TREY, A Lair Novel
Published by A. M. Madden
Copyright ©2020 by A. M. Madden
First edition, e-book-published 2020
All Rights Reserved Worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The use of artist and song titles, locations, and products throughout this book is done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
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A.M. Madden
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Twitter: @ammadden1
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The Back-Up Series
Back-Up ~ Book 1
Front & Center ~ Book 2
Encore ~ Book 3
Backstage ~ Book 4
The Devil’s Lair ~ Book 4.5
Backstage Pass ~ A Back-Up Quickie
Sold Out ~ Book 5
Shock Jock, A Lair Novel
Liner Notes, A Lair Novel
Trey, A Lair Novel
Table of Contents
The Back-Up Series
Prologue
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
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
TREY Playlist
Acknowledgements
More by A. M. Madden
About A. M. Madden
Prologue
New York Journal
September 7, 2014
If any of you were lucky enough to see Devil’s Lair last night in New York City, you no doubt walked away exhilarated and maybe even a touch turned on. They opened with an exciting, rock-the-house, sexy-as-hell show to kick off the rest of their tour. And last night they set the benchmark pretty high.
No doubt all you warm-blooded girls are well aware of the sexual magnetism their lead singer, Jack Lair, exudes, not to mention the rest of his band. But now all you warm-blooded guys can sit and drool over their new backup singer, Leila Marino, as well. She’s the perfect choice, if you ask me. She is sexy as hell, and the chemistry between her and Jack onstage is off the charts. If these two aren’t doing it… they should be. But then again, maybe that’s how Miss Marino cracked the code into this all-male rock band.
How she got in doesn’t matter once you hear her voice. This girl has the goods and brings it home. If she gets bored with her new bandmates, she can bring it to my home… I’m in love.
Along with Miss Marino, Jack Lair is at his all-time best, accompanied by drummer Hunter Amatto, guitarist Scott Malone, and bass guitarist Trey Taylor. I know, Trey who? Well, know him or not, Mr. Taylor amazed us all with his bass-playing skills. The man can make that instrument come to life, comparable to any legendary bass player in the industry.
All in all, Devil’s Lair brings back traditional rock with a new edge. As they begin touring from coast to coast, you need to find their itinerary and buy your ticket. While you’re at it, pick up their debut CD, Committed, a must-have in your collection. Whoever said “sex sells” said it with Devil’s Lair in mind.
Chapter 1
Trey
“Trey!” My eyes shifted to the dork whose pale skin had already turned a light shade of red from the sun, made worse by the coating of wet sand that covered most of his body. He couldn’t see me looking at him from behind my dark sunglasses. Still, Scott gripped his hips, knowing damn well my eyes were indeed on him. “Get your ass down here. If I have to endure this torture, so do you.”
I lifted my ice-cold nonalcoholic beer and tilted it toward him in salute. “Nope, I’m good.”
When he flipped me the bird, I couldn’t help but laugh. Internally, I thanked the red-headed fucker who played guitar in my band—laughing felt good.
Knowing he wasn’t going to get me to budge, he resumed his place in the chaos that ensued on the beach. If our fans could see them now—rock stars running around in modest swim trunks playing beach soccer with their brood of kids.
The fuck?
Who’d imagine that the famous Devil’s Lair enjoyed frolicking on the Jersey Shore like a bunch of camp counselors… except for me. I didn’t frolic, nor did I wear swim trunks. With a robotic tilt of my wrist, I swallowed another mouthful of the piss-tasting beer.
How the fuck did I get here?
There wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t ask myself that. And by here, I meant as a recovering alcoholic / drug addict who’d almost flushed his career down the toilet, who’d found and lost love not once, but twice in his life, and who should have been dead on more than one occasion.
I tried to ignore all the ghosts and demons that continued to haunt me. Every day I became stronger, but having said that, I still was far from the person I worked hard at perfecting.
From the outside, I looked like the cocky rock star everyone expected me to be. Except for my therapist, no one knew that every day was a struggle. I wouldn’t go as far as saying it went on all day. I did have moments of forgetfulness. Surrounding myself with my friends helped, at least more than it had months ago.
Truth was, the loving all things in life man I used to be was gone. I wasn’t always that way, but most definitely had been the last ten or so years. And as hard as I tried, I simply couldn’t find my way back to being that happy ever again, nor could I imagine being so in my future. I was fine with it. Happiness just wasn’t in the cards for me. Contentment was more my thing these days. Status quo. Complaisance.
