Hard Body Rock

by Nora Flite

  -HARD BODY ROCK-

  Book 1

  The Body Rock Series

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Hard Body Rock (Rockstar Romance)

  Prologue | Drezden

  Chapter One. | Lola

  Chapter Two. | Drezden

  Chapter Three. | Lola

  Chapter Four. | Drezden

  Chapter Five. | Lola

  Chapter Six. | Drezden

  ~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

  Preview for Slow Body Rock | The Body Rock Series | Book 2 | OUT NOW!

  Prologue | Lola

  Nora Flite

  Copyright © 2014 Nora Flite

  All rights reserved.

  Hard Body Rock is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Prologue

  Drezden

  The cigarette hung from my lips, red-tip preparing to fall to the earth. If I moved, the ash would spill. It would take so very, very little to break that perfect, gravity defying cylinder.

  My shoulder swung, carrying my knuckles straight into Johnny's mouth. The end of my cigarette dissipated, falling away with my abrupt movement.

  Johnny tumbled backwards, spilling onto the hard floor and taking a few other chairs with him. Around me, I heard gasps, especially the sweet cries of the groupies who'd been on him like flies. “What the fuck, man!?” he shouted, sprawled there in shock. Shock, and pain.

  I planned to give him more of the latter.

  “Whoa, man, hold up!” The voice came from my left, a familiar, high-pitched rattle. Colt, the drummer for my band. He was a good guy, but no way was he going to lay a hand on me.

  Glancing sideways, I saw how he stood, his fingers spread like they'd frozen before grabbing me.

  No, Colt wouldn't stop me.

  Turning, I realized Johnny was backpedaling across the floor. It was a private room in an otherwise hardly-private bar; the only shabby environment available after our show.

  Johnny kept moving on hands and knees. He wouldn't get far doing that, not with my long legs striding over the chairs.

  “Yo, man!” he shouted, grappling with my wrists as I lifted him from the ground. He wanted to escape, who wouldn't? “Drez, man, fucking stop! What's your problem?”

  He was light, I was strong. It made bringing him up to eye-level a simple matter. Our noses nearly touched, the blood on his teeth smelling like rust. “You know what my fucking problem is, Johnny. You better god damn fucking know.”

  The centers of his eyes were tiny pin-holes. He struggled once more, the crimson stain dribbling on his shirt growing when I gave him a hard shake in response. “I—what the hell are you talking about?”

  He was already on his way to being piss-full of beer, his breath reeking. “You were a damn mess out there tonight,” I snapped. Just thinking about how he had dropped his guitar in the middle of our opening song made my neck cramp.

  “Oh, come on,” he laughed, eyeing the room of gawking people like they might agree with him. “I hit a few wrong notes, that's nothing to get so—”

  He didn't finish his sentence; the thud of him hitting the floor did it for him. Johnny coughed, then wheezed as I pressed my shoe onto his chest. “You fucked up every song, Johnny. You've been a wreck for weeks. I'm done with it.”

  I pulled away, ignoring how he grabbed for my ankle. “Wait! What the hell does that mean?” The hard lines of his mouth twisted into a nervous smile. “It sounds like you're kicking me out of the band, man, but you can't do that. You know you can't do that.” Johnny pulled himself to his knees, laughing at my back, laughing at the people who still just stared. “You can't do that, you couldn't—it's not even an option.”

  Digging into my pocket, I slid a new cigarette between my lips. Everyone kept telling me to quit, it was an awful idea for a singer to smoke. I only do it when I'm pissed, or stressed. Too bad that's all the fucking time lately.

  “Hey!” Johnny wasn't laughing anymore. I heard people mumbling, then a scream. It was sharp, mixing with the explosion of glass near my face. The bottle left a wet stain on the edge of the door, not out of place with the rest of the grime. “Get back here you fucking asshole, you can't do this!”

  Pulling the stick from my mouth, I glanced behind. I was going to say something about how I could kick him out, I'd just done it, in fact. Instead, I saw Johnny with his arm wrenched back. He had another beer, preparing to launch it at my defenseless face.

