GoodreadsI’m a rocker with the eyes of the world on me. Waiting for my triumph or my downfall…just waiting.
Most of my life is in my hands. My destiny? That’s another story. My destiny isn’t as debt free.
My band, Phoenix Rising, arrives in Houston to cut a new album. Before we perform our first concert in the city and I choose my groupies of the night, I’m thrust into debauchery. Sleeping with a gorgeous woman twenty years older than me has its perks, especially when her husband orchestrated the encounter and eagerly watches. To me, performing is performing. If a man wants to share his wife, who am I to stop him?
Unfortunately for me, I don’t make a clean getaway as I leave the McCall mansion. Georgie, their sixteen-year-old daughter, is in the midst of her own intrigue, sneaking home in the middle of the night after an evening of drugs and sex with her older brother’s best friend. In her, I see me. She’s lost and drifting. Her hedonistic parents insist she’s old enough to make her own decisions. Instead of time and love, they give her money and things.
I’m a twenty-five-year old international superstar and I know better. I’m cocky and arrogant. I know it so I own it. Somehow, I’ve always bested the fates. I have all to lose—my reputation, my career, and my freedom. Her mother’s jealousy forces my hand and I take Georgie on the tour.
This is our story and our secret relationship and the destruction of my life. You know the adage about secrets? Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead. Wise words from a wise man. If only I had listened. Secrets have a way of revealing themselves in the harshest way.
WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO WRITE INFERNO:
Inferno was inspired after I read a news article about a much older man who fell in love with a girl when she was 16. My imagination took over from there and Georgie and Sloane were born. The ending to the real story was sad and heartbreaking. However, Georgie and Sloane will ultimately find happiness.
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Hooking a finger inside my mesh T-shirt, she shakes her head. She really likes touching me. If I did relationships, I’d get her number. Give the paparazzi another reason to chase me and attempt to pick apart my actions. They’ve supposedly pegged my type. What would they say if I introduced her as my lover? Young and dark-haired. I can’t think of a better way to fuck with them.
“You aren’t an addict anymore.” Her voice breaks into my contemplations. “You’ve been clean since you demolished the record company’s studio and you’re halfway through the American leg of your tour. You’re not messing that up. I won’t allow it.”
Her defiance makes me laugh, although my heart hammers. While I consider using her for my amusement, her concern for me is genuine. “It isn’t for me. It’s for a special friend.”
“That porn star you’re dating?”
Fuck, she really does follow my life closely. “I’ve never dated one porn star.” Although I fucked several on the plane ride to Houston. “I want the fucking baggie. Now.”
Again, she denies me with a shake of her head. I suspect she’s used to getting her way. Is it because she’s spoiled or ignored, I don’t know. I do know what she needs, though. Discipline. Structure. Focus. At one time, I found it in my music. Lately, not even music has been enough to subdue my restiveness.
Asshole steps beside her. “Powder belongs to me,” he says tightly, a handkerchief pressed to his bleeding nose, his eye already swelling. “It’s my decision who gets it or not and I’ve chosen her.”
Cursing, I dig in my back pocket and offer him all the hundreds I have.
“Sloane, please.” Her tortured whisper will haunt me. The care and concern infused in it is more than I get from anyone. “Do you swear it isn’t for you?”
I nod and, as quickly as I came upon her, she leaves. Just like that. A delicate star brightening my life one moment and an elusive angel floating forever away the next.
Long minutes later, I sit with the coke, fighting the urge to do a line. My hands actually shake.
“Sloane, please…”
Her plea bounces in my head and her scent remains on my fingers, my lips, and in my mouth. For her, the sad, little temptress, I find the nearest bathroom and flush the blow. Then, I splash water on my face. It isn’t cold at all, so it doesn’t give my system the shock it needs to snap back from my encounter with her.
I regret not forcing the issue about her name. All it took was one look from me to get my dick into her mouth. I’m sure one, cold command for her name would’ve produced results, too. Maybe, I didn’t want to know it. A name is so personal. This way, our sex remained simple and unencumbered with expectations.
She said I’d forget her name, so she never bothered to offer it to me. But, she’s a younger, softer, feminine version of me. For the rest of my life, I’ll remember the unidentified waif with the gorgeous purple eyes.
Kathryn Kelly is living her dream and writing books. She's always been an avid reader and still devours books in her spare time. She also enjoys football, socializing, music, eating, and jokes. In her head, she's the ultimate biker babe. In reality, she's an ordinary girl-next-door and a native New Orleanian.
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