Risky Rockstar: A Hero Club Novel Read online

  RISKY ROCKSTAR

  Ryleigh Sloan

  Risky Rockstar is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s British Bedmate. It's published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward's New York Times bestselling series.

  Copyright © 2020 by Ryleigh Sloan and Cocky Hero Club, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Spines and Designs

  Editor: One Love Editing

  Dedication

  This one’s yours.

  For everything you’ve overcome and everything I believe you will still conquer.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  The Cocky Hero Club

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  A Note from the Author

  More Work by Me

  Connect with Me

  Prologue

  Kade

  Five Years Ago …

  Fuck, I’m pumped! Adrenaline and endorphins race through my veins, and I know I’m not going to get any sleep tonight, but I don’t care. There are multiple things I can do to fill the hours, and I plan on making good use of those multiples. Emily sits next to me in my Impala, and I can’t wait to get my hands on her. I want to take everything I’m feeling—every single emotion running through me from seeing her in the front row at the concert—and pump it into her because words just won’t cut it tonight. Things have been hectic lately. About six months ago, we got our big break and life has been moving at warp speed. It’s great, a dream come true, and I love every minute of it, but it means less time with Emily. She used to tour with us, but a few weeks ago she mentioned the need to stay home for a while. I don’t blame her; it is exhausting, and sometimes we get whipped from one show to another without so much as a few minutes to change. It means quality time has been compromised, but I plan on rectifying that tonight. We just played to a sold-out stadium at Staples, a fact I can’t quite wrap my head around, and Emily came to the show. Seeing her front and center again made my night. And even though I was singing to twenty thousand fans, I was singing every single word to her.

  As part of the show, when we play “Tap Out” one of our first singles, I bring a girl onstage and sing to her. I dance with her, hold her hand, and let her kiss me on the cheek. The crowd goes fucking crazy for it, and the girl gets an experience she can hold on to forever. I’m not trying to be a conceited prick here. It’s just my way of giving back to my fans, to show them how much it means to me to be doing what I love every day of my life.

  Tonight, I was tempted to bring Emily up onstage. I know it wouldn’t have been fair, but it meant so much to me to see her in the crowd that I just wanted to share more of my experience. Security picked a sweet girl one row behind Emily; she was shaking so hard I could feel her hand vibrating in mine as I sang to her. I’ll be honest, it’s a breath of fresh air to get the shy girls onstage. Usually security picks “enthusiastic” girls that often result in me getting dry-humped. Thank fuck this girl was on the opposite side of the spectrum, but the longer she was up there, the more she shook. Eventually, when it got to the part where I was going to dance with her, I gave her a twirl, took her into my arms, and whispered to her that I was nervous too. She calmed down a beat after that and totally stole the show by singing back to me, performing like a natural.

  When she ran back to her friends, she was beaming so wide, and it gave me a charge. That part of the show always brought back my first concert experience, and the nostalgia was bittersweet.

  Emily’s hand palming my cock through my jeans brings me straight back to the present in a way I’m not going to complain about. I grin at her before I take the curve in the road, and she unclips her seat belt, kneeling on the seat. I guess she’s feeling as eager to get our night started as I am. She reaches for my belt buckle, undoing it and pulling down my zipper in record time, and my dick twitches in anticipation. She reaches into my boxer briefs and releases my already rock-hard cock. I shift in my seat and navigate another turn in the road, fighting not to close my eyes as she closes her hot mouth around the head of my cock and sucks.

  I groan and flex my hips, as she alternates gentle licks with powerful sucks. “Angel…” My hand rests on her head, and she looks up at me through long lashes framing her wide hazel eyes. I turn my attention back to the road. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think we should wait till we get home. This road—ah fuck!” She takes me deep, then sucks back to the head with a loud pop before she sucks me back in. “Em, Angel…” I utter the words through clenched teeth. Damn, I fight with all my willpower not to close my fists around her head and fuck into her mouth. Moving my hand to her cheek, I gently push her back till my cock falls from her lips. “This isn’t the best stretch of road here. When we get home, we can finish where you left off. Better yet, I’ll take care of you while you take care of me. How does that sound?”

  She sits up and slides back along the bench seat, smoothing her sleek mahogany hair that falls in a curtain to midwaist. She’s so incredibly gorgeous. All soft edges and beautiful curves, and I tell myself—as I do nearly every hour of every day—that I’m a lucky fucker. It’s taking everything I’ve got not to pull to the side of the road and fuck her limp, but it’s the middle of the night, and as much as I want her, she’s too precious for me to let anything happen to her. I reposition my cock into as comfortable position as I can manage and zip up; the next twenty minutes are going to kill me.

  “C’mere.” I move my arm so Emily can slide into the crook.

  She doesn’t accept my invitation though. Instead, she turns and smiles at me, and something about her smile seems off. The familiar twinge I’ve been feeling lately niggles in my gut. I don’t know what exactly is bothering me—just something nagging at the back of my mind. There’s been something different a
bout Emily, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. Things have been intense, and settling into our new life now that we’ve hit it big has been an adjustment, so I keep thinking maybe it’s that. I’m hoping when things quiet down, I can take her away for a couple of days and we can settle back into our old routine. From my peripheral vision, I see her biting her lip and running her hands up the inside of her thighs. She’s wearing a short black layered skirt which reaches to about midthigh with a fitted red tank. Coupled with knee-high boots, she’s incredibly sexy. Her long nails trail up the inside of her thighs slowly, and it’s a challenge to keep my eyes on the road.