  There was a second where I wondered if I could duck, or, if not, maybe the fans would dig my new scars. Luckily, it didn't get that far.

  A large man, larger than even me, hooked his arm around Johnny's throat. I hadn't noticed that Porter was here. The bassist for my band wasn't much for dank drinking holes. He usually just made time for the swankier afterparties.

  He had our former guitarist on the floor instantly. Johnny had been thrown down a few times in our career together. It was unlikely to be the last time, either. “Two fucking years!” Johnny bellowed, “two fucking years together! Fuck you, fuck you Drez!”

  It was like the dream had broke open, waking everyone in a blink. The groupies, the waitresses, everyone began to move. Some helped Porter with subduing Johnny. I was sure I saw seven girls on phones.

  Blogging about this, or calling the police?

  Who was I kidding. I was cynical enough to know it was the former.

  Breaking into the night air, I closed the back door and leaned on the building's cold wall. My jacket sounded like aluminum foil when I slid down, sitting on the asphalt with a grunt. It was dark, the only light from a single flickering street lamp nearby. The dying orange reminded me of my unlit cigarette.

  Patting myself in search of my lighter, I glanced up as the door cracked beside me. “Near death by a flying bottle sure makes you wanna rush to get lung cancer, huh?”

  Chuckling, I spoke out of the side of my mouth, still looking for my lighter. “I'll take tobacco over a concussion any day.”

  Porter crouched beside me, his own lighter flicking to life. Leaning in, I let him turn the tip of my smoke cherry-red. “Funny,” he mused, “I didn't know there were only two options here.”

  Inhaling deeply, I shut my eyes while smoke floated around us both. “Sure seems to be my destiny.”

  The thick man pulled his knee to his chest, frowning up at the foggy sky. The stars were no where to be seen. “So, you're serious about getting rid of Johnny.”

  Flicking ash, I stared at the bloody smudges on my knuckles. “Yup.”

  “Guess that means we need a new guitarist, huh?”

  “Yup.”

  Porter scratched at his head, fingers not putting a dent in his blonde fauxhawk. “Well, fuck. You know Brenda is going to be pissed over this.”

  He was right, and I did know it. Our manager was going to lose her shit when she heard I'd kicked Johnny. Chances were, she'd already heard it through the tweets and blogs of our fans.

  She'd dealt with a number of things on our tour. Well, it wasn't just OUR tour, not entirely. It was easy to think it was. Headlining would do that.

  Guess the other bands don't cause a fuss like us, though.

  Porter moved his hands in front of him, pantomiming outlining a headline for a newspaper. “Four and a Half Headstones becomes Three and a Half Headstones! Singer is a maniac, kills their guitar player!”

  I waved smoke away from my eyes. “I didn't kill Johnny.”

  “But you sure looked like you wanted to.”

  “I did want to,” I said, sticking my smoke into the corner of my m
outh.

  That made him laugh, which got me to smile in spite of everything. My hand was burning from the sucker-punch, my mood dark as I imagined hunting for a new guitarist. “Whoever we get,” I mumbled, “we'll need them fast. We've got two days before the next show.”

  “That's a fucking slim-shot.”

  Crushing the cigarette on the ground, I eyed Porter thoughtfully. “He'll need to be reliable, and not a god damn joke like our last guy.”

  “Our last guy who is probably not going to just vanish contently.”

  The back of my head tapped the wall. “So, he'll need to be tough, reliable, talented, and not mind that our last guy might resent his ass without even knowing him.”

  Porter reached out, clasping my shoulder tight. “Like I said earlier, Brenda is going to be pissed at you. No way we'll find someone like that, not out here, man. We're touring around for fucks sake!” I moved to brush him off, but he just squeezed harder. The way his thin, near-white eyebrows lowered made me hesitate. “Drez, do you honestly think replacing someone like Johnny is possible at this stage in the game?”

  Gently, I pried his fingers from me. Standing to my full height, I dusted off my jeans and gave Porter the most serious look I could. “Yup.”

