Twisted Rhythm: A Dark Rockstar Romance (Twisted Rhythm Series Book 1)

by Lexxi Chase

  Suddenly, she longed for the safety of home, the comfort and protection of her big cats, her tigers Sahara, Seh-Khan, Kahari, Kontikki and Morocco and their cubs, Sumatra, Safari and Tonga. Her heart ached as she thought of her stately magnificent lions – Mocombo, Zuru, Zambuka, Bongo and Mohan with his rich, generous black mane and soulful, deep amber eyes. All of them so trusting, loving and dependent. Giving their lives and affection to her, wanting only her love and attention in return. But what type of mother, beast mistress, had she become? So absorbed with her own life, needless unhappiness and her quest for the love and approval of a man. Jake meant the world to her, yes, but still, her world with him remained extrinsic to her life, her love and bond with her big cats. He would forever remain extraneous from their multi-species family and he knew it as well as her.

  I can balance these two worlds again if I just get the chance, Amanda thought as she closed her eyes yet again in pursuit of sleep and the peace that just wouldn’t come. Then suddenly, remembering her tweet, she turned over restlessly, suddenly keenly aware of a pain in her chest, the raw churning in her stomach and her pounding, racing heart. Dear God, what had she done? To her life and maybe the cats. In her mindless desperation she’d reignited a war, one whose cause had been unsubstantiated last time but one she’d barely lived through nonetheless. This time, markedly, she’d cemented its grounds and the ramifications were likely to be more widespread and worse than even she could imagine.

  ***

  Zack glanced at his ringing cell on the table. It couldn’t be worse timing for anyone to call. No damn way am I taking this now, he thought, not when Jake’s already fuming, hyped up on a rampage that could literally disintegrate Steel Demon, end Wade’s life, maybe Amanda’s, and quite possibly his own too. Who the fuck knew more than a cunt hair about this Wade dude? For all anyone knew he was a Black Belt in karate, some fucking boxing champion or something for Christsake, or shit, a humongous collector of knives, guns, even automatic weapons. Those hick town rednecks could be dangerous for Godsakes and, he swallowed hard, maybe even crazier and more violent than Jake. How could Amanda ever have...he caught himself as the icy pang of jealousy pricked his heart, just as Jake screamed.

  “Pick it the fuck up for Christakes, before I fuckin’ toss it through the motherfuckin’ window!”

  That would be better, Zack thought, but jumped to answer the phone. Visibly cringing at the call display. The only worst person to call right now would have been Amanda.

  “What the fuck?!” Jake fumed at his hesitation and grabbed the cell out of his grasp, his face irritated when he too saw who was calling.

  He flicked it to speaker, putting his index finger to his mouth. Leaving Zack no choice but to talk and pretend no one else was there and everything was just as peachy as a freshly baked pie.

  “Yeah, Katelyn, long time no hear. How ya doin’?”

  He was surprised his voice came out so even. He had to find a nonchalant way to cut her off and end the conversation, stop her from saying whatever it is she called to say. Even the mere mention of Amanda at this point would cause Jake to blow and the reverberations would reach across both sides of the country by the time his actions followed through.

  “Zack, have ya seen Amanda? D’ya know where she is?”

  His face flushed, his body heated and he prayed silently that Jake wouldn’t clue in. But his shaky voice, risen an octave, threatened to give him away.

  “No! Why would I know where she is?!” he driveled.

  “She hung up on me. I can’t reach her and I don’t have Jake’s new number. Thought maybe you’ve seen ‘em. You have seen the shit on the internet, right?”

  Zack cringed. Just one of the worst things she could mention. But when she continued it got a whole lot darker.

  “Know if Jake’s seen that Wade idiot’s post or Amanda’s tweet after?”

  And for just a moment, the room went silent. Zack, Jake, Billy and of course Jake’s new bimbo. Everyone mute and frozen to the spot till Jake spoke. Calmer and more controlled than anyone would have imagined, including himself.

  Gesturing Billy to bring up Amanda’s Twitter on his phone, Jake crooned, “No Kat, we haven’t seen Amanda’s tweet but I’m sure it’s amusing. She’s not here. As you already know, I generously gave her what she wanted, then booted her horny little ass home.”

