Redemption (Tattoos & Tears - Brody Book 1) Read online

  “Raleigh?”

  I’m shocked to my core at what I find. She is perched on the edge of her bed, sobbing uncontrollably, with a razor blade pressed against her wrist, she’s about to hurt herself. My heart slams against my rib cage and the overwhelming feeling grips me. Fuck, I can’t let her do this. I head warily towards her and sit down next to her, careful not to spook her.

  “You don’t need to do that, sweetheart,” I say softly, gently coaxing the razor blade from her hand.

  She lets me and I tilt her chin up to face me. The look in her eyes fucking shreds me. She moves closer to me and before I know what’s happening, her lips collide with mine. I tangle my hand in her silky hair and she kisses me, as if her life depends on it. We devour each other and as the kiss deepens, I feel my erection pressing painfully and uncomfortably against the zipper in my jeans.

  “Brody,” she moans into my mouth and I reach out to cup her breast in my hand.

  "I can take you to heaven, if that's what you need, kitten," I say with a rough edge to my voice, and her eyes darken with pent-up desire. "I'll take you right to the edge until you can't take anymore, and then I'll fuck you into oblivion. I'll fuck you so hard, you’ll beg me to make you come, over and over again."

  She lets out a small moan and bites down on her plump bottom lip. She looks so beautiful and natural, her hair slightly mussed, no make-up.

  "Tell me to stop or tell me you want me to fuck you, kitten. Your choice."

  She grips my t-shirt in her fist.

  "Fuck me, Brody. Please, I need you to fuck me."

  She pulls off her t-shirt, and she's naked underneath. Her nipples are pebbled into hard, erect buds. I can't take my eyes off her; her tits are perfect. She is fucking perfect.

  "Play with your nipples, show me how you like it."

  She lies back and does as I ask; she rubs her nipples between her thumb and forefinger. She closes her eyes and the noises coming from her causes my dick to swell in my jeans.

  "Mmmm," she moans.

  "That's it, baby. You look so fucking hot. Now take off your shorts and play with your pretty pussy for me."

  Her slender fingers swipe up and down her wet slit. Her juices dripping, my mouth waters at the sight. Fuck, I'm dying to taste her.

  "Show me how you get yourself off." I demand, as I take out my cock and start to slowly stroke myself. "Fuck me, that's hot, I'm so hard," I rasp and her eyes lock with mine.

  "I need you to take care of me, Brody. Please, please fuck me," she begs, and before I know it, I'm naked in record time. "I need it hard, please. Fuck me hard, take it away, Brody, please."

  I climb on the bed, straddling her and she takes me by surprise by grasping my cock in her hand. I let out a hiss and curse low in my throat.

  "Oh fuck."

  She jacks me a few times and I slide my hand over hers putting a temporary halt to my pleasure.

  "I won't last if you keep doing that, kitten," I placate, and she continues to rub her still erect nipples. “You look so fucking hot.”

  I start to feel a little weird, that we’re about to fuck in rehab of all places, but I’m too far gone to stop it from happening. There’s something about her and I’m too weak to say no. I stroke my erect cock and she bites her lip.

  “Just fuck me already,” she whines petulantly, and I smirk.

  “Someone’s impatient.” She smiles and if I had a heart, it would be skipping a beat right about now. "Jesus, you're so fuckin’ beautiful."

  I lean down to suckle her erect nipple in my mouth.

  "Brody," she moans inaudibly as I run my finger through her wetness.

  I tease her for a few seconds, driving her to the brink of orgasm and I push my long finger in her slick channel, taking her by surprise. She gasps at the feel of my finger moving in and out. I introduce a second finger, rubbing her inner walls with every stroke. Her eyelids flutter closed, and I bite down on her nipple.

  "Eyes on me, beautiful."

  She opens her eyes, and her eyes lock with mine, as I increase the pace. I take her nipple out of my mouth with a pop, and I twist my fingers inside her, causing her to cry out.

  "Oh fuck, Brody, that feels so good."

  She strokes my erection, causing me to growl. Fuck, that feels fucking amazing. I pull my fingers free from her pussy, leaving her bereft at the loss of contact.

  “Do you have a condom? I don’t fuck bareback, kitten,” I ask, feeling almost desperate enough to say to hell with it and just fuck her without anything between us.

  “Top drawer, oh God,” she moans out loud.

  I fumble around in the top drawer and manage to find one. I tear the foil packet with my teeth and roll on the condom. I fist my cock for a few seconds, as I find her entrance and I shove forward, impaling her on my waiting firmness. She whimpers softly, as I allow her to adjust to my length and my Prince Albert piercing. I throw my head back, as I cry out with pleasure.

  "Oh Jesus, fuck, you feel like heaven."

  I pick up the pace, moving in and out of her slick heat. She wraps her arms around my neck. It feels so good, she moans softly in my ear. As my pace quickens, I can feel her orgasm cresting to the surface, her pussy ripples around my cock. She squeezes her inner walls around my cock, and I gasp at the feeling.

