RUTHLESS: The Complete Rockstar Romance Series Boxed Set

by Vivian Lux

  My dad shot me a shy look as the radio switched stations again. I swear we had already run through the dial ten times. "Guess I'm growin' up, Lil Bit. Took a while, huh?"

  I felt a rush of affection for my big, bearded dad and reached out my hand. His huge ham hocks swallowed mine entirely, the way they always had. "My father, the family man," I teased. "Do you 'putter around' in the garage? Wait... have you joined a golf club too?"

  "Smartass," my dad growled, letting go of my hand. "You sound like Jax."

  The station switched again. As if summoned like a genie from a bottle, the thumping bass of "Cocky" blared out of the speakers.

  I froze in my seat, my body flashing between ice-cold water flowing in my veins and hot nausea swimming in my stomach. This song was following me, I swear it was.

  "Heard that enough for one lifetime," my father snapped, punching the on/off switch. Uncharacteristic silence flooded the van, the better for me to hear the wild beating of my own heart.

  Oblivious to my torture, my dad kept talking. "I don't think Jaxson was ready for that song to blow up like it did. His mother's tryin' to help him, but he's such an arrogant ass-face sometimes you just want to shake the little shit..."

  "Truer words were never spoken," I muttered. I'd have liked to shake him myself, but I was afraid my fingers would close around his throat and I wouldn't be able to stop myself from killing him.

  My dad turned off the main highway and we began to wind up the hilly roads, gaining elevation. I drummed my fingers on my thighs, alternating between excitement and dread, when he finally turned off the road and onto a long, winding drive.

  "This is your place?" I couldn't keep the shock out of my voice.

  My dad threw the van in park and leaned back. "Yup," he drawled, looking at the massive, ornate mansion like it surprised him. "Like I said, Annie wanted studio space of her own and all that."

  "You could fit about seventeen studios in there," I said dryly. The white mansion gleamed in the harsh California sun and the vast, green lawn rolled out like a carpet, the kind I'd describe as "verdant and lush" in one of my books. It smelled crisp and freshly mowed, which surprised me. Annie and Nails were not known for their fastidiousness, either in parenting or in life.

  A lot changed in the year since I left, I thought as my dad grabbed my bags and we started up the curved, manicured walkway.

  That's when I smelled the distinct, wafting scent of pot smoke. I could see cigarette butts dotting the sides of the walk.

  When my dad pushed the front door open, I realized not much had changed at all.

  The usual suspects slumped in beaten up couches completely at odds with the ornate surroundings. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. The house was new and unfamiliar, but the people? The people felt like home. Lying around, shouting, laughing, the gentle strum of an acoustic guitar as someone somewhere made music, these were the sounds I had cherished once.

  Everyone was here for my arrival. Bash was in the corner, his hands drumming relentlessly on his thighs, even as the rest of him was silent. He spied us first, which was no surprise. "Holy shit, it's Bit!" he crowed. "What the hell took you so long, Nails? We've been waiting!"

  "Nothing took long," my dad growled. "You need to relax."

  I laughed at the familiar refrain. Bash wouldn't know relaxation if it cracked him over the head. The lead drum tech bounded over and slammed his body into mine--his approximation of a hug. I coughed behind my hand and inhaled sharply to get my breath back. "How are you, Bash?" I asked.

  "Good, good, good." He nodded his head, swaying his body to the music only he could hear. "Gotta show you the studio space, Bit. It's great. We're totally working night and day."

  "Well, you are." Diggs came up for his hug, the twisted ruin of his face scrunched up into his broken smile. "Hey Lily," he said softly.

  I sighed in contentment at the familiar feel of his hugs. I'll never forget the first time I met Diggs, how I'd shrunk away from the terrible scarring that marred his face. A fall off the rigging hadn't been enough to scare him away from working for Annie, and though he didn't climb much these days, he was still loyal to her. He was, without a doubt, the nicest person I had ever met. Always ready for a handshake or a hug, Diggs would have made an incredible father if only the right woman was able to look past his scars. He seemed to have a surplus of love, and right now, he was pouring it out on me.

