Текст книги "Brando"

Автор книги: J. D. Hawkins

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Brando: Book 1

By J. D. Hawkins

Copyright 2015 © JD Hawkins

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Get it down. Take chances. It may be bad, but it’s the only way you can do anything really good.

– William Faulkner

Table of Contents

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

Acknowledgements

Prologue

My muscles scream, chest on fire, nerve endings twitching like a million thunderbolts across my torso. I can feel the beads of sweat on my forehead running down my tensed neck. I glare at the fluorescent light on the gym ceiling, feel the cold metal of the bar against my chest.

That twinge in my triceps should worry me. Gotta meet Jax at the club for drinks in a couple hours. Maybe it was a bad idea to do this big a lift at the end of a workout. Last time a lift went wrong I messed up my thigh so bad I was finger-fucking girls for a month.

Thoughts bear down on me like a load of bricks, pressing down on the ends of the bar, making it even heavier than it really is.

Don’t think, Brando. Just fucking lift.

I repeat the words like a mantra. A rhythmic drumbeat that focuses my mind. I exhale as I push, the rush of adrenaline leaving no room for thoughts, the heat burning all doubt out of me.

Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.

As I pump the bar up and down it feels like I’m lifting the entire building, like I’m trying to push a planet away from my chest. I feel like I’m calling on strength that doesn’t belong to me, strength that comes from the same deep pit of hell the pain in my muscles comes from. I exhale and my breath comes out with a long, low grunt.

The pain and the heat and the testosterone and the adrenaline swirl inside of me, and I direct it all against this fucking barbell.

When my set is finished I have just enough energy to bring the barbell back onto the claws. My fists sting as they let go of it, palms almost melded to the metal. I drop my arms and breathe deeply for a few seconds before sitting upright. My blood pumps, veins throb, and I feel the satisfied ache of a post-workout high seep into my skin.

“Pretty dangerous, benching that much without anyone spotting you,” a throaty female voice says from behind me.

I look up. The gym is almost empty except for a guy listening to his headphones as he runs on a treadmill in the corner. I save myself the trouble of turning around to see her and just look at the reflection in the wall-sized mirror in front of me.

“Looks like you spotted me just fine,” I drawl, eyeing her in the glass.

Even by gym standards, she’s unbelievable. She’s in tight black spandex pants, with nutcracker thighs and hips that seem custom-made for my hands. Her sports bra is so tight she may as well be naked, and the thought instantaneously sends about a million X-rated images through my mind. Judging by the hungry look in her eyes, I know exactly where this is going—but I’m enjoying the foreplay, so instead of just cutting to the chase and inviting her to suck my dick in the locker room, I grab the barbell and force myself through one more punishing set of reps.

It takes everything I have to keep my arms steady, my muscles screaming all the while, before slamming the bar back onto the rack and sitting up.

“Impressive,” she says, eyeing me up and down in the mirror. “You certainly don’t do things the easy way.”

“I prefer the hard way,” I tell her, checking out the curve of her breasts like I’m about to paint a portrait of them. It’s all I can do to keep myself from just grabbing her and sitting her down in my lap.

“So do I,” she purrs, running a hand across my back. She steps closer, standing behind me with the bench between her legs. Then she puts both hands on my shoulders and starts pressing and rubbing.

“Shit that’s good,” I say, closing my eyes at the deeply sweet touch of her hands – the only thing that could stop me from enjoying the ravenous eye-fucking she’s been giving me in the mirror.

“It should be,” she says, a tinge of amusement in her voice. “I’m a massage therapist here. With all the time you spend working out, I’m surprised you haven’t stopped in for a session by now.”

“So you’ve seen me around,” I growl. She rubs harder, massaging a knot next to my shoulder blade until it loosens, and I groan out loud. “Damn. Maybe it is time to see about that session.”

“Good, because you’re way past due. And I’m not gonna wait any longer.” She leans down toward my ear, her long blonde hair brushing my shoulder, and says in a low whisper, “I teach a yoga class, too.”

Her words hit me like a shot of adrenaline to the cock. I close my eyes and let her work me some more, lust building with the sensation of her palms kneading the base of my neck and the scent of her as she leans over me. I let out another low moan.

Looks like Jax might be drinking by himself for a little while tonight. But I’m sure he’ll understand.

