Tattoos & Tears (Complete Collection)

by Amiee Louise

  I swallow harshly and manage a smile. Get it the fuck together, Newbolt.

  “Yeah, yeah, all good, man.” I squeeze his arm and pat his shoulder affectionately. “Let’s do this.”

  Lucas’ voice echoes down the corridor, as we all begin our journey to the stage. Brody catches me up and looks me with troubled eyes.

  “Are you sure you’re ok, dude?”

  I go to speak, and Brody cocks his eyebrow.

  “Before you answer that, think about who you’re fucking talking to. I can spot a bull shitter from one hundred yards away, it’s one of my many fucking talents!”

  He laughs, and I smirk.

  “Shame you can’t spot a gold-digging whore at ten paces!”

  I wink, and he rolls his eyes.

  “Everyone’s allowed a fucking weakness, Newbolt; we all know that yours happens to be a certain brunette, tattooed goddess.”

  As he mentions her, my Peyton, I start to feel less like going on stage and more like going to a bar and just getting absolutely fucking shit-faced.

  “I get it, dude, I do, but you can’t let her stop you from going out there and fucking doing what you do best.”

  I smile and pull him in for a manly hug. He laughs as I pull away.

  “Wow, I didn’t know you felt that fucking way about me, dude!”

  We both laugh and continue our walk to the stage. We stop near the doors and I can hear the fans chanting.

  “Vengeance, Vengeance, Vengeance.”

  The roar fills the venue and the walls are vibrating with stomping feet. The boys all pat my shoulder as they run onto the stage, leaving me in the corridor to make my grand entrance. Donovan hands me a microphone and clips the mic pack to the pocket of my jeans.

  “Good luck, Bolt.”

  I wink.

  “Cheers, man.”

  I make my way to the stage, and as soon as I take my usual spot I take a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I feel my muscles start to relax, and all the tension I felt moments before has vanished. That feeling has been replaced with pure adrenaline. I feel fucking invincible. Jax’s signature guitar riff fills the venue, and I growl into the microphone. This is what it’s all about, this right here, performing, giving the fans a show, losing myself in the music. There’s nothing like it, it’s fucking priceless. The spotlight moves towards me until I am bathed in soft light. This is my moment.

  “Hello Earl’s Court, how the fuck are we doing tonight? You’re all looking fucking beautiful out there.”

  The crowd scream and stomp their feet. I chuckle softly and turn to Jax.

  “Flash, are you fucking ready to give these beautiful people an ear-gasm?”

  He moves to his microphone stand.

  “Hell fucking yeah!”

  I salute.

  “YEAHHHHHH!”

  I roar, and the crowds’ screams seem to get so loud that it’s almost deafening.

  “Give me a riff, Flash.”

  Jax winks, and his face breaks out into an ear-splitting grin as he starts an impressive guitar solo to a song called ‘Hell’s Angel’ off our ‘Hurricane Vengeance’ album. His flawless guitar skills never fail to impress me; he is truly gifted. He gives me a wink of encouragement as Brody accompanies him with an equally impressive riff and moves fluidly across the stage to stand back to back with Jax. Lucas pounds an energetic drum beat, and I start to sing.

  “Hell ain’t a place for this hero, or a rocker with a microphone. Heaven is reserved for the angel on my shoulder, without you in my life, this world gets colder and fucking colder.”

  As I sing those lyrics, I lose myself in the music and close my eyes.

  “I see your reflection as I pass a pane of glass, never realised how long this shattering pain would last.”

  Jax steps out and takes the spotlight, expertly making love to his fret board. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he is in his element. I grin broadly, and Brody starts to bounce up and down. His energy is contagious. As I bob my head to the beat, I move to Lucas and rest my one foot on an amp in front of his drum kit. I put both hands to my ears.

  “FUCK YEAHHHH, AXEMAN!”

  We make it to the end of the song, and soon, we are at the end of the first half of our show. If I could bottle up this feeling and sell it, I would be a very fucking rich man. There’s no feeling like it, having an audience eat from the palm of your hand. I was born to do this, it’s in my blood.

  As the second half of the show begins, we pull out all the stops and I bring out Bolt the showman. We perform some of our hits, old and new, we share some anecdotes with the fans and interact with them, as if they are our long-lost friends. Their enthusiasm has my adrenaline pumping, and I feed off the crowd’s raw energy. It drives me to give the best performance I can. We all give a thousand and one percent and perform each song as if it will be our last. As the show nears the end, I move to the front of the stage and sit down on the edge of the stage with my long legs dangling in front of me. The front row of fans are screaming and reaching out to me.

  “How are we doing tonight, London? It’s so fucking good to be here! Have you missed us?”

  The crowd whoops and cheers. I chuckle softly.

  “That’s what we like to fucking hear; can we get the lights up for a minute?”

  I gesture to the side of the stage and the room lights up. I can see the sea of fans before me and the sight never fails to amaze me. All these people are here for us. Wow.