  "Your dad tells me you're writing books now!" he said. "I went online and found the one he knew about. You have such a talent, Bit."

  The idea of Diggs--who I regarded as a second Dad--reading my steamy stories made me blush. "You read my book?" I squeaked.

  "We all did," Greg Fingers chuckled, coming in for a brief hug.

  "I didn't," my dad growled. "Not all the way. Sorry, Liliana. I bailed at the first sex scene."

  "I'm really glad you did." I blushed. I was torn between delight and utter horror.

  "Guys don't really talk like that, you know," Greg pointed out lazily. I wondered how stoned he was already.

  "It's fantasy," I corrected him.

  "You want guys to talk like that?" Crusty Pete was hanging in the background and I was grateful. His odor was nearly overpowering the smell of the pot.

  "It'd be nice," I shot back, which earned me an appreciative laugh. I beamed, feeling incredible to be back here with them, my wayward band of rogue uncles, the guys who were never sure if they should be my friends or my role models. For a moment, I forgot why I ever left.

  "Liliana's here? Why didn't you come get me?"

  When I turned and saw Annie Blue's electric eyes, I suddenly remembered exactly why I had left. Her eyes were so much like Jaxson's that I felt a pit open up in my stomach.

  "There's my new daughter," she cooed, hugging me close. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my dad beaming with pride.

  "Hey, Annie," I swallowed. Hugs were not Annie's typical plan of action with me. But when I stepped back and took in her swishing skirts and earth-toned shawl, I realized what was going on.

  This was another reinvention.

  Annie Blue, rock star, goddess, and soon to be my stepmother. She'd reinvented herself a million times in her thirty-plus years in the industry. The wayward daughter of folk singer Randall Blue, she shocked the world by showing up as the lead in the punk girl-band UltraViolet. Her father publicly disowned her after she pulled one too many onstage stunts for his liking. I guess he figured the Blue name was sullied by her going topless onstage and crowd surfing in a schoolgirl's skirt with nothing underneath.

  One brief stint in rehab later, she broke up UltraViolet and started a solo career, packing stadiums full of screaming fans desperate for a glimpse. She could sing like no one else, a honeyed scream with a three-octave range, and she toured relentlessly for almost a decade, taking her band of roadies around the world five different times.

  Now, at forty-eight years old and still as gorgeous as ever, she was playing the part of elder queen, appearing as a guest on several pop records including the girl band Soundwave.

  Now, I figured, I was looking at the Earth Mother stage of her career. Her typically dyed, white-blonde hair was shot through with lowlights and an honest-to-God gray hair or two. Her face was un-madeup and dangling earrings jangled at her jaw. She looked like she had put on a few pounds too, softening her beautiful face.

  She looked... happy.

  My dad slid an arm around her waist. Was it really because of him?

  When Nails Nesbit met Annie Blue, it was truly the case of the immovable object meeting the unstoppable force. He was her roadie, her staff member, someone who should be properly deferential about the whole thing, especially since he came on right in the middle of her tour. But my father's general "fuck-you" attitude toward authority must have appealed to her somehow, because Annie soon appointed him her own personal tech. And then appointed him to her be her bedmate too.

  By the time I arrived on the scene, Annie and my father had been driving
each other crazy for ten whole years, but Dad assured me it was nothing important. "Just keeping each other company, that's all," he rumbled one night when I confronted him in the tour bus three weeks in. "Ladies get lonely."

  They'd been on-again, off-again my whole life. What had changed?

  "Your room is at the end of the hall, second to last door on the right," Annie grinned at me. "I'm glad you're here, Liliana."

  "Me too." I was surprised by how much I meant it.

  "Bash, why don't you help her with her bags?"

  "No, I got it." I waved him away.

  "Bit, that suitcase is bigger than you," Bash chuckled, reaching for the handle.

  "I got it through the airport by myself," I said, bristling. It was one thing to feel the comfort of being back with the guys. It was another to have them close back around me with their suffocating love. I had a life of my own now and my hard fought independence would wither and die if I started letting them do everything again.

  "Listen, I'm jetlagged as hell. I need a nap before I can deal with you all." I said it as jokingly as I could.

