Rock Revenge (Rock Revenge Trilogy 1)

It was about to get even worse.

I flipped open the compartment I’d carved into the desk with my own hands and pulled out the rolled tube of paper that was both my meal ticket and my destruction. Proof that I was the legendary Simon Kagan’s brother.

An amazing gift.

A giant legacy I wasn’t sure I’d ever have the chops to fill.

If I’d even be given the chance.

Use what you’ve got. Don’t think about what’s right or wrong. That’s sucker talk. Think about what belongs to you.

The Kagan name was mine, for good or bad. As much mine as Simon’s. By saying it on TV, I’d known what Pandora’s box I was opening. Before I’d acknowledged the familial link, people had wondered here and there. I’d gotten questions. Same last name, same looks, same business. But wondering wasn’t the same as telling the world.

I gripped the paper and turned, holding it out to Simon, who stared down at it as if he expected it to burst into flames at any second. Just in case it did, I had the original in a “secure” location.

Taped underneath my bed.

“What is that?”

“Read it.”

Simon took the paper and unrolled it slowly, smoothing the paper against the arm of the sofa. His forehead wrinkled, but he didn’t look up. His focus stayed glued to that paper as he reread the words over and over again. Then he rolled it back up and dropped it on the couch as if it was garbage.

“That proves nothing. Anyone could slap some fake seal on paperwork and add the names they found on Google.”

“Look at me,” I said quietly. “Do you think this face is from plas

tic surgery?” I barked out a laugh. “Where do you suppose I raised the money? No trust fund here. Nothing but what I’ve worked for and done for myself.”

At least so far.

Simon finally met my gaze. “Why now? Why say what you said on TV instead of contacting me?”

“What in the hell should I have contacted you for?” I kicked the pile of money Simon had left on the floor. It was scattering all over the place, thanks to the window I’d left cracked open.

And why shouldn’t Simon fling his money around? He obviously had plenty to burn.

Handy, that.

“Let me guess,” I continued when Simon remained silent. “So you could insult and berate me? I used your name—my name—on TV because I’m going to win that competition. And the only ones who worry about what’s fair or right are those who don’t mind losing. I’ll use every piece of leverage I’ve got to get where I’m going.”

It wasn’t supposed to be about me. But music was all I had. If I could make them happy and me too, we would all win.

Except my beloved bro.

Simon crossed his arms. “And where is that, exactly? Why don’t you spell it out for me?”

“I want what you have.” I went on even as Simon snorted and dropped back his head. “I want to make my mark. To show the goddamn world that I’m here and I matter. I matter, damn you. Just because I wasn’t first doesn’t mean I don’t count.”

I’d been trying to convince my mum of that practically since I could speak.

Simon lifted his head, narrowing his eyes. “A lot easier to count if you step into the footprints someone else left behind.”

“Once I get my start, I’ll be even bigger. Better.” I pressed on as Simon laughed. “I want the music more. That’s what I love at the root of it. You sold out for money. As if modeling could ever be the same as making music.”

And that was how I consoled myself when I wavered. When I reminded myself we weren’t so different, my brother and I.

There were a million different ways to sell your soul. Sometimes, the price was almost too steep.