Rock Gods: Baden
Brandy Munroe
Pure Passion Ink
Copyright © 2020 by Brandy Munroe
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Introduction
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
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Epilogue
Bonus Scene
Acknowledgments
The Heirs: Theo Prologue
The Heirs: Theo Chapter One
The Heirs: Theo Chapter Two
Also by this Author:
About the Author
Introduction
Rock God Baden Dogger swore never to let another bad girl lead him astray.
That was until he met the unforgettable lead singer of Divine Chrysalis.
He never found love in dating a good girl.
A bad girl broke his heart.
Could loving another be the solution to mending it?
Crystal Divine was a good girl ...once.
Misconceptions, rumors and broken trust ruined her reputation
and put her budding career on hold.
Getting involved with another musician was the last thing on
Crystal’s mind when she signed with Bentley Records.
As her mentor, she had no choice but to trust Baden Dogger with her career.
With her history in choosing men, could she trust him with her heart?
They say opposites attract.
What happens when two of the same collide?
Will the fire they ignited shine brighter than ever?
Or would it burn them to ashes?
Prologue
Baden
Maddox, Adam and I were shooting marbles under the jungle gym. No one played on them anymore. Most of the equipment on the school’s playground was in the same condition; old, rusted out and ready to fall apart at any moment. Stuff like that didn’t matter to a ten-year-old boy. I wouldn’t have given it a second thought if I hadn’t heard Mom and Pops complaining to the Fosters over the fence.
Shelby was late. She won my favorite marble yesterday, and I was itching to win it back. Adam gave me a chin nod. I looked over my shoulder to find Shelby heading our way dragging another kid with her.
“This is Damon,” she announced as she pulled him forward. “He’s a new foster.”
The Fosters were the family whose yard backed up to ours. They were known for taking in foster kids. Being a “foster” was a running joke at our school.
“He’s my boyfriend,” Shelby pointed to the fact that they were holding hands. “You have to be nice to him.” Her statement was a matter of fact. There was no room for rebuttals or questions. What Shelby said was the gospel in our group. She was born to lead.
As we grew older, the five of us bonded and formed a band. Adam’s parents, like ours, worked long, hard hours. Latchkey kids, they called us. We used Adam’s garage to practice since it was the one with the least amount of junk. We could set up and leave our stuff there if need be.
One day, Damon was running late for practice. Living in a foster home meant there were always kids coming and going. Hanging out with us was his refuge, as well as his relationship with Shelby. When she announced at ten that he was her boyfriend, no one expected that to last. At sixteen, they were inseparable.
Shelby was the one who got us into music. Her parents ran a free music program at the community center. It killed Shelby that she came from two musically talented parents and she couldn't carry a tune or play an instrument. That girl had no rhythm. She couldn’t even bang the tambourine in time.
That was why we made her our band manager.
Damon came up the driveway with a tall, willowy girl in tow. “This is Jen. She's a new foster.” He walked over to Shelby and kissed her. “She’s gonna hang a while. She can be our first groupie.” He wagged his eyebrows at the rest of us.
“Fuck off, asswipe.” Jen flipped us off. The girl had an attitude. The dark scowl matched her all-black outfit, from her black leather motorcycle jacket to a pair of black shit-kicking boots, black skinny jeans, a black faded AC/DC t-shirt, and black kohl eyeliner. The only things on her that weren't black were her short spiky pink hair and her plump pink lips.
She didn’t look like any of the sixteen-year-old girls that went to our school. She didn’t act like it, either.
That year, she did become our first groupie. She began following us around as Shelby got us small gigs, birthday parties, and local summer festivals. We mostly played cover songs. Adam had written a few songs that we would slide into our sets once in a while.
When Jen’s mom completed rehab and proved she could be a responsible adult, Jen went home. We texted and she found ways to continue to come to our shows. They were few and far between at the beginning.
As we started getting more followers, Shelby kicked up our presence on social media and started getting us real gigs. We turned eighteen, and it was easier for her to get us into clubs. We lied that Maddox and I were twins, though he was two years younger. Adam was writing new songs, and we were starting to come into our own.
Jen was my first. I wasn’t hers. That didn’t matter to me. She taught me things that blew my mind and other body parts. I was having the best time of my life.
Jen wasn’t just a groupie; she was my groupie.
Then she wasn’t.