At age thirty-three, I’d already made enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life. Mind you, I had also experienced enough heartbreak to supply a romance author a lifetime of material. Irony had fortune and misery creating a yin and yang on the imprint of my lifeline, equally existing on the pages of my book.
I blamed bad luck for being born the only son of Reverend Simon and Monica Barton. My childhood had been filled with abus
e that I had endured at the hand of the fanatical preacher who’d spawned me. That horrific upbringing was one big fucking lie. One wouldn’t believe all the ways he’d tortured me, with Mom pretending to know none of it went on under her nose.
It took careful planning, but I’d plotted my revenge by turning over enough evidence of his illegal secrets to land him in jail… and then I ran away, leaving my mother with nothing but her guilt. That day, Trestan Barton died and Trey Taylor was born.
First stop was Los Angeles. During that time, I survived each day by playing my music. It was a very lonely existence, mainly because I trusted no one nor let anyone get remotely close to me. Eventually, I ended up in New York, and that was when my life completely changed after meeting the guys.
Devil’s Lair was on the climb to fame, and they grabbed my collar and dragged me along with them. Those years of making music, pillaging my way through groupies, and living on a tour bus were the best of my life. After what I’d been through, it was no different than giving a kid his first taste of sugar. Life was fucking fantastic.
But everyone knew that all good things came to an end.
If I’d learned anything, it was to live hour by hour. I couldn’t even dare to try to live day by day, because there’d been days of late when I’d woken feeling optimistic—only to crash at night, fighting for a reason to wake the next morning.
But today happened to be a good day… so far.
A bark of laughter brought my attention back to the beach. Every Memorial Day weekend, Jack Lair, our front man, hosted his band and their families for a weekend to destress and unplug. The unplugging was the idea of his wife, Leila, our backup singer. No phones allowed, no internet, no television, just good old-fashioned interacting.
God love that woman for all her loony attempts at trying to keep us grounded. Had to give her credit, though—it worked.
Gut instinct had me on the verge of declining the invite this year. But because of foreshadowing, a method my therapist, Dr. Rutherford, had me practicing, I’d seen a vivid glimpse of the chain reaction my refusal would create.
If pissed off, Leila Lair could be a force to reckon with. And she was a royal pain in the ass when it came to me. Where the rest of our band would often let me be me, ignoring my loner tendencies, Leila simply wouldn’t allow it… especially since my epic meltdown over a year ago.
I smiled when a soft hand landed on my shoulder. Speak of the devil.
“You good?” Leila asked as she settled on the chaise beside me. It was our little game, one that eased her constant worry that I’d repeat old patterns. One that reminded me she wasn’t going to allow me to.
I met her golden-brown eyes with a firm nod. “Yeah, I’m good, Little Lair.”
A warm smile spread over her face. “I’m glad, Trey.” Those words held so much meaning. Spiraling out of control had hurt the guys badly, but I’d hurt Leila more. She was one of the most loving people I’d ever met… and since day one she’d never hidden her love for me.
After Tara and I got together, Leila and my wife had become close friends. One year, three months, fifteen days, and three hours ago I’d lost the love of my life. I know the exact measurement of time because my life came to a screeching halt that day. My life was now divided into two parts: pre–meeting Tara and post–getting clean. I considered the long weeks between her death and the day I hit rock bottom as my black hole bridging the two eras of my life.
I had met Tara when she’d been commissioned to write articles about Devil’s Lair for her magazine. Mind you, it definitely wasn’t all love at first sight with us. I did the lust thing, not love. As I had with the other relationships that lasted more than a week, which I could count on one hand, the closer she got the more I pushed her away, with little remorse. I truly believed I was better off alone. Undeterred of my prick ways, she wore me down. Letting Tara into my heart and marrying her had created a level of happiness I’d never experienced in my life.
We had so many years ahead of us. So, we thought. The universe had other plans.
There was nothing I could do to stop that deer that ran across the road. Regardless, I blamed myself, became my own judge and jury. If I hadn’t suggested taking that motorcycle ride, if we had left ten minutes later, if the road hadn’t been slick, none of it would’ve happened.
I should’ve died that day with my wife.
Think about that for a second.
I’d escaped death by the skin of my teeth, and because of where I’d landed on that pavement in comparison to Tara, my life had been spared.
The motorcycle accident that claimed my wife’s life claimed me as a victim in other ways. Besides my extensive injuries, Tara’s death had shattered my heart in a million tiny pieces that couldn’t be reassembled. Comparable to dropping a glass and having it hit the ground so forcibly most of the fragments are pulverized into dust. That kind of shattering.
