment center and stopped dead in her tracks.
Who was that woman and what the hell was she thinking? Her heart thumped hard against her ribs as Samantha allowed renewed doubt to wash over her like a tidal wave. The litany of fear had been running on a continuous loop in her brain for the last two weeks. Eleven days to be exact. Since the minute she found out Cash Carter would be in town. She considered it divine fate that his band, Crushing Stones, was headlining at the new Runway club less than three blocks from her apartment.
He’s never going to remember me.
Even if he does, he probably hates me.
He has a girlfriend.
No, he has many girlfriends.
I’ve wasted enough of my life regretting losing something I never really had.
Rinse. Repeat.
She glanced at the designer watch her father had given her as a graduation gift. The show would start in just over an hour. She needed to get moving if she was going.
Guilt crashed in on her as she contemplated defying the direct orders of her overprotective parent. There had been nothing ambiguous in her father’s instructions. Jonah “Cash” Carter was no good for his little girl, which meant he was off-limits to Samantha. Hadn’t she been hurt enough by his desertion seven years before?
But she was twenty-three years old now. And daddy was a thousand miles away. And the VIP ticket to the grand opening night’s show she’d spent $1,425 on was burning a hole in her backpack. She’d be a fool to throw away that kind of money.
Talking to the empty room, Sam launched into a monologue as she rushed towards her small bedroom. “Hell, even if I don’t go in, I can at least go down and see if I can just catch a glimpse of him from afar while I pawn the ticket to try to get my money back.”
Even as she said it, she knew that was a lie, too. She was weak. There was no way she’d be this close to Jonah and not watch the show. She started a fresh litany as she rushed to get ready.
It’ll be way too crowded for him to ever see me.
I’ll just watch from a safe distance.
It’ll be great just to hear his music in person again.
I was there when he wrote his first song. I deserve to see his success.
No, I deserve to see his new life—the one he chose over me.
She had picked her apartment for its relatively low rent, which meant she could barely fit her queen mattress set in the small bedroom, but it had been worth it to get the en suite bathroom that sported a whirlpool tub and a huge mirror. It was one of the few luxury items in the small space. She hadn’t been able to put on her makeup before Megan stopped over so she rushed to throw on some mascara and lipstick, reassuring herself primping wasn’t really important since he’d never see her anyway.
She threw on the high-heeled pumps she’d planned on wearing, but had second thoughts as she could see light snow coming down in her Georgetown neighborhood. She reached under the bed to pull out her black leather fashion boots. She normally wore them with her more conservative skirts, but she had to admit she looked good as she caught one last glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror.
Grabbing her black leather jacket, she threw her cross-body purse on and headed out the door before she could chicken out. She didn’t bother with the elevator, taking the three stories of steps to the lobby of her apartment building just off Wisconsin Avenue.
Jamal, the building’s doorman and pseudo security guard, held the door wide as she approached. She appreciated his surprised whistle. “Whoa there, Miss Stone. You’re looking mighty fine tonight. Do you have a big date?” The cheeky man, old enough to be her father, flashed a broad smile.
“Nope. No date. Just going to…” She stalled. If she really did scalp the ticket she’d be back in fifteen minutes.
Say it. Tell him you’ll be right back.
“I’m going to a concert.” She needed to stop kidding herself. There was absolutely nothing, save
her father blocking entrance to the new club, she could think of that would stop her from being in the same room as Jonah. Just knowing she’d be breathing the same air as him, if only from afar, had her heart thumping hard again.
Jamal was rambling on, unaware of her internal struggle. “…new club sure is going to bring a lot of traffic to our neighborhood. I just hope I get to see some of the famous people they keep showing on the TV. I heard the owners are that threesome that made the news last year when they went public at the political fundraiser.”
She didn’t have time to chitchat. She was running late already. “Yep, that’s the club I’m headed to. You’re talking about Jaxson Davidson and Chase Cartwright and their girlfriend. I think her name is Ella or Emma or something like that.”