  Katelyn gasped quietly. How could she have been so stupid? She hadn’t expected Jake to be there, but there was always that possibility. After all, he was the frontman of the band. In any case, she certainly hadn’t been prepared for him listening. Had that moron Zack actually had her on speaker? Jesus! But, keeping her composure, she thought quickly, holding her own.

  “Hi Jake. She didn’t tell me she was on her way home. Thanks for lettin’ me know. Talk to you guys later. See ya!” and then just like that, after dropping the bomb, she was gone.

  “Good fuckin’ riddance you cunt-faced cheap ass-kissing slut,” Jake rasped, then turned to Billy to get the goods on Twitter.

  And it wasn’t going to be good. One look at Billy’s face armed Jake for battle and he snatched away the phone. Immediately, Billy began blabbering, as if anything he could say would possibly curtail the storm and soften the blow.

  “Fuck Jake, just stupid publicity bullshit. She don’t mean it. She just wants your attention, that’s all!”

  But gesturing him into silence, Jake read, and seethed.

  Everyone held their breath when he lifted his head, his brow furrowed, and ran his hand back through his long soft hair, brushing back his bangs that had fallen into his storming eyes. His face had taken on a preternatural calm and for a moment, just a moment, everyone prayed that he’d be fine. That Billy’s reassurances had made sense. Then Jake hurled the phone. Oblivious that it smashed to pieces against the wall, he raged, his voice growing louder with every word.

  “Don’t...you...guys...see?! Are you all this fuckin’ stupid or what? She’s puttin’ me on par with this lowlife deadbeat white trash jerkoff! Get it?! Like we’re fuckin’ goddamn equals. As if there’s some sorta even competition. And we gotta compete for the ultimate pussy prize! Fuck!” he yelled, “like any broad on this planet would have to choose!”

  And then he screamed. Shrieked really. Like a raving demonic banshee. Like he’d finally truly lost his mind. And Zack cowered, thinking just maybe this time Jake really has.

  In the end it took hours for them to calm him down. Eight shots of rye. A lifeline to their road manager Tank, who’d come running. A long phone call between Jake and J.Z., Steel Demon’s manager. And countless, probably hundreds of reminders they were on tour with 21 cities left to go till conclusion, five cities left to go until they even got a welcomed few days off. No time to freak out, crumble or give up the game. Time to loosen up, relax and chill.

  Jake didn’t do much chilling but he hung on, pasting it together at least enough to continue their Metal Injection Tour. Steel Demon’s devoted and hysterical fans got an earful the next night when Jake went on one of his infamous rants. After just the opening song. As the band slunk onto stage left and right. As all there was for anyone to do was listen in utter shock and amazement.

  “Guess most ‘a you guys already know I got me some bitch problems again.”

  The simmering crowd exploded in deafening emphatic assent.

  An enrapturing serpent, cloaked in tractile black leather skin, Jake paced the front of the stage, bright red microphone in hand, eyes narrowed and focused, set to hypnotize.

  “And it seems every time I got this fuckin’ problem it’s the same fuckin’ bitch!”

  The audience went wild. It wasn’t every day you got so close to the inside of the chaotic world of Amanda and Jake and it sure wasn’t every day you got to personally witness one of Jake’s infamous meltdowns.

  “So it seems...” Jake continued, deftly slithering down to curl seated on top of one of the stage front’s higher monitors, “this high profile whore and the backwoods degenerate fuckh
ead that’s ridin’ her pretty skirt tails got a whole lotta crap they wanna sling at me. And ya know what I think?”

  The audience went crazy.

  “I think they oughta take a good long serious look at the putrefying slime all over themselves before tryin’ to smear their stinkin’ shit all over me.”

  He stood. Slid off the monitor and hung his head, arms at his sides, long hair masking his face, flowing wild and primordial down his shoulders, arms and across his trembling muscular chest. When he finally raised his head, as the crowd roared, his deep green eyes were blazing and his impassioned face was set in stone.

  Illuminated like a voodoo priest under the glare and consuming heat of the spotlight, he continued, “So now I’m supposed to lower myself and go kick the shit outa some scumsucking loser dickhead over some cheap white trash cunt that I don’t really even fuckin’ want!” Jake’s eyes flashed fury, and to the more perceptive, shock and limitless pain.

