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

  “Please, take a seat, would you like something to drink?” he enquires and nodding, I sit down in front of his desk.

  “Water would be great, please.”

  He nods curtly and takes two bottles of water from a fridge underneath his desk. He hands me the bottle, with a warm smile.

  “Thank you.” I smile and unscrew the lid; I take a long pull from the bottle and it is a welcome feeling on my dry throat.

  “Did my staff take care of you, whilst you were waiting?”

  He sits down in his large leather chair.

  “Yes, thank you,” I lie, covering up my deception with a smile. He seems satisfied with my answer, clapping his hands together and kicking up his long legs casually onto his desk.

  “Now, to the matter at hand. Did you get a chance to go over the script I had couriered over to you?”

  I nod enthusiastically, and I am about to speak, when he abruptly cuts me off.

  “I know this is a little unorthodox of me, but I want you to be in my film,” he says brusquely, and my eyes widen. I observe that it’s more of a statement than a question.

  “Don’t look so startled, Raleigh,” he laughs.

  “I’d love it if you would let me tell you a little more about it?”

  I nod for him to continue and the smile that washes over his features softens his face, making him look at least ten years younger. He steeples his fingers under his chin, as he begins to speak.

  “As you probably gathered, it’s about a rock band and it starts off set on a tour bus. It depicts the truer to life, darker, grittier side of fame, kind of a twisted love story, if you will. I want you to play the role of Stevie Lynn, the female guitarist. I have seen you act, and I think you are exactly what I am looking for. You’re edgy, different, and exceptional at what you do, it’s refreshing. I know most directors audition actresses first, but as you’ve witnessed this morning, I’m not most directors.”

  I can see why people want to work with Damien. He is a force of nature, he is friendly, driven, but extremely down to earth. I feel instantly comfortable in his presence and I’ve never had that with a director before. It is a refreshing and welcome change.

  “I’d love to be in your film, Damien. I loved what I read, Stevie was feisty, she didn’t take any crap from anyone, and she reminded me a lot of myself.”

  That is before rehab and before Carter, but I don’t say those words aloud.

  “I learnt a long time ago, that the only thing you believe from the newspapers is the date. Despite what the papers say about you, I think there’s a lot more to you, than meets the eye and I’d love to bring that out in you.”

  He regards me intently and I start to relax a little in my seat.

  “Some actors and actresses find me intimidating, but that’s only because I want to bring out the best in them. I know you’re more than capable of acting the fucking shit out of this role,” he says crassly, and I smirk. I think I am definitely going to love working with this man.

  Our meeting is over quickly, and he promises he will call me as soon as he has details and a contract finalised. I leave the building feeling the most optimistic I have felt in a long time. As I step out onto the kerb, I pull out my phone and dial my best friend Liv. Olivia Rosenberg has been my best friend since we met in theatre school, when I first moved to the U.K. She was my first friend and we have been through everything together. The good times, the bad times and everything in between. Liv is a backing dancer for various artists on the mainstream music scene, has starred in numerous TV commercials and been an extra in a few popular UK based soap operas.

  “Hey, what’s up, bitch?”

  Liv greets me, and I laugh to myself. I love this girl.

  “The sky, bitch! Life is peachy fucking creamy right now and I feel like celebrating. I have news!”

  I say excitedly, attracting the attention of a few passers-by.

  “Please, tell me you’re not pregnant, Rae?”

  She asks, and I roll my eyes.

  “No, I’m not fucking pregnant, you cheeky bitch!”

  She laughs.

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot, you’d actually have to get laid to get pregnant! Your vagina hasn’t seen any action for a while! I’m surprised it isn’t covered in cobwebs!”

  I clutch my stomach; I am laughing so hard. I hear a man’s voice in the background, and she clears her throat.

  “Erm…I’ll call you back in ten, Rae! Love ya!”

  She says brightly and in a rush.

  “Right back ‘atcha, Livvy!”

  She hangs up and I cross the busy road, with Cliff a few steps behind, following the flow of pedestrians. I go into the small, quaint coffee shop. I order a double shot of espresso and sit by the window, watching the world go by. I’m enjoying the quiet calm and basking in the fact I’m rarely recognised when my phone starts ringing. As I see Damien’s name flash up, my stomach somersaults. He’s going to say he’s changed his mind, fuck, I feel sick.

  “Hello?” I say apprehensively, taking a sip of my espresso with a trembling hand. Positive thoughts, Storm.

  “Raleigh, it’s Damien, I’ve set wheels in motion. My legal team are drawing up a contract as we speak, and it should be with your agent by the end of the day. All it needs, is for you, your agent, and a lawyer to go over it. Then I need a signature from you, and we have the green light. From what I’ve heard you like to research your roles. I have contacts in the music industry, how would you like to go on an upcoming tour with Rancid Vengeance?”

  He asks, and my eyes widen. Me, on tour with a bunch of rockers? The very same rocker that I met in rehab. Brody Hart, the charismatic guitarist who sent my hormones into orbit.