My eyes flicker toward the guy in the corner, still running on the treadmill. The yoga teacher/massage therapist/sportswear siren reads my thoughts as easily as she reads the tension in my back and nods toward a side door.

“It’s your lucky day,” she smiles. “I’m giving a free massage to the man who can handle it.”

I stand up, grab my towel and run it over my face.

“Always good to have a massage after a workout,” I reply. “Keeps the blood flowing.”

She nods and turns, her body even more erotic in movement. The sway of her ass makes me grit my teeth. My heart thumps like a revved engine, her silhouette magnetizing every muscle in my body. This time I don’t need to push the thoughts away – I couldn’t think straight if I tried.

I follow her toward the massage room, swaggering with the loose power of muscles after a workout. She looks back over her shoulder just before opening the door, her blonde ponytail flicking over her shoulder, and winks before sliding inside.

“Close the do—” she starts, but I pounce like a predator spotting its window of attack, nothing but lust, impulse, and nature controlling me now. In a single motion I slam the door shut with one hand, push her up against it front-first, and press my groin hard against her ass. Her surprised gasp turns into a throaty giggle.

Now that I’ve got her where I want her, I’m as slow as I was quick. I wrap my hands around her waist, brushing my fingers lightly against her exposed midriff. I close my eyes, let the electricity between our skin guide me. I press my face against the side of her head, letting the scent of her drive my body wild, pulling away teasingly after every touch.

“I like your style, Brando,” she says, turning her head to shoot me a sultry stare.

“How do you know my name?” I hum into her ear as I slide my hands slowly up her stomach, under her top and between her heaving breasts.

She puts her palms higher on the door, steadying herself and pressing back into my body.

“You’ve got a reputation.”

I taste the nape of her neck, eliciting a deep moan from her that tugs at my balls harder than a magnet.

“What reputation?”

She laughs lightly, in between the stuttered sighs and gasps that she responds to my every touch with.

“Big…bold…brash…Brando.” As I lift her tight top up over her breasts with one hand, my other snakes down her pants to find the wet line of her pussy. “Half the girls in my yoga class want to fuck you…and the other half claim they already have.”

I run my tongue down her neck, tasting the tender, pale skin. Her nipple hardens under the gentle touch of my fingers, pinching lightly, palm tracing the flawless shape of her breast.

“You girls really like to talk,” I say, before taking her earlobe between my teeth.

“I had to see for myself if the rumors are true. This is just research,” she says. I feel a tremble between her thighs as my finger moves slowly over her clit, brushing it until I feel her backing into me with a sharp intake of breath.

“Then I’ll assist any way I can,” I tell her, giving her clit a firm, steady press with my palm as I slide a thick finger deep into her slick pussy.

“Fuck,” she moans, leaning into it. I work my finger back and forth inside her, agonizingly slow, until she’s panting heavily and writhing against me. “More,” she begs.

I spin her around to face me. She tears her top off the rest of the way, breasts bouncing back into firm shape, and eyes me like I’m a three-course meal and she’s fresh off a hunger strike. Then she pulls my mouth onto hers and swirls her tongue aggressively around mine. It’s more like martial arts than making out, but I’m not complaining. I run my hands down the taut skin of her sides, grab her breasts, feeling every curve so thoroughly I could sculpt her. We back and forth with our tongues, pushing and pulling, lashing and biting. Striking the sparks of the oncoming flames.

“It’s no secret,” I say, pulling her toward me as I back off and sit on the massage table, “that I love women. What else do you need to know?”

I pull off my shirt, and she spends a full five seconds staring at my chest with her mouth open. I slide my shorts down while she watches, her eyes glazing with lust. “I think I have everything I need right here,” she finally manages. “All that’s left is a little field work.”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a condom. I put it on while she peels off the second skin of her spandex pants.

“Welcome to the field,” I say, as she straddles me on the massage table.

She cups my face in her hands and thrusts her tongue into my mouth, pulling away only to bury her teeth into my neck. I let out a hiss and wrap my lips around her nipple, rolling my tongue around it like it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, teeth biting just enough to make her shake. She moans as she hugs me tight to her chest, rolling her clit up and down the shaft of my cock.

I lose myself in her curves, hands tracing the arch of her back as her pussy winds up against my cock harder and faster as she starts losing all restraint. She moans in short, sharp bursts, and I feel the hum of her voice as I move my mouth from one breast to another.