  “Not gonna slaughter Wade?” a brave fan screamed from standing room only third row. His question was immediately engulfed by the thunder of the riotous crowd.

  Jake strode closer, to the very edge of the stage, his face intense but his expression incredulous.

  “Think I should?” he asked softly. “Ya think I’m goddamn chickenshit?!” he screamed.

  “Fuck no!” the guy yelled and his opinion was echoed by the throng of 30,000 shrieking fans.

  Jake stepped back, swept the hair roughly from his tired, tormented eyes. Jesus, he thought, I’m just fucked if I do and fucked just as good if I don’t. Damn that ignorant self-serving righteous egotistical cunt! If I show up and smash down this dickless piss-ant I’m lowering myself to his level, and hers. If I ignore both the goddamn fucks it looks like I got no balls to fight. Never the fuck mind Amanda’s not worth fighting about, or for, much less worth the time it takes me to have a piss.

  Misery and an incredible hopelessness stabbed at his chest. Blinking the sweat from his eyes, he remembered Amanda, so terrified and breathless, cowering like a cornered jackrabbit at the head of his bed, sobbing, apologizing and rationalizing, regretting her hasty, reckless confession. And he remembered the eviscerating agony that engulfed him. The torment that refused to give way even when he finally fucked her. The contagious toxic mixture of their shared pleasure and sweet, unending pain. The raw ache that still haunted his thoughts and tore like daggers into his soul.

  Lights flashed. Cameras rolled. Center stage transformed into his center of hell as he paced to remember, paced to also forget. Now and then barely aware of the audience as they beseeched him, hailed him and spurred him on. But he turned to face them nonetheless. His fans, his followers, his disciples as, like a primeval beast clawing and wrenching its way out of the pit, he emerged, made up his mind and locked his destiny. A surreal quiet swept through the arena as Jake raised his mic and spoke once again.

  “Y’all know that saying, too much information? Don’t ever let anyone tell ya that’s true. Because ya know what? I think Amanda shoulda not left shit outa her book. I think Amanda shoulda let y’all know what kind ‘a lowlife hypocritical tramp she really is. But don’t worry,” Jake smirked, swept back his hair and raised his arm towards the crowd. “Ya don’t have to wait for her sequel, ‘cause I’m gonna tell ya just what she’s really all about, right fuckin’ here and now!”

  He paused, not for effect or narrative tension, but because for a moment he actually didn’t know what to say. Where to begin, what to include or how to explain. He hung his head momentarily, then resumed walking the stage. A sensual beaten messiah, exalted battle-scarred warrior with a mission, a scarring injustice to repay.

  He stopped suddenly, breath hitching in his throat, and turned to face the mob.

  “She fucked him,” he simply said, his voice dark and deep and innocent.

  The crowd went wild.

  Stage left, Shayne grabbed Billy’s arm roughly, almost hysterically, “Oh Christ...” and the two looked at each other in desperation but said no more.

  “And just in case you’re thinking Jake’s back on that shit train again, Jake’s goin’ crazy, Jake’s fuckin’ delusional....What?! Ya don’t think I read the papers, don’t think I know all the shit that was said about me on the internet back then, all the slimy inaccurate unfounded crap that’s festering and circulating there right now? Ya don’t think I paid attention to everything that was said about me at my own goddamn fuckin’ trial?”

  The roar of the audience was deafening.

  “But this ain’t no...no speculation on my part this time. Ya see...Amanda told me all about it two days ago in Portland. Let’s just say in more detail than I really fuckin’ wanted to hear.”

  And then, astonishingly, Jake fell silent. Backed up. Away from the mob. Away from his confessional center stage. Head down, hands tangled in his hair as he walked backwards. Heart pounding. Eyes closed tightly. Later, when he remembered the moment, he remembered too his one consuming thought, it’s not so fuckin’ great to be me after all.

  And the disturbing, overpowering, gut-wrenching, encompassing feeling of just wanting to die. Right there. Right then. In the midst of his concert. At the alter overlooking his fans. Like a defeated, broken messiah destroyed by lust, jealousy and the obsession for revenge.