  “How soon would you want me to go?” I ask apprehensively, biting my lip. He pauses, and I hear the creak of leather, as I picture him leaning back in his chair.

  “How does the beginning of next week work for you, for a month? I want a quick turnaround on this film, I want my cast fully assembled and I aim to be shooting within the next eight weeks.”

  Eight weeks… fuck me. Looks like I’m going on tour with Rancid Vengeance. Who knew?

  6

  Brody

  I finished my run with Sam, and by the time we finish, I’m fucking knackered. My legs are deliciously sore, but my head is finally clear for the first time in months. We are in the car on the way to our record company, for a meeting with our manager, M.J. Michael James Richmonde III, has been our manager for a while now and he has been such a breath of fresh air for us. He is smart, and so laid back he could be fucking horizontal. His experience in the industry is second to none. That’s one of the reasons why we hired him, he has our best interests at heart, and he gets the direction we want to go in where our music is concerned. He is a welcome addition to the Rancid Vengeance family.

  As we all saunter casually into his office, M.J is sitting at his large antique desk, with his cowboy booted feet perched on the edge, looking every bit the rock star manager. He has three buttons on his burgundy paisley shirt undone with his sleeves rolled up, he is wearing dark blue skinny jeans and he has a grey streak running through his sandy brown, spiky hair. It should look ridiculous on a man his age, but oddly, it suits him.

  “Boys!”

  He greets us enthusiastically in his familiar soft American drawl that we have become accustomed to. We all mutter our usual greetings to him, and he gestures to the long stylish sofa, in front of the desk.

  “Please, sit.”

  We all sit down, and he pushes a button on the desk phone. “Could we get some refreshments for the boys, please, doll?”

  There’s a slight pause, as a female voice replies quickly. “Yes, of course, coming up, right away, Mr Richmonde.”

  A few minutes passes and his assistant, whose name I can never remember, enters the room, with a large carafe of coffee and five cups on a tray. She sets it down on the table and starts pouring it. As she starts pouring, M.J claps his hands animatedly, startling her, and she
clumsily spills the coffee on the desk. He rolls his eyes, and we all watch, as Jax gets up from his seat and proceeds to help her clear up her spillage. He gives her a tender look of sympathy and she mutters her thanks, as she exits the room. M.J leans back in his chair and steeples his hands, as Sam leans forward to grab a cup of coffee.

  “Right, so boys, I’ve got some terrific news! Damien Valentine has been on the phone this morning; he’s making a new film. Now! Onto the juicy part!”

  He waves his hands in an elaborate, dramatic gesture and I chance a look at Sam who’s sitting there brooding, his leg involuntarily twitching. Jax looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here and Lucas is awkwardly gnawing on his nail, looking bored. I try to hide my smirk, as M.J clears his throat to continue.

  “The actress he’s cast likes to research her roles extensively before she starts shooting. Which leads me to the next thing, how do you fancy having a guest on the tour bus? Actually, it’s guests, plural. Three to be precise.”

  We all look at each other and Sam, ever the professional, takes charge of the situation. He sets his cup down on the table and straightens, looking M.J dead in the eyes. “Don’t you think you should have at least run it by us before you agreed? What sort of guests are we talking about here, M.J?” Sam says, with a hint of prudence to his husky voice. His muscles bulge, as he folds his arms defensively across his chest. M.J leans forward in his chair and rests his elbows casually on the desk. Where the fuck is he going with this?

  “Raleigh Storm, she’s been cast as one of the leads in the film, as a female guitarist in a rock band. Gavin Kincaid, he’s been cast as the bands manager and I believe you’re familiar with Nick Slade, who has been cast as the band’s lead vocalist.”

  As soon as he says her name, my cock jumps to attention. Jesus Christ. I catch the expression on Lucas’ face as Nick’s name is mentioned and if I’m not mistaken, he squirms in his seat. Crossing one leg over the other, he refuses to meet our gazes. Hmm, interesting.

  “Damien asked if we minded having a few extra people on the bus, naturally, I said yes, of course, it will be great exposure for Raleigh, Gavin, Nick and for you guys obviously! I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

  He laughs, as we all look cautiously at each other and I swear I hear Sam curse under his breath.

  Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine. Yes, I am quoting Casablanca. Fuck me.

  Raleigh

  Some days I love my job, other days I fucking hate it with a passion. Packing for a month on a tour bus, with a bunch of sweaty rockers, is way more difficult than it sounds. What does a woman like me, pack for a situation like that? I am standing in my hotel room, surrounded by a mountain of clothes and the room looks like a bomb has gone off. I have just showered, after my workout in the hotel gym and ever since Damien informed me that I was going on tour with Rancid Vengeance, I’ve been restless and all I have thought about is Brody. How he made me come over and over again, with his expert split tongue, how he tuned my body like an instrument and how I can’t orgasm without thinking of him. My thoughts are interrupted, by my phone blasting out ‘Zombie by Bad Wolves’. I smile, as I see Liv’s name flash up on the screen.