  “Wow, we would like to take this opportunity to thank you all so much for your ongoing and continued support, coming to our gigs, buying our music. It humbles each and every one of us; it makes all those shitty garage sessions seem fucking worth it!”

  The rest of the boys join me, and Lucas leans over to speak into the microphone.

  “Hey, guys, for our last song of the night, we need a volunteer.”

  The crowd scream so loud and the overexcited fans in the front row all yell: “ME, ME, ME, BOLT! PICK ME!”

  I smile my dimpled grin, and I swear at least two girls in the front row, burst into tears. Good to know I can still have that effect on women! I turn to the side of the stage.

  “Can I get a chair, please?”

  From the corner of my eye I can see our roadies at the side of stage scrambling to get a chair at my request. Donovan runs onto the stage with a wooden chair and puts it down. I give him a thumbs up, and he winks, as he rushes off stage. Our roadies definitely deserve a pay rise. I get to my feet, and the boys resume their positions. I catch the eye of a brown-haired girl in the front row, with a short pixie cut and elfin features. I can’t tell what colour her eyes are, but they almost look too big for her face. She bites her lip and my cock starts to stir. I point to her.

  “Come on, darlin’, come up here and join us on stage.”

  She points to herself as if to say ‘Me?’ and I nod.

  “Yeah you, babe, come on up.”

  Cole and Skip help her up from the front of the stage. I lift her up, and she clings to my biceps. She looks even more gorgeous close up. Her eyes are a deep chocolate brown colour. She is wearing a short denim skirt, a cropped Rancid Vengeance t-shirt tied at the waist to show off her flat stomach and pierced belly button. I catch a glimpse of a cherry blossom branch tattoo, which looks like it extends up her ribs. The crowd goes wild, and I take the girls hand.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” I say into the microphone.

  “Donna,” she says in a nervous Black Country accent, and I smile wide. She looks terrified.

  “Do you want to sit down there for me, sweetheart?”

  She nods as I take her hand and help her sit down on the chair. I cheekily kiss the back of her hand as I let go of her.

  “Right, are we ready to rock this motherfucking place to the ground? Let me hear you scream, London!”

  The crowd screams, and I turn to the boys.

  “Ready boys? Let me hear Corrupted, fucking give it to me, Flash!”

/>   Jax turns to Lucas, and he begins the complex intro to one of our biggest hits to date, ‘Corrupted’. Lucas pounds twice on his drums, and Brody joins in. I straddle the chair with Donna underneath me and steady myself with my hand on the back.

  “There’s a girl I know called Donna, she rocked my world, she blew my mind, with her rockin’ body and her crazy lies.”

  I change the words to include her name and start to grind my hips on her. Her face breaks out into a smile. I can see her hands itching to touch me, so I grab her hand and place it on my stomach. I feel like a fucking stripper. I cock my head to the side, giving her the green light to move her hand.

  “She shook her hips, grabbed her tits and rocked me until the sun came up; she’s corrupted, from her head down to her feet.”

  She moves my shirt up and moves her hand underneath it. Her hand feels soft against the ridges of my abs. I gyrate my hips, and she gasps out loud as she feels my erection dig into her stomach. She scratches her nails down my stomach and round my back as Jax moves to the front of the stage with Brody to play their guitar solos. I straighten myself, and in one fluid move, I lift her up effortlessly. I then sit myself down on the chair and sit her in my lap. She puts her arm around my neck, and I wrap my free hand around her waist.

  “That girl is corrupted; she drives me wild when she’s screaming out my name in pure fucking ecstasy.”

  We get to the end of the song, and I lift her off my lap. I elaborately bow in front of her and kiss her hand.

  “I’d like to thank Donna for being such a great sport and joining us up here tonight; it was my pleasure, babe.”

  I wink and twirl her around then lean down to make sure the microphone can’t pick up what I’m about to say.

  “Meet me after the show, babe? I’ll put your name on the V.I.P list. I’ll be waiting,” I whisper low in her ear and flash her my dimpled grin.

  She nods as she bites her lip seductively and makes her way back down to the audience. We perform an encore and soon the show is over in a blaze of expensive and elaborate pyrotechnics. I feel exhausted, but after a show, I like to let off some steam. And there’s no better way to release that pent-up energy than to have some hot, nasty, sweaty sex. After a show, sex is like a form of therapy for me. I know it’s fucked up; I’m literally a psychiatrist’s wet dream. Pleasure to bury the pain? Sounds like a fucking good plan to me.

  9

  Peyton

  The meal goes by swiftly, with Jack and I getting to know each other better. I feel like I have known him for years and the conversation flows easily. We find out we have more in common than I once thought. We like the same films, and we share a passion for art and tattoos. He makes me laugh, and he regards me with rapt attention throughout, never once taking his eyes off me. After our decadent dessert is cleared away, we are half way through our second bottle of champagne when he reaches across the low table for my hand. I let him take it, and as he caresses his thumb gently over my knuckles, my eyes lock with his. He lifts my hand to his lips and places a feather-light kiss on the back.