“She looks like one happy lady.”
Sam thought so too, but hell, who wouldn’t be happy with not one, but two, super-hot, rich boyfriends.
“I’ll catch you later. I’ve gotta run.”
With each step she took away from her apartment, her anxiety grew. It had been seven years since the disastrous last time she’d seen her longtime friend and short-time boyfriend, Jonah Carter. Looking back, she’d been such a foolish teenager full of dreams of happily-ever-afters when clearly all Jonah had dreamed of was making music. He’d never hidden his goals of fame and fortune from her. She just never thought that he wouldn’t want to take her along for the ride, considering they’d been a big part of each other’s lives since second grade.
Sam pushed the painful memories of Jonah’s desertion of their friendship back down into the neat little lockbox she hid in her heart. Those sad memories hung out there, along with the pain of losing her mother to breast cancer when she was seven, and having to put her beloved dog, Rocky, to sleep just before she left for law school the year before.
She was still a block away when she caught up with a line of limousines waiting to round the corner to drop off their VIP guests. She was walking through the dusting of snow faster than they could creep forward through the slush-covered street.
Samantha pulled the collar of her jacket up to block out the biting wind, suddenly aware that it was a real possibility that Jonah was inside one of those very vehicles. Chances are he’d be partying with Ryan and the rest of the band as they headed to another sold-out show. That was easier for Sam to imagine than Jonah alone in the private luxury with one, or more, of the gorgeous women he was regularly photographed with. It was impossible to see a story about the lead singer of Crushing Stones without noticing the throngs of women always surrounding him. She tried to take comfort that she rarely saw the same woman more than a few times before she’d be replaced by someone with bigger breasts or a thinner waist.
The sidewalk was growing crowded as couples dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns seemed to come from all directions. Sam had to stop to let a couple cross in front of her to enter the new psychic shop. It had just opened the week before and from the looks of things, the paranormal shop was doing bang-up business.
I should have saved enough time to stop in and have my fortune read. Maybe they could tell me if I’m about to make an ass of myself or not.
By the time she rounded the corner to see the three-story grand entrance to the newest attraction in the nation’s capital, it took all of her courage to keep putting one foot in front of the other. She caught a glimpse of herself in the window of the Apple store and felt self-conscious. She’d dressed for a rock concert, not a grand ball. She was close enough now to see couples exiting their limousines ahead as she came up on the VIP entrance to the club. There were stanchions setup to keep the photographers, paparazzi and nosy gawkers at bay. She dreaded having to thread through the throngs to get to the main entrance.
She pressed forward as far as she could before coming to a halt. Bodies pressed in around her, swallowing her up in the crush of shouting women, currently calling out to the A-list celebrities posing for photos in the middle of the wide red carpet. Samantha recognized two stars who’d been nominated for Oscars just the season before.
She was trapped long enough to see the next limousine pull up to deposit the newly elected Vice-President of the USA. She shouldn’t be surprised to see the politician there considering the owners of the new club had very publicly endorsed the moderate ticket over Jaxson Davidson’s own conservative father. Still, she had to push down the urge to turn around and flee home to the safety of her apartment.
“Excuse me, miss. This is the VIP entrance. Unless you have media credentials, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave this area.” The security guard that pressed next to her was a full foot taller than her, even in her high-heeled boots. But it was his broad chest threatening to burst out of his skin-tight black long-sleeve shirt that drew her attention. The guy was built like a brick wall—a very serious brick wall.
When she failed to answer, he reached to clamp his hand on her bicep and began to pull her out of the crowd.
Sam struggled to dig in her heels, hoping to pull loose. She might as well have saved her energy.
She tried something different. “Wait! I have a ticket.”
Paying her no attention, he didn’t stop until he’d pulled her all the way to the back of the crush of reporters. She finally had enough space to reach into her small purse and pull out the coveted VIP ticket she’d spent so much money on. She pushed it forward, waving it in front of the security guard’s face until he had no choice but to acknowledge her again.
