Rise (Rock God 1)

“Where’s Nuke?” I grit out, not sure why I’m so aggravated with Ammo. Maybe because he seems happy and content and I’m the opposite.

He sits there, looking relaxed and snorting coke with Gordon, one of our new record execs.

Ignoring them, I look out at the massive crowd of bodies. This club has to be over capacity. I can barely see the dance floor. It’s nothing but a swirl of colors and bright lights. The loud beat vibrates through my chest.

“He’s at the airport,” Tea shouts, still trying to climb onto Ammo to save her shoes.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles as he dumps her on the other side of Gordon who smiles and makes room for her. Ammo takes the rolled-up hundred-dollar bill to snort more of Gordon’s cocaine.

I stare down at the scene, completely detached. We’re not even trying anymore. None of us gives two fucks.

In the old days, we would at least make an attempt to be subtle. Now we leave a pile of cocaine or whatever drug we’re into on the table and dare anyone to say anything.

Rolling my neck, I relish in the slight dizziness. It reminds me I’m alive. I reach into my jeans pocket for my cigarettes and grin as I light up, thinking of Cynthia, our stylist, groaning at my wardrobe. Fashion is not my forte. But I’d rather take a bullet than wear the shit she convinces Cash and Nuke to go out in.

“Granger… Oh my God. Remember me? Granger!” a hysterical fan shrieks as one of the bouncers holds her back. I don’t encourage her. Otherwise, it’ll be a free-for-all. If you show attention to one, they all come.

It’s shitty, but a sad fact. Most of the time I enjoy my fans, but not tonight. Tonight, all I want is to find someone who won’t talk, but will blow me before I pass the fuck out.

I rarely fuck random women anymore. Not worth the huge shitstorm in the morning. Usually, I let them suck me off. If they sign an NDA, I’ll consider dipping my dick into them.

I can’t remember which one of us started having the women we fuck sign shit. Maybe it was after Ammo got slapped in the face by a jilted girlfriend who wrote a tell-all on him and the band. Half the shit was a lie; not that it mattered. It instantly became a bestseller anyway. Needless to say, it didn’t go over well, and we all decided to protect ourselves after that.

Ammo takes negative shit and allows it to fuel him. I, on the other hand, was fucking pissed. I hate when my privacy’s invaded. The book was not about me, but I was in a hell of a lot of it, and it portrayed me as an egomaniac who gets off on being a tortured artist.

I take another swig, letting the tequila slip down my throat without even tasting it. Fuck, maybe I am all the things she wrote. The day my fans labeled me the Rock God, I gave up being me and morphed into what they needed.

I have everything and yet nothing. Fame, money, women. You name it, I can have it. I’m at the top of my game, and lately all I want to do is get on a Harley and ride until no one knows my name.

Fame happened way too fast. One day I was playing in my buddy’s garage, and the next we were in front of a hundred-thousand adoring fans.

I must have missed something along the way. There’s a void in me. I try to embrace it, but it’s like fucking herpes—it never leaves you. It’s always ready to ooze its blisters into your psyche, until you wake up and decide that maybe you’ve sacrificed everything for nothing. Just a goddamn curse, a slow noose that tightens with each bit of success you achieve.

I should get the fuck out of here. We’ve played three concerts in four days. All of us are burned out, living on Mexican food, tequila, and cocaine.

I’m surprised I even know what state I’m in. I crouch down, ready to take the hundred- dollar bill from Ammo when a flash of dark hair and silver lamé catches my eye.

“What do you think, Granger?” Gordon leans over Tea, his bald head more pronounced with the moving lights dancing above him.

I hold up my hand to silence him as I straighten. My eyes search for the vision that made me stop and actually feel something.

“Granger?” He stands.

“Ask Rafe,” I grunt, zeroing in on her. She’s a goddamn vision with dark hair and legs to die for.

“Dude.” Ammo shakes his head as he snorts and wipes his nose. “You need to listen to Gordon. This could be good for the Muffins.”

“Tell it to Rafe,” I repeat as I let my eyes devour her. She’s in a silver dress that’s nothing but a second skin with straps. Her fucking tits are full. Christ, I can see her rock-hard nipples from where I stand.