“Slow down, baby,” I tell her. “You gotta let yourself enjoy it.”

She laughs wildly, looking down at me as I grip her ass tightly and maneuver her over my cock. Her pussy is ready and wet as it presses against me, and I read the expression on her face like a dirty novel, all drugged eyes and strained pleasure. She squeezes the head of my cock between her lips, pulling me into her, but I hold her off, tantalizingly close, but not there yet.

“Tell me what you want,” I say, when her eyes go pleading.

“I want—” She gulps deeply, all the playfulness gone out of her now, replaced with fierce need, and speaks between pants. “I want you. Inside me.”

I let her take a little more, and she releases another low, vibrating moan.

“Tell me,” I command.

Her eyes narrow, the pupils dilated. “I want your dick.”

“Again.”

“I want your big, hard dick. All of it. Right now.”

I adjust my grip on her ass to let her take my full length and she slides down onto it, her moans turning into squeals of helpless delight. She bounces like she’s riding a horse, her body taking over, moving up and down on my cock according to the thousands of sweet sensations that emanate from our connection. I let her get her fill for a few minutes and then take charge, grabbing her ponytail in my fist and pulling her head back.

“Don’t move,” I say. I ease out of her slowly and she whimpers in protest.

“Wh—”

With no warning I slam back into her, both of us groaning as I plunge into the depths of her tight, hot sweetness. Then I hold her steady and fuck her with everything I’ve got, turning in a performance worthy of a major award. As we find our rhythm she convulses and sways like a girl possessed, whispering obscenities and encouragement in between her moans. I run my tongue up the tender spots between her breasts, pumping with all the determination of a champion racehorse. I focus on the sensations radiating from my dick, finding a oneness with the zen of the energy building between us. My hands stroke the curve of her thighs as she bucks wildly on me, matching my power with every harder, deeper thrust.

When she comes there’s no missing it. She throws her body forward onto me with a desperate cry, head over my shoulder, hands clawing against my back as I keep on gliding in and out, relentless, relishing the convulsions shuddering around my cock. Her stomach curves in and out like a booming subwoofer, the orgasm washing over her like sea waves.

I let myself feel the pressure of her pussy, the softness of her breasts, the tightness of her thighs around my waist, and let go of the tension I’ve been clutching since she first touched me. I cum in a hard, pounding rush as she’s letting out the last, gentle moans of a hard fuck. The long breaths of someone returning to their senses.

“Did your research find I’m worthy of my reputation?” I ask after a few moments, blinking myself back to reality as the blood returns to my head.

“That and more.”

A minute later I’m helping her pull those tight pants up the last few inches of her gut-punchingly good ass. I take my time – it’s good enough to make me consider another round already. She turns around and puts a hand against my cheek.

“How about coming back to mine?”

I glance at her with an apologetic shake of the head as I lace up my shoes. “Sorry. I’m heading out to meet a friend tonight.”

She leans up against the door. “Aren’t you tired? All that bench-pressing...I could give you that massage I promised.”

“I tend to make bad decisions when I’m tired.”

“Not going home with me is a very bad decision,” she says, her voice loaded with promises.

“I’m sure it is,” I say, drawing close to her and opening the door a little.

She steps aside, an expression that says ‘your loss’ written all over her face. “You know…”

I pause and turn back toward her. “Yeah?”

“You might want to consider fucking the other half of my class.”

“Why’s that?”

“I really think it’d help them, you know, balance their chi. Give them a better feel for that whole mind-body connection.”

“I’ll take it under consideration,” I grin, breezing out the door. Like I need any encouragement.

Chapter 1

Brando

“Ok. Here it is: ‘Don’t think.’”

“What?”

“Don’t. Think.”

“That’s it?”

“That is it.”

“That’s your entire philosophy, the guiding principle for your entire life, summed up?”

“I’m telling you Jax, thinking is the root of all evil. In the gym, in business, in the bar,” I say, spinning around to face the crowd of people gathered around the stage, where various musical acts have been performing all night, “thinking just holds you back. Keeps you from doing things. Think too much, and all you’ll end up with is a beer gut and a dating profile, bro.”

Jax smirks and chuckles the way I’ve seen him do a million times. In the city of LA, where you don’t see the sharks for the suits, and where everyone knows how to play a role, you need two things: A friend you can trust, and a rival to keep you on your toes.

Jax is both.