  "I've made reservations for dinner tonight, to talk about the plan," Annie said, sweet as sugar.

  I nodded and grabbed my bag, making for the big, sweeping staircase. I lugged it up the steps, mindful of the eyes on me and tried valiantly to make it look like I wasn't struggling. I thought I succeeded, unless they were all just humoring me, which was probably more the case.

  The staircase twisted around, leaving me off in the lofted hallway of the second floor. The hall curved around a balcony straight out of Evita, with full sight of the first floor below. I dragged my suitcase down the length of it, until it finally turned a corner and went out of sight of the people below. Gratefully, I dropped the pretense of carrying the case and gave it a kick that sent it sliding the rest of the way.

  The second door from the end opened to a spare bedroom. I chuckled ruefully at the mishmash of broken-down Ikea furniture in the ornate room. I had more luxurious accommodations back in my shoebox in New York. The built-in bookshelves were lined with spiral notebooks and scattered guitar picks. The fireplace had an amp shoved into it. I wondered who had been crashing here up until today.

  The sight of the bed inspired a Pavlovian yawn response. I rummaged in my suitcase until I found my pajamas and fell into bed.

  I shifted, pulled, yanked the covers over my head. Then I uncovered myself with a sigh.

  I was too keyed up. Tired and wired at the same time. And as much as I needed a nap, I needed to pee first.

  I turned out of the room and went to the end of the hallway. The door way halfway opened and I could see the tile floor, so I pushed in blindly.

  "Oh, shit!" I screamed. Then my mouth went dry.

  He had just stepped from the shower, his body still glistening with droplets of water. Instead of covering his cock, he rubbed the towel through his hair, which was electric blue and doing disconcerting things to his eyes.

  "Hey, Bit," Jax drawled with a wicked grin.

  Chapter Eight

  Jax

  After the debacle at the studio, the only thing that kept me from running to the bottle was the fact that Bit was flying in today. I was looking forward to it way more than I would ever admit. I pictured her clearly in my mind, even had a quick jerk in the shower thinking about her tight, tiny body that was just shaped perfectly for my hands.

  So I was feeling pretty good when I stepped out of the shower.

  And there was Lily, standing there in the middle of the bathroom. She was dressed in purple flannel pajamas and had murder in her eyes.

  "Hey, Bit." I smiled.

  That only seemed to piss her off more. "Could you please cover that up?" She gestured to my cock.

  And even though this was not the reunion I had pictured, I couldn't help it. I laughed. A pissed off Bit was always my biggest weakness. When she got angry, it always reminded me of a tiny, ferocious kitten ready to pounce. All fluffy fur and needle-sharp claws. You couldn't help but provoke it.

  "Why? You don't look like you've had your fill yet." I smirked, stretching up to towel off my mostly dry hair. "It's been so long since you've seen it, and all."

  Her big brown eyes practically bugged out of her skull. She was just so damn adorable with those wide-set eyes and little doll lips just aching to be kissed until they were bruised and swollen.

  Speaking of swollen...

  "Are you seriously getting hard right now?"

  I looked down. "No. Not getting." If she would just stop being so damn insulted by my very presence, maybe I'd be able to calm down. Self-loathing makes for interesting fetishes. "I'm completely hard. Shouldn't be, though, because I totally took care of things in the shower." I grinned at her and waggled my eyebrows. "Thinking about seeing you again got me all fired up."

  "You're disgusting."

  "You ever do that, Bit?" I pressed. I couldn't seem to stop pissing her off. Damn my addiction. "Touch yourself while you remember me?"

  "No!" she shot back fast. Too fast. The tips of her ears were red.

  My Bit was lying to me.

  "Don't lie, Bit. You can still have it. It's right here, waiting for you."

  I meant it as a joke, another jab to provoke her, but her eyes went down the second I suggested she look. Like she was waiting for permission.

  She made a noise of disgust, all the while staring at my cock like it had insulted her dead mother. But staring nonetheless. And with a jolt, I was taken back to how it used to be with us. Her wild noises, the way she squirmed when she got close, her wide-eyed, mute adoration that made me feel like a fucking god among men.

  No, now I was hard.