  “This thing between us, whatever this is.” He gestures between us before he continues to speak. “It scares the piss out of me, petal. I don’t do relationships. I mean never, but I wasn’t banking on meeting you. It’s amazing what chance meetings do. They throw you off completely and your life ends up taking a totally different direction than the one you had meticulously planned out in your head. Do you know what I mean?”

  I try to process his words as I regard him with guarded eyes.

  “You see here’s the thing, I fuck, but I don’t do commitment. I don’t do exclusivity. It’s not in my nature. My brother Nate and I, we are complete polar opposites. He was married at twenty-three, and he has a kid. Our parents were over the moon when he and Hope said they were having a baby. I think they were relieved, because they wanted grandchildren desperately, but they were never going to get me to settle down, have the perfect life, a loving woman, and a couple of kids running around.”

  I raise my eyebrows at his blatant nonchalance of monogamous relationships.

  “Is that what this is about, Jack? Your inability to commit? You’re fucking unbelievable!” I say a little more harshly than I intend.

  He puts his hand to his forehead and audibly sighs.

  “It’s not like that. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I don’t know what you want from me, Peyton. I like you...I really like you, more than I’ve liked anyone in years. You’re feisty and you don’t take my bullshit. Neither of us are looking for a long-term relationship, why dance around that fact?”

  I fold my arms, and I find myself at a loss of what to say.

  “Then why the fuck did you ask me to go out with you? Because you think I’m a sure thing? Because I’m a guaranteed lay? And to think I was actually beginning to like you.”

  I laugh bitterly.

  “I’m not capable of giving you any more than just sex! Don’t you get that? I’m not into the whole hearts and flowers thing. I asked you out because I like you… and the sex, well… that was incredible, but I’m not the type of guy you take home to your parent’s, petal. I’m the one they warn you about. I’m the villain in this piece; I’ve done things I’m not proud of. You’re too...pure and precious for that. I just can’t offer you anything more than regular sex. I’m sorry, I’m not capable of it. I’ve seen how being in love screwed Nate up. I know it’s selfish of me to even ask, but I like you, Peyton, more than I’ve liked a woman in years…”

  I hold my finger up to stop him from continuing. My head is telling me to be reckless, to just go with it, to live in the moment, to accept his offer of being his ‘fuck buddy’. But the rational part of me wins out. It screams in my face that nothing good ever comes with being reckless.

  “You know what, just stop fucking talking!” I say rudely as I stand up, grab my bag and do what any sane person would do; I turn around, leave, and I don’t look back.

  10

  Sam

  We have just come off stage after performing a gig at Earl’s Court, in our hometown of London, and I am in the dressing room, like I am after every show. I’m fresh from a shower and am wearing a grey distressed Iron Maiden t-shirt. My jeans are riding low on my hips, and my hair is still damp from my shower. I am sitting on the sofa drinking whiskey neat from the bottle and Donna, the girl who I picked from the crowd, is waiting for me, as per my request.

  I smile my panty-dropping smile, and she literally swoons on the spot. She is hot, her short brown hair emphasises her high cheekbones, her big brown eyes are so expressive, her tits are pert, and her waist is tiny. I adjust myself in my jeans; I’m fucking aching and desperate for a release. I need to feel the softness of a pair of breasts in my hands, the wet heat of her mouth as she deep throats my cock and the velvet of her internal walls as she grips my dick when I enter her.

  Get a fucking grip, Newbolt; you’re acting like a horny teenager.

  “Your reputation precedes you, Sam,” she purrs.

  I cock my pierced eyebrow at her as she drapes herself over my lap.

  “Number one, only my close friends and my family call me Sam. Since we’re neither, it’s Bolt. Number two, my reputation, as you put it, is whatever the press says it is, sweetheart.”

  I smile, bringing out the famous Newbolt dimples, and she practically creams her knickers. I spread my arms out across the back of the sofa and uncross my legs.

  “Now get those gorgeous lips around my cock, darlin’, there’s a good girl,” I rasp and chuckle softly.

  She practically jumps from my lap, as if I’ve burned her, and throws me a look of pure disgust.

  “God, you are such a fucking pig!” she shrieks.

  I take a long pull on my whiskey with a bored expression on my face.

  “Your loss, babe. I would have fucking rocked your world.”

  I shrug nonchalantly, and she leaves the room, practically colliding with Cole. He shakes his head.

&nb
sp; “What the fuck did you do this time, Romeo?” he says in his deep baritone voice.

  “Must be that old Newbolt charm, mate,” I joke, and he strides into the room, sitting himself down next to me.

  I gulp whiskey from the bottle; it burns as it slides down my throat, and Cole folds his arms.

  “What the fuck is going on with you, Sam? You’ve got a second chance with the woman you love and you’re pissing it up the wall. I don’t get it.”

  I shake my head and scrub my hands down my face.

  “I need more fucking whiskey if we’re going to continue this conversation, man.”