  "Shit, that felt...FUCK!" I bark as I piston in and out of her, as she explodes around me.

  "I'm coming, fuck, Brody, I'm coming," she yells, and I move my hand over her mouth.

  My orgasm is right behind hers, as my hot seed spurts inside her, causing a second orgasm to detonate from deep within her. She cries out around my hand and as we come down from our orgasms, the room is silent. The only sound is our breathless, post-orgasmic pants and the thought at the forefront of my mind is, we just fucked in rehab. God damn.

  12

  Raleigh

  The rest of the boys, Peyton, and George crowd back onto the bus. Peyton narrows her eyes and looks from Brody to me.

  “Not interrupting anything are we?” she asks, and Brody laughs at her curiosity.

  “Na, course not, babe. We were just chatting, unwinding after that fucking epic show!”

  The boys rowdily congratulate him, on his first time singing on stage, in front of an audience.

  “Beers all round?” Jax asks and everyone all nods in agreement as they pile on the large sectional sofa.

  Jax cracks the lids off the beer bottles with his teeth and hands them round.

  We have been sitting around the table, shooting the breeze for a few hours and we’re all more than a little buzzed. The conversation is flowing easily, and the beer is surging through my veins, making me feel more than a little vocal.

  “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, some I wish I could take back,” I say with a melancholic tone to my voice, and everyone regards me with rapt attention.

  “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.” Brody breaks the awkward silence, as he takes a long pull from his beer bottle. “Jax ended up fucking a record executive once to secure us a number one! It’s those puppy dog eyes; the women can’t seem to resist!”

  Jax laughs, he stops strumming his guitar, to give Brody the finger and I chuckle at their camaraderie. I notice from my previous interactions with Jax, that his eyes always seem sad, and his smile never quite reaches them. I know from the tabloids and the gossip columns, that his fiancée died, and she managed to live long enough, to give birth to their daughter, Thea. I don’t know the full details, I’m too scared to ask.

  “What about you, what have you done that you’re not proud of, Brody?” I ask, instantly regretting letting my mouth run away with me, as he smiles ruefully.

  “Where do I start? I’m not proud of anything I’ve done in my life, except the band. It’s the only thing that’s kept me going over the years. That and the drugs, but now, I just have to rely on the music. It’s fucking hard, but I can’t screw up again. I know without a shadow of a doubt; the boys would give me another chance, but in my min
d, I wouldn’t deserve it.”

  Sam squeezes Brody’s shoulder and reaches for Peyton’s hand.

  “Angel,” he rasps, and she follows him.

  The other boys are not far behind, leaving Brody and me alone.

  “Was it something we said?”

  Brody chuckles, as I take a sip from my beer and lean back on the sofa.

  “Be honest, is our relationship based on just sex?" I ask, fuelled by alcohol and fully aware that I sound like one of those needy girls, who constantly needs to be reassured.

  "No, of course not," he says indifferently, idly picking the label from his beer bottle.

  "What's it based on then?" I challenge as he quirks his eyebrow.

  "Obviously, it's based on my charm, my good looks, sex, your rockin' bod, your impressive rack, sex, my sense of humour, my wit, sex, your smile, your sexy secretary look when you wear those glasses, have I mentioned sex?"

  He smirks playfully and I narrow my eyes at his nonchalant answer, but I can't hide my grin, as he tucks my hair behind my ear.

  "People put too much stock in relationships, why do we have to define what this is?"

  He gestures between us, and I ponder his statement for a few moments, before responding.

  "Sam and Peyton, what would you say their relationship is based on, for example?" I push, and he laughs.

  "That’s easy, their relationship is based on the fact, that they're fucking perfect for each other, almost a little too perfect. They're so in love, it makes me want to vomit, they literally don’t argue, and if on the rare occasion they do, the make-up sex, is literally off the chart’s explosive. Sam can't function without her, he tried for a whole year, but he doesn't work without her and she doesn’t work without him, they’re a match made in heaven, literally."

  He sighs and gets this faraway look in his eyes. It’s at that moment I wish he’d just fucking open up to me and let me know him the way Peyton and the boys do.

  "Theirs is based on two things, love and complete and utter devotion, pure and simple."

  As I listen to his explanation, I wonder why he can't put a label on our relationship. What’s so wrong with me, that he can’t even admit that there’s something deeper between us? Am I really that hard to love? I sigh audibly, and he folds his arms across his chest, defensively and I swear to God, he fucking pouts.

  “Stop fishing, it doesn’t suit you, why should we define what we are, Raleigh? Why is it so important? We've fucked a couple of times; I'm not proposing marriage. I thought we were on the same page, it’s just no-strings fun.”

  He shrugs nonchalantly, as if his words don’t mean a thing. The truth is his words cut deep; just when I thought our relationship was going somewhere. How fucking dare he?

  “Is that it? Is that all you’re going to say on the subject? I thought this was turning into more than just fun?” I spit angrily, and he just stays silent, avoiding looking at me directly.

  Fucking prick, I deserve better than this.

