Rise (Rock God 1)

Ammo lies on one of the couches, dressed in the same clothes as last night, hands crossed on top of his chest.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I grit out, grabbing his pack of unfiltered Camels from the coffee table.

“I’m here for the family meeting.” He opens one eye to look at me, then snorts, closing it again. “Although, I notice Cash is absent.”

I drop down onto the stiff couch across from him and light up, leaning back to smoke and figure out what’s the best move here.

“This is fucked.”

“Yep,” he says with eyes closed and a stupid grin on his face. I’m close with Ammo; he’s like a brother. We fight, and half the time I want to put my fist in his arrogant face. But we’re a great team.

He’s a fucking beast of a guitarist. At twenty-six, Ammo has clinched his spot in rock ‘n’ roll royalty. He’s that good.

He also can compartmentalize fame and success. Christ, he lives for it.

“You want food?” I grab the phone and dial room service.

“Yes, Mr. Tyler Durden, how can I be of service?” I glance over as Nuke’s dark shadow leans over me. Grabbing his cigarettes, he glares at me. I almost gut punch him again, but I have the phone and cigarette in my hands. Ammo looks at both of us and starts laughing. I lean back and prop my bare feet on the coffee table, ignoring them.

“Yeah, can you send up a couple pots of coffee, some danishes, fruit, and five orders of bacon and eggs, scrambled?”

“Of course,” the voice purrs. I know she knows who I am. We all use aliases, which is stupid. Somehow someone always leaks our rooms anyway.

“Anything else?”

A loud goddammit from Rafe makes me say, “Yeah, a pitcher of tomato juice and horseradish.” I inhale and toss the phone back on the receiver, my eyes narrowing on Nuke.

“You need to explain what the fuck happened here.” I point at him with my cigarette.

“You tell me,” he fires right back. “All I know is Gia is my responsibility. She was supposed to stay with me.” The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Is he saying he wants Gia?

My feet drop and I lean over. “Gia Fontaine is not your responsibility. And where was all this concern last night?” My eyes zero in on his face. I need to see every expression because if he wants Gia… we’re gonna have a problem.

“Are you kidding?” He scrubs his hands up and down his face, then drops them. “Look, last night I was high and drunk. Never in a million years did I think even you would fuck Axel’s sister.”

“I didn’t know it was Gia,” I state, getting madder as the seconds tick by. For fuck’s sake, Gia is an adult. She needed to use her words last night.

Ammo sits up and looks over at Nuke, then me, and crosses his arms as if this is the best entertainment he’s had in years.

“You can’t be serious? You really want me to believe that you had no idea that was Gia?” Nuke stares at me, his brow furrowed, and reaches for a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

“Zero.” I stare right back.

“I told you.” He takes a step toward me.

“Like hell you did.” My pulse is pounding. I haven’t felt like this, ever. It was as if I finally found my muse, only to be slapped in the face.

“Granger.” He looks up at the ceiling and turns to stare out the window. “This is Axel’s baby sister we’re talking about. He’s gonna kill us.”

“Fuck Axel. I’d like to see him try.” Ammo stands and stretches as Rafe storms in. With a glare, he scrutinizes all of us as if we’re his disappointing children.

“What does Axel have to do with any of this?” Rafe turns to look at me.

“I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” he demands.

“How did you not know?” Nuke yells, then turns to Rafe. “That woman”—he points at the bedroom—“is Gia Fontaine. As in Axel Fontaine’s baby sister. As in we are fucked because I’m sure she’s called him, and the Disciples are now on their way.”

“Christ.” I stand and go straight to the minibar, saying over my shoulder, “Pull your shit together, Nuke. I’m not afraid of Axel or the Disciples.” Grabbing a bottle of vodka, I figure screw waiting for the tomato juice.

“Okay. The last thing we need to deal with is a motorcycle club.” Rafe’s voice is calm—too calm. I glance over at him. Even without his suit he radiates control. There’s a reason Rafe is the best at what he does. He’s cutthroat. People don’t fuck around when dealing with him. In his mid-fifties, he gets as many women as we do. Hell, he probably gets more.

He’s also made us rich, along with himself, and he’s the closest thing to a father I’ve had. Still, I’m not in the mood for any of his lecturing this morning.