  My answer was simple.

  If only the situation could have been, too.

  Chapter One.

  Lola

  “Easy with that,” I growled, reaching up to steady a speaker that had been tossed into the back of the van. “This is expensive equipment!”

  The kid (and he was definitely a kid, he had to be younger than me, and I was only nineteen) just rolled his eyes. Like everyone else so far on that tour, he wasn't going to give me an iota of respect.

  Biting my tongue was my only solution. I'm beginning to second guess coming on this damn tour, I thought bitterly.

  Hoisting another case into the van, I wiped my forehead and sighed. Each time we packed up, preparing to move to the next location, I wondered if my muscles would give out. The tour had only been four days long, so far, but I'd assembled and disassembled the set for my brother's band three times.

  I'd gotten a few stares for doing so, but those people could jump off a fucking cliff. Why couldn't a woman help with the hard labor?

  Shooting a look at the guys loitering nearby, I rolled my eyes. I'm the only one doing anything, really. I might as well be all they've got, size of my muscles not withstanding.

  Besides me, there was a cast of groupie guys who were mostly tagging along in the hopes of snagging second-hand pussy.

  I'd watched it, the way they preyed after each show, scooping up the girls who had been denied private time with the bands.

  A few had even tried it with me, until I'd decked one so hard his jaw swelled up like a grapefruit.

  They'd mostly stopped flirting after that.

  Shutting the van doors, I felt some relief in knowing that we wouldn't need to unpack everything for two days. The driving time to the next location, the sunny mountains of Colorado, would be my time to relax.

  I should go make sure Sean doesn't need anything else from me before we get on the road.

  Walking along the side of the asphalt, past the cars, the buses, I tried to catch a glimpse of any of the other bands. If I was honest with myself, I wasn't much better than a groupie. The chance to spot a member from the bigger bands, like the Silver Sideways, Backwater Till Sunday, or heaven help me, Four and a Half Headstones... Well.

  It had me excited.

  Especially Four and a Half Headstones.

  The news of the fight last night had spread through the caravan. Websites were exploding with rumors about it all, espousing claims that the singer, Drezden Halifax, had beaten Johnny Muse to a bloody pulp. I'd heard things ranging from manslaughter to Drezden being the one who had gotten beaten up.

  There'd been no solid news about any of it. I hoped I'd see someone, something, that would fill me in.

  If Drezden and Johnny fought, what will it mean for the tour?

  Four and a Half Headstones were headlining everything. If they had a fallout or had to cancel, what would happen to the other bands?

  Will my brother's band have to pull out, will they never get the break they're chasing? It was an awful possibility. Barbed Fire had been ecstatic to be invited to open on the tour. Sean had scared me with the phone call, he kept screaming without making sense.

  The memory made me smile.

  And here I am, tagging along to help. Not my dream, admittedly, but who knows. Maybe I'll get to meet an agent or someone who'll get me started in the right direction.

  I spotted Barbed Fire's tour bus ahead on the side of the road. It was no where near as fancy as the other buses, barely big enough to fit the members. It was why the ratty van for the equipment was needed.

  Rapping my knuckles on the door, I tugged it open and peeked up the steps. “Hey, Sean! You in here?”

  It was a stupid question. I knew he was there when I saw him, hunched in one of the seats and surrounded by the rest of the band. It was just the most casual way for me to ask if it was alright if I came in. I was awful at being direct.

  Sean lifted his head, pierced eyebrow crawling high. “Lola, I was just about to go look for you.”

  “Yeah?” Shutting the door, enjoying the air-conditioning, I put my hands on two seats and swung my legs forward. I landed in front of the group with a big smile. “I was coming to see if you wanted me to do anything else before we got on the road.”

  My older brother cast a look at the other members, their silence suddenly uncomfortable. I wondered what I had walked in on. “Did you hear about what happened last night, about the singer from Headstones and his guitarist?”