My deep love for Tara forced the need to anesthetize—and on some days the desire to kill myself. Alcohol helped until it didn’t. The pain meds they gave me for breaking almost every bone on the right side of my body did the trick for a bit, until they wore off. But the combination of the two, mixed with some cocaine for good measure, now that was my winning ticket into numbness.
I’d never forget the day of my intervention, when Leila admitted, It felt like I lost both of you in that crash. Yet, as was proven by my overdose shortly thereafter, I wasn’t ready to hear her words, any of their words. I wasn’t ready to live without my wife.
Distractedly, I ran my thumb over the tattoo of my wife’s name on my ring finger. Sure, my girl had it going on with her baby blue eyes, blonde silky hair, and body that could make me hard anytime and anywhere. But it was her kindness, her intelligence, her ability to see me, the real me, that had won me over… very similar to the way Leila had won me over as a friend.
“Do you need another drink?” Leila asked, bringing me out of my reverie.
“No, I’m good. How was spa day?”
“Amazing. The girls are still there, wanting to milk it,” she said with an adorable smile.
“Speaking of milk, what do you call a herd of cows masturbating?” Her eye roll prompted me to say, “Beef strokin’ off.” It was her heavy sigh that forced a chuckle. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. So why aren’t you still there with the girls, milking it?”
“I guess I didn’t trust you men to keep the troops occupied without injury.”
I motioned toward the mayhem. “I think you should be more worried about the men escaping injury.”
“Either way,” she conceded.
We settled into a comfortable silence, watching the rest of our band playing beach soccer with all the kids. Every so often Scott would throw a scathing look my way. “Good kick, Scott!” I yelled with a cheesy thumbs-up, to which he looked over his shoulder to be sure the little ones weren’t watching before flipping me the bird.
“Stop goading him,” Leila scolded, but the grin on her face negated the reprimand.
“But it’s so much fun,” I whined.
“You haven’t changed one bit,” she said with a narrowed gaze and then added with another warm smile, “I’m glad.”
“Oh, admit it. Things were a snooze fest while I was gone.” Funny how I made it sound like rehab was a vacation in the Caribbean. The entire time I was away, thinking of my sweet wife being so disappointed in my epic collapse was what had kept me breathing. During detox, it wasn’t coming off the drugs that caused the most agony. It was the memories that always brought a stabbing pain smack in the center of my chest. I’d come a long way over the last year, and I knew this version of myself was as close to being back to normal as I’d ever get.
“Not quite,” Leila said tiredly. “You gave me gray hair and wrinkles while you were gone.”
“Liar. You’re as pretty as the day you came to audition for us,” I said, trying to inject humor to erase the sadness I saw in her eyes. “Not as clumsy as you were back then, thank God.�
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“Shut it. I was nervous. You were Devil’s Lair.”
“Yeah, we were gods… at least Jack and I were. Hunt and Scott were more like cherubs.”
A giggle erupted before she could stop it. Leila Lair always wore her emotions on her sleeve, yet as sappy as she was, you could add strength and resilience to the mix. The woman would fight a grizzly to protect those she loved, me being one of them.
That was a major breakthrough for me. Other than the gorgeous woman I’d married, I’d finally accepted that others loved me. And I wasn’t referring to the millions of fans who worshipped us, obsessed over us. Leila and the guys loved me. Her oldest son, Shane, adored me. They were my family. It had taken me a long time to accept that. The day I’d joined Devil’s Lair, whether I wanted it or not, I’d been adopted.
Regardless, I still struggled. My physical scars healed but my internal scars remained. Through therapy I was learning how to accept support. Despite pushing people away my entire life, I needed to depend on those who loved me, use them on bad days, enjoy them on good days.
Seemed like ages ago when Hunter and Jack found me at that dive bar where I had been performing in New York City. The moment I stepped off the stage, they had the balls to approach and offer me a place in their band. No questions of who I was or where I came from. There was no need to divulge all the crap that had me running from Utah to LA to New York. They didn’t care.
Running was something I’d done since turning eighteen. Lying about my past while creating a new version of myself was something I’d perfected. Yet there were these two men who recognized my talent and took a chance on me.
They’d all put up with a lot of my shit and waited through the storm for my return. And despite my death wish, I’d miraculously survived. From then on, they tended to meddle in my life a bit more than would be considered normal.
Oscar, the head of our security company, employed about a dozen men who rotated driving the members of Devil’s Lair and their families. Jack, however, had arranged for Alec to be assigned strictly to me. If Alec wasn’t available, I had Ryan at my disposal, giving me twenty-four-seven access to a bodyguard.
Trey Page 1
