by Eva Haining
MUSTANG PLAYER
A STANDALONE, SMALL TOWN, ROCK STAR ROMANCE.
EVA HAINING
CARDINAL KNIGHTS PUBLISHING LLC
COPYRIGHT
MUSTANG PLAYER
©Eva Haining 2021
Copyright ©2021 Eva Haining
CARDINAL KNIGHTS PUBLISHING LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
DEVELOPMENTAL EDITING: Ria Alexander
EDITING: Booktique Editing
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in Federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr).
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Also by EVA HAINING
Manhattan Knights Series
Flawless
Relentless
Endless
Complete Manhattan Knights Series Box Set
Mustang Ranch Series
Mustang Daddy
Mustang Buck
Mustang Hollywood
Mustang Ranch Books 1-3 Box Set
Mustang Christmas
Mustang Belle
Mustang Player
Mustang Nanny
Hall of Fame Series
Fumble
A Very Fumbling Merry Christmas
Interception
Screwball
Strike Zone
Standalones
Wild Rugged Daddy
A Christmas To Remember
The Cardinal Brotherhood (Eva Haining writing as E.L.Haining)
The Cardinal Brotherhood Books 1&2 Box Set
Luxure
Kadedus
Gier
Craos
Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
SESSION
Four
Five
Six
SESSION
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
SESSION
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
SESSION
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
SESSION
Twenty-One
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
SOCIAL MEDIA
Prologue
Johnny
Addiction is a cruel mistress—sexy and alluring, promising a high like no other. She calls to me in the middle of the night like a siren at sea, beckoning me to the murky depths, pulling me down so far, I can no longer see the sky. She doesn’t let go until I’m on the ocean floor, unable to move. Unable to breathe. As I struggle for a lungful of air, I realize where I am—rock bottom.
One
Johnny
The roar of the crowd is electric. It’s a high, and I’d know better than most. I was living the rock star lifestyle long before success came knocking on my door. I’ve seen and done things the average person would never dream of and not all good. To be honest, in the past few years, it’s been more bad than good.
I grew up idolizing the greats—Bowie, Hendricks, and Dylan, to name but a few. I wanted to be them, and I had no idea where my passion for music originated. Maybe it’s genetic. I used to think about it all the time growing up—which traits were nature over nurture? There wasn’t much in the way of nurture, but to walk through life, second-guessing the guy on the street with the same color hair or the woman with eyes the same piercing blue as my own—it’s torture.
The past eight months have forced me to face my demons, but I’ve only scratched the surface. I’m too scared to dive any deeper, knowing such self-analysis could either save my soul or drag me to new lows, to places I won’t be able to come back from.
We briefly run off stage before returning for the expected encore. Screaming fans chant our names, a faceless crowd under the stage lights. The second I strum the first chord, their screams become louder, tens of thousands of people singing the words of our song. It doesn’t seem real. I finally have everything I ever wanted, yet I find myself longing for—something—tangible contentment.
Watching my best friend and foster sister, Belle, relish the thrill of the moment means more to me than I could ever put into words. Her voice rings out like an angel. My guardian angel.
I let myself get lost in the moment in this high. My hands are aching from hours of playing, but it’s a welcome pain. The rush lets me know I’m still alive, and by the time I strum that last chord, my heart is pounding so hard, my chest is fit to burst.
I grab the microphone with Belle at my side. “Thank you, New York, you’ve been an amazing crowd. Give it up for Belle. Without her, Beyond New York wouldn’t exist. Her passion and drive are what got us here tonight, so let’s hear you roar!”
Belle wraps her arms around my neck and plants a kiss on my cheek like she’s done a thousand times before. The only difference tonight is that it seems to please a crowd of screaming strangers.
As we walk off stage together, she runs into the arms of her adoring husband, Knox, and a part of me envies what she has. It’s always been her and me, not because I didn’t want to share her, but because we had no one else. The other guys in the band are my friends, but Belle is family.
Dave and Tony have been my party co-conspirators for years. They enjoy the spoils of being a musician as much as any other guy in his twenties, but the reason I’ve been distancing myself from them lately—they know when to stop. It seems like such a simple thing. You drink, you party, you stop. Not for me. I don’t have that switch, and ever since the day I woke up in hospital after overdosing, I fight the urge to score every minute of every day.