“I know I’ve been drinking with you for way too long,” he says, as he raises his whiskey glass from the bar top, “because I’m beginning to agree with you.”

“You leaving?”

“Lizzie should be getting back around now. I told her we’d watch a movie together.”

Correction: Jax was both. Now that he’s done the one thing nobody expected him to– settled down– he’s no longer a rival; just a friend.

“The tiger has been tamed,” I say, shaking my head as I raise my beer bottle level with his glass. “Here’s to your legacy.”

“I’m sure you’ll pick up the slack,” he smiles.

When I bring my beer bottle into contact with his glass, I move my whole body toward him, shoulder-barging him backwards. He knocks into the person behind him as he steps out of the way of spilt whiskey.

“Brando! What the—”

I see his face relax into an expression of humorous understanding when he turns around to apologize and finds two gorgeous brunettes, fantastically balanced on their high heels by ample asses and firm tits.

“I’m sorry,” I say, shifting past Jax and in between them like a boxer setting his feet, “my friend’s a real klutz.”

Their expressions settle into coy smiles as they check us out. Jax shrugs and smiles like he’s been caught with his hands in the candy jar. He might not be available anymore, but he still knows how to play the wingman.

“Come on, Jax!” I say, mockingly. “Get these dancers another drink.”

“Dancers?” says the one with the lips that look like they’re about to burst they’re so juicy. “We’re not dancers.”

“No?” I say, putting a little growl into my voice. “You fooled me with those incredible bodies.”

It’s a blunt line, direct and true. I’ve never had a good poker face, I like things out in the open, cards on the table. And why not? I’ve been dealt a good hand. I’m six feet of gym-sculpted muscle, a strong jawline courtesy of Italian ancestry (via Brooklyn, New York), and I’ve got my dream job of being an A&R man at one of LA’s hippest labels. I’ve come a hell of a long way, and there’s a hell of a lot to forget before I start taking it for granted.

The girls giggle as they roll their eyes at each other, but the pout on their lips and the way they shift their shoulders toward me tells me it’s on.

I throw out a laugh as I remember Jax is heading back to his girl and consider how the two beautiful creatures in front of me would look silhouetted against the moonlight in my loft apartment, and then I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I turn to face Jax.

“Maybe we’ll make a movie while you’re watching one,” I smile, before I see the sharp lines of his face arranged way too severely. He nods, and I follow his eye line to the entrance of the bar.

I know it’s her before I even set eyes on the skin-tight pvc dress – always performing, even off-stage. I can sense her presence, the glow she gives off, the magnetism that compels everyone in the area to direct their attention her way. It’s magic, unreal, the same spellcraft that compels millions to adore her through TV screens and magazines. The perfect pop idol. A modern goddess that the world learned to worship.

There are guys in deep Amazonian tribes who have probably jerked off thinking about her. Eskimo teenage girls who wish they had her red, wavy hair. They call her fans ‘Lexians,’ a goofy tribute to the sexual exploration she pushes in her music videos, composed of split-second odes to the perfection of her body. A flash of tender thigh, delicious ass, quivering tits. To the world, she’s a symbol of freedom, feminine power, independence, fantasy, sex, a symbol of everything wrong with America, of everything anyone could ever want. To me, she’s a sucker punch, a thorn I’ve never been able to remove, a pain in the emptiness of my chest, a phantom limb where my heart should be.

Lexi Dark.

And standing right beside her, his hand on the small of her back, is the man who took her away from me: Davis Crawford.

The crowd starts to roar, drowning out the gently-strummed guitar chords of the poor rocker girl on stage, who can’t hold a candle to Lexi’s flame. Lexi raises her arms, making herself as big as can be, as if drawing power from the sycophants in the room. Even the two girls standing in front of us leave, phones in hand, to get a better look and probably take some selfies.

“Come on, bro,” Jax says, as he takes the beer bottle from my loose grip, almost as if he realizes I’m about to drop it. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll get you a slice of pizza.”

I let Jax gently guide me along the bar like the saddest patient on the ward, my head spinning, and then I hear it.

“Brando!”

The voice loved by millions. Distinctly sweet, but with a dark tone of huskiness that pulls at your sexuality the way a lifetime of therapy never could. A voice I believed in so much I staked my life on it. I’ve heard my name sung by that voice a thousand times, but it’s not singing the same song anymore; the notes are different now. Not the breezy melody of a girl who doesn’t know what she has, not the delighted wail of a woman discovering her body, not the sultry sonata of intimate promises. Now she squeals my name like a war cry.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she says when she draws close enough, though for me being in the same city is too close, “slumming it with the nobodies.”