The guard snapped the invitation out of her hand.
“Hey! That’s mine!”
He threw her a dirty look as he examined the thick piece of paper. She’d thought it curious as she’d examined it at home to find several holographic emblems embedded in the fancy paper. Only now was she understanding that tonight was by invitation only and that they might prevent her entering as she was not the initial owner of the invite.
The guard pressed the small button on the earpiece in his left ear. She saw a small microphone clipped to the collar of his shirt.
“Need a ticket check. Over.” She couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but the guard held the invitation closer to squint at the small coding along the bottom of the piece of paper. “Tango, Henry, One-forty nine.”
Thirty seconds slid by as Mr. Muscles gaze dissected her. His voice was gruff when he finally addressed her.”
“I need to see your ID.”
“Why?”
“Please, don’t argue with me, miss. Tonight’s event is by invitation only and I’m quite certain you are not the original owner of this ticket.”
Samantha fought down the urge to call the jerk a dumbass. She didn’t appreciate being treated like a criminal, especially after dumping so much of her savings on the paper he held in his hand.
“I’m sure you’re right. I look nothing like Thomas Horton.”
Muscle’s eyes widening was the only hint she’d surprised him. She pressed forward. “I bought this invitation off Mr. Horton, my law professor, for $1,425. Instead of using the ticket or gifting it to one of his students, the jerk decided to hold a bidding war after class last week trying to get the most cash out of the ticket as he could.”
The smallest of smiles played at Muscle’s lips. “Sounds like a typical lawyer to me.”
Sam couldn’t hide her own smile. “Hey, watch it. I’m studying to be a lawyer too.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
So typical. How she hated the idea of joining the ranks of a profession that the vast majority of the public loathed. God, she wished she had the balls to defy her father and uncle. She held tight to her pledge to use her education to defend those who didn’t have a voice of their own.
Now wasn’t the time to wallow about her total lack of assertiveness where her only remaining parent was concerned. She’d have plenty of time to wallow about that after the concert.
Instead of leading her farther away, Muscles turned and started pulling her by his vice grip on her
elbow through the throng of onlookers. When they arrived at the red velvet swag attached to the golden waist-high pole, he reached out to unbuckle the hook, holding the swag aside to allow her to pass.
“Thanks,” was all Samantha could muster as she moved forward slowly, reaching to snap up her ticket from his outstretched hand as she stepped onto the red carpet. Flashes of cameras immediately pointed in her direction, temporarily blinding her.
Wouldn’t the journalists be disappointed when they tried to figure out what her connection was to the famous owners of the new club and came up empty handed? Unlike the dozens of VIP couples to walk the carpet before her, Samantha didn’t bother to stop and pose for the cameras. On the contrary, she rushed towards the wide double doors being held open by two doormen.
The sound of a pounding dance beat grew louder as she approached the building. The two-story windows that formed the circular main entrance to Runway were lightly tinted in the area surrounding the door marked VIP Entrance. She could barely make out bodies moving through the smoky glass.
The second she entered the three-story club she knew she was in trouble. While the club was huge by club standards, it was much more intimate than she’d expected for a concert venue. Rather than the rows of anonymous chairs that would fade into a dark crowd, the main dance floor surrounding the rounded stage was filled with small round tables covered with linen tablecloths. Neon lights lit the space in a modern, classy hue helping the glittering bows wrapped around each covered chair twinkle in the light.
A high see-through railing barricaded the VIP entrance off from the main door to the club. In a city like Washington DC, there promised to be no shortage of VIPs and the club was certainly setup to protect their privacy.
Directly across from her stood a two-story high oval bar surrounded by high-backed glass stools where patrons congregated, ordering top-end booze from well-dressed bartenders. What looked like thousands of bottles of every liquor imaginable were stocked so high, there were rolling ladders bartenders could use to reach top-shelf liquors.