  “Yeah, 'course I did,” I laughed. “Lots of rumors flying on the web, out in the caravans, everywhere.” No one else was smiling. My lips quickly drifted into a thin line. “Okay, I get the feeling you're about to tell me something important. Something bad.” Shit, were the rumors true, did someone get beaten to death?

  Sean pushed his bangs from his eyes, slumping back into the seat. “It's actually potentially good news.”

  It was hard for me to pull my gaze from my brother's face. “Potentially. Tell me what's going on.”

  He waved at me to sit, so I dropped down on the edge of the leathery cushion diagonal from him. “Lola, last night Drezden kicked out Johnny Muse.”

  “Kicked him out,” I repeated in disbelief. “Kicked him out of the band?” The idea blew my mind. I was glad I was already sitting. “Why would he—damn, holy shit! That's insane!”

  The heavy-set drummer, Shark, flashed me a wide grin. In spite of his name, his teeth were not sharp. “Right? It's crazy! I was in the place, though, I saw the whole thing! Dude went nuts, just pummeled Johnny to the ground.”

  My mind conjured up an image of Drezden, of how the muscles in his arms would flex when he was screaming on stage. He looked like the type who could tear a guy's face up with ease. “Jesus,” I whispered.

  Sean slid deeper onto his seat, kicking Shark in the knee. “Chill, it wasn't as bad as that. I saw Johnny last night, too, before they dragged him off to keep him from throwing more bottles at folks. He was pissed, but fine. Drezden didn't 'pummel' him. He did kick him out though, yeah.”

  I folded my hands in my lap, crossing my knees. One pink and black sneaker tapped nervously.“That's still insane. If Four and a Half Headstones doesn't have a guitarist, what are they going to do?”

  “They're going to need to find a new one, and fast,” my brother said.

  “Yeah, fast.” I smoothed my messy dark hair. The humidity had made it into a wild mane. “Real fast. Where are they going to find a guitarist before the next show?”

  No one said anything. Baffled, I raised my eyes, looking from each member to the next. Sean was smiling, it made my stomach twist. “Oh no,” I said, back going rod-straight in my seat. “No way! I can't, I'm not anywhere near good enough to be in their band!”


  Sean slid out of his seat, shoving Shark aside as he did so. “Lola, come on. You're the sister of the lead guitarist of Barbed Fire! I taught you everything you know.” He came to stand over me, grasping my shoulders like it'd calm me down.

  I wasn't ready to be calm.

  “Jesus,” I said to no one. “Holy Jesus.” I met my brother's eyes, eyes as blue as mine. We had a lot in common, he wasn't kidding when he said he'd taught me everything I knew. The advantage to being the younger sister of a talented guitarist was you could learn a lot. The downside? Well, we couldn't both be the lead guitarist in the same band. I'd never play with Barbed Fire, the closest I'd ever come was helping them out at shows. “Jesus,” I said again. I was saying it a lot.

  Giving me one more squeeze, he patted me so roughly it shook my skull. “The auditions are going on today. I already went and talked to their manager when I heard what was going on. You've got a great chance here, Lola.”

  A great chance? I wiped my clammy palms on my ripped jeans. He's right, it's an amazing chance. I know all their songs by heart, but... there's no way I'm good enough, there's so much more than being able to repeat back a song. If I audition, I'll look like an asshole.

  “—an hour,” he was saying, my brain so fogged I missed the start of his sentence. “I know you brought your guitar, grab it and take it with you.”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “You've got an hour to get ready, they're doing it before we all drive out to the next pit stop.”

  “Sean,” I blurted, climbing to my feet in a hurry. “Listen, wait, I can't do this.”

  His piercing glinted as he wrinkled his forehead. “What? Why?”

  “I just—come on!” I said, giggling uncomfortably. “It's me, I'm not a rockstar!”

  “You've played in bands before,” he said.

  “Garage bands, joke bands, nothing serious.”

  “And I've seen you listening to Four and a Half Headstones since they launched.”

  I couldn't stop shaking my head.

  Sean opened his mouth, then halted. Eyeing the other members, he jerked his head at the door. “Give us a minute, guys.”