I press a finger on Jax’s arm to signal for him to hold back. He knows I like to fight my own battles, but I also know he can’t stand seeing his friends get put down.

“It’s not so bad,” he says breezily anyway, impervious to her wiles, “I’ve only noticed a couple of nobodies so far.”

“What are you doing here, Lexi?” I say, wishing I had listened to the advice the yoga teacher gave me and taken that massage back at her place.

“We just wanted to show our appreciation,” Davis says, his croaky voice oozing out with so much slime I start to crave a shower. He’s a foot shorter than Lexi, perma-tanned the color of a ripe orange – but with only half the personality. “Her album’s just become one of the best-selling records of the internet era. Nearly a billion hits online for two of her singles. And it only released last week! If you hadn’t found her, I’d never have been able to come along and take her to the next level.”

“Stolen her, you mean.”

Davis emits a disgusting sound that I assume is supposed to be a laugh.

“This is LA! There’s no such thing as stealing here! It’s all just part of the process, and you did your part very well.”

I glance at Lexi – and immediately regret it. She’s smiling at me. Enjoying the sight of her little imp twisting the knife. I want her smile to make me angry, to make me hate her as much as she hates me, but it’s too fucking beautiful, too loaded with memories. She’s amazing, and I lost her.

“Yeah, I did my part well,” I say, sneering, every muscle in my body spoiling for a fight, “took her from nothing, built her up piece by piece, taught her what real music’s about, broke my back making her into what she is, before you came along and threw a tight dress and a few trendy producers at her, turned her from a musician into a pop product and reaped all the rewards.”

I notice the three big guys standing around us, dressed in black, shades and everything. My mind starts doing the math regarding how many times I could pummel Davis’ face before they peel me off. Then again, maybe they’re only here to protect Lexi. Maybe Davis isn’t part of their job.

Lexi laughs.

“’Real music’? You still talking about that, Brando baby? Is that why you’re here?” she says. “Listening to scruffy teenagers with bad hair trying to play guitar? Because it’s ‘real’?”

She turns around and waves toward the crowd, who are almost entirely facing her, away from the stage. They shout and raise their drinks, hold up their phones quickly to take pictures, as if confirming her point. She turns back to me with a red-lipped smile that’s even deadlier than it was seconds ago.

I open my mouth to say something, and in the split second before my voice comes out, Lexi’s spun on her heels and walked away, her elegant, tall body painful to watch as it gets smothered by her bodyguards.

“Good luck with the talent spotting…Brando baby,” Davis smirks, as he follows her like a designer dog.

I zone out, my vision blurry with anger, fists clenching. I’m about to stride outside and land some sweet fucking hits on Davis’ face when I see fingers snapping in front of me.

“Dude? You okay?”

I look to the side, the world coming back into focus. It’s Jax. He never left.

“Yeah,” I say, lying. “I’m good.”

“I guess some girls are so good at fucking they’ll fuck up your life too. You’re lucky she’s gone.”

The words are true, but I can’t force myself to believe them. Nothing makes me feel better about losing her. “Then why do I feel like someone just scooped out my insides?”

Jax shrugs. “You’re probably just hungry.”

I look at him and laugh.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, pointing at his watch. “Lizzie’s gonna start calling you a bad influence.”

“You go,” I say. “I need another drink. And another girl. Then another drink, probably.”

We clasp hands and Jax strides out. I turn back to the bar and order another beer. When it comes, I take it straight from the bartender, before it hits the bar, and gulp long and deep. I close my eyes, relishing the coldness, feeling it settle inside of me, reminding myself I’m not empty. I listen to the sound of the bar, the heightened voices, energized by the presence of a star. Somewhere in between the giddy laughter and shouted jokes I hear a nice minor chord change.

I slam the bottle down and open my eyes.

“Oh fuck. You again? Seriously?”

Davis is standing beside me.

“A glass of white wine,” he says to the bartender without taking his eyes off me.

The bartender nods his acknowledgement, and slams down another beer for me – good guy. I grab it and swig deeply.

“Did you forget something, Davis?” I say, keeping my eyes on the bottle. “Your hairpiece, perhaps?”