I swore I would never be led astray by a bad girl ever again.
Chapter 1
Baden
It was unseasonably warm for spring in New York City. I stood across the street from Skulls & Roses, debating my decision to come back and let Charlie cover up a mistake from my past. Painted on the window were sugar skulls and blood-red roses.
I strutted across the street in true rock star fashion. I was a fucking rock star. I didn’t make mistakes. I learned lessons. And fuck if this one wasn’t the hardest.
It was time to exterminate the constant reminder.
Getting rid of this tattoo would be one more change of the many that had taken place this past year. The first being our band Get Bent deciding not to resign with our record label. The second, our drummer T-Bent being permanently taken out of commission as a professional drummer—the result of a car accident. And third, was Theo becoming head of a record
label and bringing us on board. Of course, that meant finding a new drummer. A new name. Fuck, a brand new sound.
It wouldn’t be the first time that happened.
My brother Maddox, with our best friends Adam, Damon, Shelby and myself, had started a band way back when called Damon’s Demons. We were beginning to go places when Shelby caught Damon cheating on her before an important gig. The fallout from Damon taking off on us could have been catastrophic for the band. It had taken Shelby months to get us on the roster.
That was the night we met Theo. He approached a devastated Shelby backstage, and by the end of the night, Theo was our new drummer and we renamed the band ReInBented, a play on Theo’s last name.
The next day, I regretted letting my anger with Damon’s stunt make the rash decision to cut him out of the band. We had been friends since we were kids. He deserved a second chance.
Whatever went down between him and Shelby was going to have to take a backseat. I didn’t want us to be one of those bands who fell apart because personal relationships got in the way.
Shelby called a band meeting and explained that she and Damon had been on and off for the past few months. She thought they were on, but from his actions, Damon thought they were off. She found him fucking a groupie and snorting coke off her tits. Shelby gave him an ultimatum, rehab, and the band or drugs.
He chose drugs.
I went looking for Damon. I wanted his side of the story. What I found continued to haunt and control my life. Not only had he hurt Shelby by fucking a groupie, but he also hurt me by fucking my groupie. I walked away, letting Damon become a distant memory.
It didn’t take us long to find out our new drummer was Theophilus Bentley of the communication Bentleys. Did I care if the poor little rich boy wanted to play at being a rock star? Fuck no. He was a good drummer. In truth, he was great, and he kept the band afloat during our lean years.
We spent four years establishing ourselves as ReInBented. When we signed with a big label, the band had another name change. The label wanted something with more grit; ReInBented became Get Bent. By then, Theo was every bit a part of our dysfunctional family. Brother by choice, not by blood.
After two years of jumping through hoop and Theo accident, we disassociated ourselves from our old label. We had to once again rebrand ourselves. Theo became our boss as CEO of Bentley Records. Newcomer Bash took over as our drummer and along with the three remaining members of Get Bent; we became ReInVented.
Today I was taking the last step in wiping out a past I had let haunt me.
I smirked at the familiar creaking groan that emitted from the rusted hinges. The place didn’t look like much on the outside. The inside, though, you could eat off the floor. You’d be hard-pressed to find any place cleaner than the inside of Skulls & Roses Tattoo.
Sissy, the petite brunette, looked over her sketchbook at the sound of the bell above the door. Her eyes went wide, and she practically jumped over the counter before flinging herself at me.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Baden Dogger,” she punched me in the arm. She might as well have kissed it for the impact her tiny fist made. She was fucking glowering. “I’d ask where the hell you’ve been, but duh, being a famous rock star and all…”
It made me feel like a piece of shit. The lame excuses I thought up in my head for not visiting sooner were precisely that, lame excuses. Skulls & Roses’ owners were the Fosters, our neighbors when we lived in New York.
The elder Fosters had retired. Charlie, one of many foster kids that had come through their doors over the years, currently managed the shop. Sissy, like Damon, was what we called a lifer. No fathers in the picture and as many times as both her’s or Damon’s mother’s tried to stay clean and sober, life had not worked out in their favor.
“Hey there, kiddo.” I kissed the top of her head and set her back on her feet. I was the only one who could get away with calling her that. At four foot eight and one hundred pounds, Sissy, Skulls & Roses receptionist and kick-ass artist, took much teasing about her size. However, they say good things come in small packages, and she would be one of those. Not a mean or deceptive bone in her petite body.