  "Liliana." I said her real name, not the nickname that I had given her, that everyone had immediately adopted because it just suited her so well. I wanted to touch her face, feel her soft skin warm under my fingertips again. Every girl I had been with since she left was just an exercise in trying to forget. But my body hadn't forgotten at all. I knew exactly how she would feel if I touched her now.

  "Jaxson." She still sounded pissed, but this time more at herself. She shook her head, and then her whole body. "Would you please cover that thing up? And get out of the bathroom, I have to pee."

  Chapter Nine

  Liliana

  I finished and yanked my underwear back up again, the damp fabric clinging unpleasantly to my legs. Goddamn Jax. Seeing him step out of the shower had done nothing to soothe the ache between my legs. I felt so empty down there it was like a crater had opened up.

  I stuck my head out of the bathroom and triple-checked the hallway before sprinting back to my room and slamming the door closed. My heart was hammering in my throat and a pulse pounded between my legs.

  Oh my God. Oh my God oh my God oh my God.

  A year ago, I was certain that eighteen-year-old Jaxson Blue was the sexiest man on the planet.

  I was wrong.

  Nineteen-year-old Jaxson Blue was.

  While I was gone, he had worked his already perfect body into rangy perfection. The taut belly I had kissed so ardently was now sculpted into the ridges and valleys of a perfect six pack. The shoulders I had clung to were broader, the back I had scratched my nails down was stronger. The jawline I had nibbled was more defined and the smooth skin I had worshipped was spider webbed in new ink.

  His cock, though--that was exactly how I had remembered it. Heavy and long, with that wicked little curve at the end. And the little wink of metal from his Prince Albert. The way that had felt as it slipped inside of me...

  The sight of it nearly brought me to my knees, making me fear that once I was down there, instinct would take over.

  I groaned out loud and buried my head in my pillow. Suddenly my whole body seemed overly sensitive. The brush of my flannel pajamas against my breasts was enough to make my nipples tighten. The seam of my pants pressed achingly against my throbbing clit.

  It doesn't mean anything, I told myself as my fingers wandere
d downward. It's just fantasy. It's not real.

  But hot slickness my fingers found was all too real. With a moan, I squeezed my hand tightly in my thighs, imagining Jax's mouth down there. He used to love eating me out, spreading me wide wherever he could pin me and making me shriek. I shivered as I remembered the way his shoulders would bulge as he pressed against the inside of my thighs, eyes closed, that little mmm-ing noise he made that made me feel utterly delicious.

  I flopped over onto my back and arched upward. There was no warm chest above me, no lips against my ear, whispering filthy, wonderful promises, but I was a writer--I could imagine it. Perfect fucking recall, down to the last detail. I could indulge in a little reminiscing and it didn't need to mean a thing, right?

  My orgasm came fast and breathless and aching. I gritted my teeth, panting as the tremors ricocheted through me.

  And then it was gone.

  And instead of sating me, it just left me frustrated and wanting the real, blue-haired thing.

  I yanked my hand out of my pajama pants with disgust. Really, Liliana? Jilling off as soon as you see him? You're fucking pathetic.

  I tugged on my jeans and threw on a halter top, intending to rush back to the bathroom and wash my hands, get the smell of my desperation off of me.

  Instead I opened the door and nearly ran smack into the source of my desperation's now-clothed chest.

  "Jax, what the hell are you doing here?" I shrieked, jumping away from him like he had electrocuted me. He may as well have.

  He lowered the hand he clearly had raised to knock on my door. If I could die from blushing, I would have welcomed it. Kill me now. Just let the big California earthquake hit right at this moment so the earth swallows me up and I don't have to look him in the eye.

  Jax raised an eyebrow. Fuck, he wanted to tease me. I braced myself, hiding my hands behind my back. Hiding the evidence.

  But instead he sighed and straightened his shoulders. "That wasn't how that was supposed to go." Goddamn him, he actually looked sheepish. In his white button-down and low-slung jeans, he couldn't have been more delicious than if he'd tried. His lips always had the sweetest curve, an exaggerated Cupid's bow that would've looked feminine on any other face, but on his, it only made the curve of his mouth more tantalizing.