  “Hey girl.”

  I greet her cheerfully.

  “Hey yourself, how’s the packing going?”

  I sigh, taking in the carnage surrounding me.

  “It’s not; I’m really not sure about this, Liv, as good an opportunity as working with Damien Valentine is-”

  She stops me before I can continue. “No, you’re going to stop that, right now, Raleigh Storm. You are going to pack that suitcase; you are going to slap a smile on that beautiful fucking face of yours and you are going to own that tour bus! Amy’s fiancé is their bodyguard; the lead singer is Cole’s best friend. He came into the studio once, for a photo-shoot, that guy is hot, with a capital H!”

  I giggle at her description of Samson Newbolt, lead singer of Rancid Vengeance. She’s right, he is rather delicious.

  “Unfortunately, he’s off limits, because he’s married now, but the rest of those gorgeous boys, are fair game! Including Mr Guitarist extraordinaire, who you had that juicy encounter with in rehab!”

  She laughs, and I find myself laughing right along with my best friend. “You always know the right words to make me feel better, Livvy.”

  I flop down on the bed, amongst the pile of clothes. I stare at the ceiling and sigh heavily. “What if he doesn’t remember me, Liv? What if I was that forgettable? He…he made me feel things, things I haven’t felt in…a long fucking time.”

  I hear her curse softly. “Babe listen to me, if he doesn’t remember you, you need to make damn fucking sure he does! What happens on tour, stays on tour, that’s the motto isn’t it? Why wouldn’t he remember you? You rocked his world in rehab, rehab of all fucking places, you filthy slut!”

  We both giggle childishly.

  “Look, I’m coming over to your hotel; this is your last night before you go on tour, so we’re going to make it count. Get your dancing shoes on, because we are going to paint the town all kinds of psychedelic colours! Be ready in an hour, bitch!”

  Before I can protest, I hear the click of the phone, as it goes dead. Looks like we’re hitting the town.

  Brody

  By the time I was sixteen, I was fluent in the art of seduction and I knew what was required to seduce a woman. I lost my virginity aged fourteen, and I made it my life’s mission to know all there was to know about the fairer species. From the moment I realised the difference between men and women, I have been a lover of the female form; so much so, I live by the mantra of the five F’s: find ‘em, feel ‘em, finger ‘em, fuck ‘em and forget ‘em. For that reason alone, I don't even have to try, usually a rightly placed word, a wink, or a cheeky smile was all it took to get a willing and able woman beneath me. Women got off on the fact that I'm Snake from Rancid Vengeance and my reputation as a generous lover had gotten around over the years. Yes, I might be a total dick, I might leave her in the morning before she even wakes up, I might not call, or see her again after one night of unbridled passion. But I always made it a night she would never forget and I always made sure she came first. I was an attentive lover, I took my time, getting to know her hot spots and what really turned her on. I'm a master of seduction, a connoisseur of cunnilingus, a guru of sex and fucking God of the g-spot, which was why without fail, they always come back for more. They usually always want more than I can give, which is why I haven’t settled down, at least that’s the excuse I’m using and I’m sticking to it.

  After our meeting with our manager to inform us of our surprise tour guests, we decided to hit a club, for an exceedingly rare boy’s night out and blow off some steam. I am spraying some Dior Sauvage aftershave, as the door taps.

  “Yo.”

  I call out and the door opens, and Sam stands in the doorway, with a frown on his face, fidgeting with the sleeve of his black blazer. “What the fuck is going on with you, dude, you’re not your usual self. You seem-off.”

  I roll my eyes. Sam folds his muscular arms across his chest and cocks his pierced eyebrow. “Come on, out with it, Hart.”

  I try to distract myself, by picking up my dirty washing and dumping it haphazardly into the washing basket.

  “It’s her, isn’t it? The married woman that you were seeing, the one who seems to tie you up in knots? She’s the reason you’re acting like a complete dick.”

  I’ll give the fucker ten out of ten for observation. When I don’t meet his eyes, he steps further into the room and closes the door behind him, leaning against it. He thinks he’s being intimidating because of the size of him, but he doesn’t intimidate me. Sam Newbolt’s secret is that he’s a big fucking softie and he always, without fail, cries at Titanic.

  “It’s no big deal, Sam, just fucking drop it, yeah?” I snap abruptly, and he just stands there, smirking. Smug bastard. “It was nothing,” I say nonchalantly.
/>   “Of course it was!” he says with an amused tone to his voice and by the look in his eyes, he’s not buying it and he most definitely isn’t going to drop it. I puff out my cheeks, exasperated. Fucker.

  “Ok, we fucked…a lot, end of story, now will you please, just fucking drop it?” I yell impatiently, silently begging him to just shut the fuck up. He drops down onto the edge of my bed. He’s not letting this one go.