“That was awesome. Who’s up for a bar crawl?” I don’t blame Dave. It’s a force of habit, and he’s not an addict. He has every right to go out and enjoy his fifteen minutes of fame.
“Have one for me, guys. I’ll see you back at the hotel.” I hate that they’re all staring at me with pity in their eyes.
“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to rub it in.”
“Don’t apologize. We just played an amazing gig. There are horny, hot groupies waiting to get drunk and swallow your spu…” Belle slaps my arm.
“Do not finish that sentence. Y’all are a walking advertisement for VD.” She always knows how to lighten the mood. “Knox and I will go back to the hotel.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Blue Bell. I appreciate the sentiment, but I just want to crash. Go, have fun.” Backstage assistants buzz around us, handing out towels, bottles of
water, and beers to everyone but me.
I take a towel and wipe the sweat off my face. Stage lighting is like performing in a sauna. Heading toward my dressing room, Belle is hot on my heels.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to go back with you? I’m pretty tired anyway.”
“I love you, sis, but I have no desire to snuggle with you and Knox in your hotel room. Go and party or not. If you want to come back to the hotel and have wild monkey sex, be my guest.” She can’t contain her laughter.
“Wild monkey sex? Are you propositioning me? I’m a married woman now.”
“Fuck off. I’d rather clean my dick with sandpaper. I meant wild monkey sex with Knox.”
“I love you, brother, but I just don’t feel that way about you.” Knox appears in the doorway, every bit the Texas cowboy. He’s a good guy—good for Belle—a good friend to have around.
“You two deserve each other. Can’t a man just wallow in the twelve steps of recovery and some hotel pay-per-view?” I mimic jacking off, making Belle cringe.
“Message received. Jesus, you didn’t have to scar me like that. What did I ever do to you?”
“General annoying little sister stuff. Now, stop hovering, I’m grabbing the case for my guitar, and there’s a cab waiting for me out back.”
“Fine. I hover because I care.”
“I know.” With a quick hug, I shove her toward Knox and give him the nod to get her out of here.
“Come on, Belle, let the man spank the monkey in peace.”
“I hate you. I hate both of you.”
“You love us.”
“I do.” She won’t leave until she gets another squeeze out of me. “See you in the morning.”
“Night.” I watch as they walk off, hand in hand, in their own little world.
Backstage is always chaos after a gig. Groupies, roadies, bouncers, and VIPs. It’s almost as loud as being on stage performing. I pack my one true love—my Gibson Les Paul guitar—into her case and make my way through the busy halls to the back entrance. I had the forethought to organize my ride beforehand. I don’t need to be hanging around snort central when the music stops.
When I think I have a clear path to the exit, a groupie stumbles out behind me. “Hey, Johnny.” She’s hot. Drunk and hot.
“Hi. You have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know your name.”
“Meg.”
“Nice to meet you, Meg. Did you enjoy the concert tonight?” I’m achingly aware that it’s been months since I’ve had sex. I don’t know why sex and addiction should have anything to do with each other. I can get on board with being clean on a good day, but the no sex, focus on recovery part of it blows.
I’m lying. I know exactly why my recovery hinges on me halting my notch count for a while. I love fucking when I’m high. I snort and suck my way over every inch of a woman’s body and revel in every single second.
She sidles up beside me. “You were amazing. I couldn’t stop watching your hands.” She interlaces her fingers with mine. “They’re so… skilled. I bet you’re good with your hands in other ways.”
Damn, it’s been a while since I’ve flexed my skills. I let her walk with me to the car, entertaining the idea of taking her right here, right now in the alley or in the back seat of the cab. If she’s good, surely one night at the hotel wouldn’t derail my progress? I don’t need to drink, and I don’t have any drugs.
“Are you up for a ride?”
The security guard at the back exit takes my guitar and loads it into the trunk of the cab while I wrestle with my dick. I know I need to use my big brain right now but fuck me, she’s hot.
My lips crash down on hers, backing her up against the wall, knowing the security guard will make himself scarce for a while. It’s an unwritten rule. She tastes like my favorite beer, fueling me to want more. Fuck, I’ve missed the soft swell of breasts against my chest and the way my cock stands at attention as her tongue strokes mine.
As I lose myself in the moment, more turned on by the alcohol on her breath, she shoves her hand into her back pocket and flashes a small, square packet.
“Condom. Good idea.” I’m out of practice. It’s usually the first thing I reach for, but I realize my mistake when she slips it into my hand.