  “Jesus! You’re a fucking arsehole!” I curse and he raises his eyebrow.

  He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, with a cocky look on his face and all I want to do, is punch the ever-loving shit out of him for wounding me so deeply.

  “I’m an arsehole? Accurate description, babe. Tell me something I don’t know. You sit there, demanding I put a label on our relationship, we met in fucking rehab of all places! I walked in on you trying to open a fucking vein the first time we had sex!”

  Low blow, Hart. He’s such a dick. I’m so angry with him, before I can get my temper in check, I lash my hand across his cheek, and his head snaps to the side as he laughs bitterly.

  “We’re both fucking damaged, Raleigh! We’re more alike than either of us care to admit. We both turn to self-destruction when things don’t go our way, but I’m comfortable enough to admit that are you?” he challenges as his voice gradually becomes a few decibels louder.

  He grabs my arm, running his fingers across my healing wounds and I quickly snatch my arm away from him, as if he’s burned me.

  “You wear your fucking scars like a badge of honour, Raleigh! You’re quick enough to call me out on not putting a label on our relationship when you can’t even put a label on it yourself! We’ve both made some shitty decisions, which is why we both ended up in rehab in the first place and I’ve made peace with that. I know I fucked up, but can you hold your hands up and take responsibility for your actions?”

  He sits there, eagerly awaiting my answer, but I’m literally too fucking angry to respond. Fucking selfish prick. I take a moment to compose myself, before answering him.

  “Do you regret what happened between us? Are you ashamed, is that it? I can’t fucking work you out! One minute you’re trying to jump my bones, and the next, you’re acting like I don’t fucking exist! What the hell is wrong with you?” I say with a more than exasperated tone to my voice.

  He gets up from his seat and starts to pace the floor. I can see from the look in his eyes that he’s desperate to say something, but he seems to be holding back.

  “What do you fucking want from me, Brody?” I shriek.

  I am not a shrieker. What the fuck is wrong with you, Storm? I don’t wait for him to reply before I get up and walk away. Childish much?

  Brody

  Once you’ve seen one hotel room, you’ve seen them all. For the last fourteen years, I’ve seen my fair share of them, and this isn’t any different. For the first night of our tours, M.J. always books us all hotel rooms, instead of spending the night on the bus. Tonight, we’re staying in the Intercontinental Hotel. It boasts four hundred and fifty-three spacious bedrooms and suites in a contemporary design, each with an abundance of natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out onto the scenic capital.

  I’ve stayed in some of the worst hotel rooms in the early days of Rancid Vengeance, and I’ve stayed in some of the best the world has to offer. We’ve spent so long living out of suitcases, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to set down actual roots. I’ve never had a real blood family; the boys have been all the family that I’ve needed. We may not be blood related, but that doesn’t matter, they have always been by my side and they have always fought my corner. Despite our differences, I know without a shadow of a doubt that they will always have my back, no matter what. They taught me that you don’t have to have the same blood running through your veins to be family. Blood just makes you related, loyalty makes you family and I considered myself lucky to have them in my life, even if I didn’t deserve them sometimes.

  In the beginning, I was angry at the world and the hand I’d been dealt, that I couldn’t see what I had, and a wise man once told me ‘we cannot change the cards we’re dealt, just how we play the game’. I lived by that mantra, so much so I had it tattooed across my back as if to remind myself of that fact on a daily basis.

  After my argument with Raleigh, angry at her and myself, I left the bus and went for a drink in the hotel bar. I drank until I was suitably wasted and managed to stagger back to my room, alone. For once, I didn’t want company of the female variety, or of any variety, I just craved solitude and to be alone with my thoughts.

  As I lie here, start to think of how far I’ve come since Rancid Vengeance started and a thought occurs to me. I’d rather just burn out, than fade away. Fading away isn’t an option for me. I love being in the spotlight and the attention it brings. I crave it, it gives me a sense of reassurance that someone actually gives a fuck about me, it makes me feel relevant, like I have a purpose.

  Four a.m. is a lonely place when you’re lying in bed for the eleventh night in a row, staring blankly at the ceiling. My mind is a dangerous place to be. I’d compare it to a warzone. Four a.m. knows all my secrets. It knows what makes me tick, and it knows that dark place in my mind that I go to when I can’t sleep. The darkness is my friend and I embrace it, I wear it like a second skin, I bask in all its glory and in an odd way, it comforts me.

  When I think
back to the argument I had with Raleigh earlier on. I told her that she wears her scars like a badge of honour. Aren’t I the same though? I wear my darkness in the exact same way and instead of pushing it down, both of us in different ways, we accept it, and we encompass it tightly, like a warm hug.

  After our argument, she locked herself in the bathroom and I listened to her sob her heart out. I couldn’t stand to hear it; I couldn’t bear to be the reason for her torment. I’m such a prick. It took me back to the times I used to listen to my mum crying after I used to scream at her. I’ll never forget the sound of her sobbing after I called her a ‘useless, junkie, whore’ and how I wished she were dead.