“Is the big guy around?” I already knew he was. I made the appointment months ago. This place was that good. Even a big shot rock star like me had to make an appointment and wait three fucking months.
In hindsight, this was better. The band had finished the new album. We were given the time to rejuvenate before we kicked off our first tour as ReInVented this fall.
I wouldn't have to worry about the strap on my Squire irritating the new tattoo that was going to sit on my left shoulder. I’d thought hard about what I wanted to do with the piece of artwork currently taking up valuable real estate on my body.
E-mails had been sent back and forth until I decided on what I wanted this piece to represent. Out with the old, in with the new. That seemed to be the theme for this year.
“You know he’s here or you won’t be,” Sissy called me on my bullshit. “Charlie says you got us special tickets for your comeback tour.” She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, clapping her hands together.
I pulled out the laminated VIP passes for the charity festival that was the kick-off for ReInVented’s first tour. These special advance passes were payment for the work Charlie was doing today.
“It’s not a comeback tour, Sissy; we were never gone.” It pissed me off when a tabloid reported our release as a comeback tour. Now we had to correct everyone continuously. “It’s a reinvention tour,” I laughed, “get it?”
Sissy was smiling ear to ear, ha, ha, yeah I get it.” Growing up as neighbors, she was one of the few who understood my warped sense of humor.
A loud high pitch curse pierced the air. It came from one of the backrooms. Sissy began giggling. Why was she not concerned for the woman obviously in distress?
“Have a seat, Baden. Can I get you anything while you’re waiting?” Sissy walked me over to the comfortable-looking leather armchairs. Charlie booked me as his last appointment of the day. He was afraid that if word got out that I was in the studio, they would be over-run with walk-ins. It was best to keep this low key and under the radar.
“Is everyone else done for the day?” The last time I was here, the place employed four tattoo artists and a piercing specialist, which reminded me… “Does Isabella still work here?” Isabella was the one who gave me my Prince Albert. She was also the first woman to help me celebrate having it after the required recovery time. Maybe she would like to see what I’d learned since then.
Isabella was also my first after… I promised myself I wasn’t going to go there today. Today was about getting rid of all those memories. So why the fuck did I decide to come back here?
I could have found another decent tattoo artist to take care of this. Somewhere in my self-deprecating mind, I thought this would solidify the end. Plus, Charlie was the best, and I needed the best.
I wanted the implication of the skull imprinted on my back obliterated. The only person I knew for sure who could do that was the person who put it there in the first place.
“Well,” Sissy crossed her arms across her chest, “if you bothered to check in once in a while, you’d know Isabella got married.” She reached into her back pocket for her phone and pulled up Isabella’s wedding photos.
“To Charlie,” she beamed. Then she swiped her finger across the screen to reveal a current photo. “She’s on maternity leave, ready to pop any day.”
In front of me was a picture of a happy couple, evident by the way Charlie’s massive hands cradled Isabella’s enormous belly. The smiles and look of pure adoration in their eyes sent a chill down my spine.
It reminded me of what I wanted. A long time ago. Before the fame, before the groupies, before my heart was ripped out of my chest.
I tried to make light of the fact that I had no clue what happened to the people who I once considered extended family.
“Don’t recall getting a wedding invit
ation in the mail.” I shrugged my shoulders to hide my embarrassment. I didn't want to admit to being a little hurt. I wasn’t the only one who cut ties and chose sides.
“It probably got tossed out with all your other unread fan mail.” The snippy tone of her remark confirmed that this was not a joke. Had I been sent an invitation? I never opened it. It must have been sitting in the box of unopened fan mail the label sent over after we cut ties with them.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Maybe coming back here after years of self ex-communication was a bad idea after all.
A tall, muscular man walked out from behind the black velvet curtain that separated the front reception area from the workstations in the back. I didn’t recognize him. Must be a new artist. Following him was a tall, thin woman. Her hair was every color of the rainbow. He led her to Sissy’s desk.
I took notice of how her overly-short skirt clung tightly to her pert, little butt. She was as tall as the guy she was standing next to. I scanned the height of the heels on her thigh-high boots, at least five inches. That would put her at five-eight, maybe five-nine without them.
I strained to hear what she and Sissy were whispering that had them both laughing. The woman finished paying for her procedure, thanked the guy and kissed him on the cheek.
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