  But like a god crucified by Amanda - I am a god, he later remembered thinking - Jake pulled it together. For a little more than one last time.

  “So let’s just say,” the spotlight re-centered on him at the back of the stage, “I’ve had a major attitude adjustment. A revelation. That stinkin’ backwoods boy scout wannabe can have his precious slut. He can lay her out and pound her up the ass for all I fuckin’ care.”

  The crowd erupted.

  “What I take serious absolute offence to is his naive, mistaken perception that I actually give a shit, that it’s some sorta even playin’ field, that I might,” he paused, shimmering green eyes darkening as he seethed, “be too fuckin’ much of a pansy to lower myself to his meaningless scumsucking level and fight this so-called righteous war.”

  “No Wade,” he sneered, “I don’t just like to smack down pussy. I got no fuckin’ huge problem layin’ the same well deserved beating on some lowlife insignificant hick town asswipe posin’ as a real man and thinkin’ they’re tough shit. So yeah, Wade,” he growled, spitting out and nearly choking on his name, “I am fuckin’ ready if you, motherfucker, really got the balls to try. Start writin’ your last will and testament.”

  Running to center stage, Jake paused. Stood noble and tall. Enveloped by unearthly light as the spotlights transposed and merged red, then golden, then green. Long hair blowing behind him, he ran forward again, raised his left arm, brought the mic to his lips with his right, and screamed.

  “I been fucked by the devil and it’s time for revenge!”

  On cue, the rest of Steel Demon scrambled to their rightful places and launched into Devil’s Destruction. By all accounts, it was the band’s best performance of this song yet. Stills taken from its YouTube upload that night, complete with Jake’s introductory rant, would grace the world’s press and internet once all was said and done.

  Chapter 11

  Water sloshing from the tub as she scrambled out, Rachel skid wildly across the wet tile and rammed into the door, falling and yanking down her pink fuzzy robe.

  “Jesus, can’t I get a fucking break?!”

  Cursing and splaying water all the way to the front door, she heaved it open and gasped in surprise.

  Her kids, Jenny and Mark, stood grim-faced before her, flanked by their school’s principal, Jeffrey Myer. And he looked about as happy as a resolute virgin in a whorehouse.

  “Mr. Myer, what are you doing here? Kids get inside,” and then, opening the door wider, she composed herself and politely invited him in as well.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, barely keeping the simmering lid on her rising panic.

  Principals never came to your house unless something was horribly
wrong. They never took kids anywhere, much less personally delivered them to their front doors. Oh God, she thought, is someone - Matt?! - dead? She was about to lose it when Myer finally spoke.

  “There’s been an incident at school, Mrs. Colter. We tried to call you and Mr. Colter as well but received no answer so I thought it best to just bring the children home myself.”

  “Incident?” her voice raised.

  She was suddenly very aware of how disheveled and decidedly wet she must look and how parentally incompetent she and Matt must seem since neither had answered their cells.

  “Matt is on a job site. Sometimes he can’t hear his phone and I was in the tub. Sorry, I didn’t hear mine ring. What happened?”

  “May we sit down?” It was a command.

  Suppressing her irritation, Rachel motioned Myer to the couch and sat beside him, tightening the belt on her robe.

  “Mark and Jenny have been involved in a brawl brought on by their viewing inappropriate internet content, along with a number of other children, concerning your sister, her...her boyfriend, and an individual here in town who she’s apparently had some dealings with.”

  “Dealings?” Rachel did little to hide her annoyance.

  “Mrs. Colter, Mark and Jenny have been viewing Twitter and Facebook accounts with disturbing adult photographs, language and content.”

  The condescending look on Myer’s face made her want to scream. Like children live in a bubble, she wanted to say. Like none of them have ever heard the dreaded “F” word. Shit no, they all naively think the magical pink stork brought them. They all think the world is like a Disney movie where innocuous maidens are rescued from monsters in the nick of time, no one gets hurt and the world is one big raspberry swirl sundae with a perpetual cherry on top.

  “I see,” she said.

  “You see?” he repeated.

  “Yes, that’s what I just said. What is it that you’d like me to say, Mr. Myer?”

  He smoothed his suit, gingerly straightened its sleeves and cuffs.