Davis cackle-wheezes before speaking.

“I just couldn’t resist seeing you squirm a little more, Brando.”

I clutch the beer bottle as if it’ll hold me back.

“Davis, I’d punch you in the face right now if I didn’t think the plastic surgery would protect you better than a hockey mask.”

Davis keeps the grin on his face but I notice him edging back a little. “You know what I love about you, Brando, you’re deluded. It’s almost as if you genuinely think you’ve got some talent. That you’ve actually got something to offer this city. I think that’s what makes it so entertaining. The sheer gulf between what you think you are, and what you actually are.”

“Go pick on someone your own size. I’m sure there are some rats by the garbage cans out back.”

He goes on, as if I never spoke. “I mean, you made all the rookie mistakes. You fell in love with your own talent for Christ’s sake! You made the business personal. You can’t make someone a star when you care about them. That’s just ridiculous.”

“This the kind of crap you filled her head with when you stole her from me?”

“Lexi’s a smart cookie. She knew what needed to be done, and she did it. No second thoughts, no emotions, no doubts. I never stole her. She came to me.” He sips his wine smugly.

My eyes slip out of focus and my body tightens. Enough. I spin toward him and grab Davis by the scruff of his shirt, feeling disgust as I pull his irradiated face toward mine.

“You’re a fucking fraud, Davis. A vulture. A stinking bag of empty words that you spray around and hope will land somewhere to fester. You did nothing. You are nothing.”

“And what are you? What exactly do you do, Brando?”

I shake him in my grip, so tight that I have him lifted almost completely off the floor.

“I’m a manager. I let musicians make their music, help them get their work out there, realize their potential. And I’m fucking good at it. I nurture talent, bring it out of people. I take talent and I make it shine. Because I care – not in spite of it.”

Davis’s lips extend slowly into a smile like some sea creature bloating itself up. A horror movie scene played out upon his face.

“Prove it,” he hisses.

“I already did.”

I release my grip and he drops to his feet, jerking his blazer straight and smoothing his shirt without taking his eyes away from mine. He’s still got that shit-eating grin on his face.

“You think you’ve got the ‘magic touch’? Enough intelligence, drive, and passion to turn somebody into a star?”

“I know it.”

Davis sips his wine slowly, letting my words hang in the air. I grab my beer and glare at him as I swig from it.

“Care to stake something on it? Or are you happy to just scream in my face about it?” he says snidely as he smooths his disgustingly shiny shirt.

“Gladly,” I say defiantly. I suppress the nauseating feeling that I’m about to do something stupid – I’m too far gone for that. Right now all I can think about is wiping Davis’ slug-grin away from his face without copping a violent misconduct charge.

“A bet then, if you wanna call it that. Winner gets ten grand…”

“Pfft…” I say, turning to my beer.

“And the pick of the other person’s acts.”

My arm freezes halfway toward bringing my beer to my mouth. I turn slowly to face him.

“What?”

“If you win the bet,” Davis says, relishing the words so much he’s making smacking noises as he speaks, “you get to take one of my acts for yourself. I’ll cancel all my contracts and ties with them, and hand them over to you completely. If you win, of course.”

I clutch my beer tight, hoping Davis doesn’t see my hands shaking. A slow tremor building in the pit of my chest. I know this is bad. I know this is too good to be true. But Davis has just kicked the door down on a whole lot of emotions I thought I’d packed away for good. I’ve spent the past few years wanting to turn the clock back – and he’s just offered me the next best thing.

Lexi.

I’d get Lexi back.

The one woman I’d give everything up for.

Just like it was.

I’d probably have to drag her back kicking and screaming. She’d probably never sing my name the way she used to ever again. But I don’t care. I could take her to new heights. Or I could break her career, or make her sorry she ever left me. It doesn’t matter. She’d be mine.

“What’s the bet?” I say, knowing damn well I’ll accept anything the cockroach offers, however dumb it is, however smug it’ll make him. Hell, I’d give him my entire roster of acts for Lexi right now without blinking.

“Get somebody into the charts, in just one month. Someone without a record deal already, without any pre-existing label interest. You do this from scratch. With a nobody.”

“Deal,” I say, slamming my bottle down and offering my hand the split second he finishes the sentence.

Davis’ creepy smile remains on his face as he takes my hand. “But I choose the act. You still want to put your money where your mouth is?”