“Let’s get fucked up… and fuck.” She brushes her hand over my erection, straining to break free. “It’s good stuff.”
I stumble backward, dropping the packet to the ground. It’s not a condom but a small, clear bag of cocaine.
She drops to her knees, reaching for the white candy I’ve been craving every moment of every day for months.
“I have to go.” My eyes are fixed on the bag as I force myself toward the cab. “I need to get out of here.”
“What? You’re not taking me with you?” She grips the baggie, staring at me in disbelief.
“No.” My mouth can’t form a sentence.
“You’re an asshole.” She removes one of her heels and throws it at the car door as I close it behind me. “Fucking loser!”
The taxi driver doesn’t look back, his eyes firmly fixed on the dash. “Where to?”
“Hilton, Times Square.” My almost dalliance’s shoe ricochets off the door. “And I’ll pay for any damage.”
My heart is pounding so hard my pulse is deafening as it whooshes in my ears. Running my hands through my hair, I attempt to calm my breathing, but every fiber of my being wants a hit.
“You okay back there?” The driver’s voice seems distant—a whisper cutting through the cacophony of sound.
“Drive faster, please. Just get me away from here.” I don’t trust myself not to get out of the car and go back to the willing fan with curves I could lose myself in and my drug of choice clutched in her hand.
As we weave our way through the streets of Manhattan, my mind is reeling, spiraling out of control. The air inside the cab is acrid, stale cigarette smoke permeating the leather seats. Bile rises in my throat, and it takes all my concentration not to hurl in this guy’s cab. I need fresh air as the world closes in around me.
“Can I crack the window?”
“Sure.” His voice is deep, gravelly from what I assume are decades of smoking.
As the wind hits my face, I force myself to breathe, my skin crawling with the urge to get high. When I finally take a lungful of air, my mind clears just long enough to reach for my phone and hit speed dial.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Can you come back to the hotel?”
“Of course. Are you already there?”
“In the cab. Just hurry.”
“We’re on our way now.” The sound of her voice is enough to take the edge off. I hate asking for help, but I know I did the right thing as I hang up the phone. If I didn’t call Belle, I’d be calling someone who’d give me the name of a local dealer.
By the time the cab pulls up outside the hotel, my hands are shaking. I give the driver a hefty tip before grabbing my guitar from the trunk, holding it tight to my chest as if it can shield me from the gnawing dread in the pit of my stomach.
My recovery hinges on a single line of coke, and my balance is waning on the tightrope.
Two
Ellie
“I can’t believe you’re moving to the boonies and leaving me here to fend for myself.” My best friend, Piper, has been giving me shit all week as I pack up my apartment, ready for a new adventure.
“You’re more than capable, and it’s not like I’m moving to the moon. We’ll still see each other and talk on the phone all the time like we do now.”
“Yeah, right. You’ll go and find some cowboy to shack up with and have tiny cowboy babies. Partying with me will seem like a distant memory.”
“When have we ever been party girls? Unless you mean sitting with a glass of Prosecco in our PJs talking about books or binge-watching Stranger Things.”
She feigns a wounded ego. “Don’t diss our Friday night rituals. See… you’re already changing.”
I pull h
er into my arms, giving myself a moment to gain some composure. I don’t want to cry in front of her because if we start, we’ll never stop. “I love you, and that’s never going to change, but this is just too good an opportunity to pass up.”
This is a big move for me, leaving the city behind for rural Texas, but when a good friend of mine, who used to be a surgeon here in New York, called me and asked if I’d be interested in running a horse therapy center in her hometown, I couldn’t say no. I’ll have complete freedom to run my private practice while creating and overseeing a new team in their center. It’s fully funded, and they’ve given me carte blanche to run it as I see fit. It’s a dream come true.
“If you end up liking it out there in the middle of nowhere, you realize that I’m going to have to find a job there too?”
“Yes! I’d love that. People have kids in Texas. There are plenty of babies who need a nanny.” Selfishly, I’d put her in my suitcase and take her with me right now if I could. She’s more than my best friend. Piper is a sister to me.
“Don’t people raise their own kids out there? I need the rich city moms who don’t even know their kid’s middle name.”
“You know there are thousands of families who love their kids but just need help… a family who’d love and value your input. You have so much to give, and I hate to see you waste it on people who treat you like dirt.”