  That challenge becomes near impossible when I see her fingers slip into her panties and she lets out a sigh that’s barely audible over the roar of the engine.

  I let out a nervous chuckle. “What are you doing?”

  “Having some fun.” She lifts her hips slightly off the seat and moans. “Do you want to see how wet I am?”

  I groan, but the sound barely makes it past my dry throat. I flick my gaze to Emily as she places her feet as wide apart as she can get them on my dash. I can’t see exactly what the deal is, but by the sounds she’s making, I’d bet my left nut she’s just pushed her fingers inside her pussy. “See how wet I am for you, baby?” She confirms my suspicions by showing me her soaked fingers illuminated by the dash.

  “Fuck!” The word rushes out my mouth as every ounce of oxygen is sucked out of me.

  She lifts her fingers to her mouth and sucks the juices coating her skin. “Hmmm, I taste good. No wonder you want to eat me out all the time.”

  My nerves amp up. This isn’t like Emily, and there’s something not right about this whole situation. She goes back to sliding her fingers inside her pussy and moaning softly. The soft mewling sounds coming from her lips are fucking torture, and my cock is relentless in its attempt to free itself from my jeans. I shift in my seat and flick my gaze to her again. Her fingers are thrusting in and out of her pussy, and she’s rubbing furiously at her clit with her other hand.

  Then I hear it—the hiccup in her breath, the catch in her throat, and the sobs that tear from her chest. She places her feet back down and tugs at her skirt.

  “Em? Angel? What’s wrong?” I look for a place to pull over so I can hold her and talk to her, but there’s no shoulder.

  “I can’t do it. I can’t do this for you, Kade. I’m sorry. I’ve tried. I’m trying to be more for you, but I can’t.”

  My gut twists. Emily is fun and sassy and sexy to dangerous degrees in bed, but the one thing she’s always had an issue with is touching herself in front of me. It’s something she’s self-conscious about, and I’m trying to get her out of it. She’s fucking gorgeous, so gorgeous it hurts to look at her sometimes, and when she comes, she is out of this world. But I don’t want her to fuck herself out of some voyeuristic fantasy. (Although I have jacked off to the thought a time or two during the tour.) I want her to be free, let go of her inhibitions, trust me enough to be more vulnerable than she’ll ever be in her life. But I also want that to be something she does for herself and only if she’s comfortable.

  I clear my throat. “I only want that if you want it, Em. You know that.”

  “I bet all your groupies would gladly spread themselves for you, show you how deep they can take it.” Her sobs intensify.

  Fuuck! I need to pull over.

  “I bet the girl you were whispering sweet things to tonight is thinking of you right now. I bet you’d like to be there when she comes screaming your name.”

  I round the bend and let out a relieved breath when I see a shoulder. Pulling over, I unbuckle my seat belt and scoot over. Taking Emily into my arms, I hold her as she cries, marking my shirt and my heart with her tears. This isn’t like Emily; she’s never been jealous, and suddenly it all makes sense. The shift I’ve felt in her.

  “Angel, you know it’s all part of the show. I was just telling that girl I was nervous too. She was shaking so hard, I thought she was going to have a panic attack right there. Is that what all this is about?”

  She doesn’t answer me, she just continues to cry as I hold her. I kiss the top of her head and stare out the window, looking for the words to comfort her. A light on top of a cell tower flickers in the distance, warning planes of possible danger, and I can’t help but think it’s a warning for me to tread lightly. I pull her tighter to me.

  “Remember when I told you the story about when I got to meet Chester Bennington from Linkin Park?” She doesn’t answer me. I’m sure she remembers because it was a defining moment for me. One that put me on the path I’m on today, but I tell her anyway, needing to hear the story out loud as much for me as her.

  “I was thirteen and my dad bought VIP tickets to their concert. As in first row, as in I could see every key Mike Shinoda played.” I smile into her hair at the memory. “My dad wasn’t a fan by any means, but for that concert he learned every single word of every single song they’d ever released, and he sang along right beside me. Through the second verse of ‘Numb,’ Chester Bennington walked off the stage and along the fence of the VIP section. He held his hand out, and fans screamed and shoved each other for one touch. I was in awe. I remember clutching the fence, my knuckles white to stop my hands from shaking. My idol was literally two feet away from me. It was a feeling I’ll never forget. He turned to look at me, singing into his mic, and then walked over. Em, my heart was crashing against my rib cage. He gave his mic to the security guy behind him and removed the leather strap from his wrist and handed it to me. People were jostling and pushing and trying to grab the strap from my hands, but I held on to it with everything I had.” I finger the leather on my wrist, very frayed and worn but still intact. “He didn’t say a word to me, but he gave me something more than a strap that day. He gave me a dream. I slipped the band onto my wrist and pulled the straps tight so it would fit. I’ve never taken it off—only added more. On days when shit gets too much, I’ll grab a beer and sit on my porch and remember my dad jumping up and down next to me, singing till our voices were hoarse.”

  I pull away and tilt Emily’s chin so I can see her face. “Every time I take a fan onstage, I remember the feeling I got when Chester gave me the leather strap, and I remember one of the happiest nights of my life. It wasn’t long after that, that Dad died, and I always wonder if he knew his time was limited, and he needed to give me something to hold on to. It’s why I do what I do, Em. I need to give back. I know how an important experience like that can mold your life. It changed everything about mine. I’m sorry it hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you, Angel.”

  “It’s not just the girls onstage, Kade.” Emily looks down at her hands and clasps them together. She squeezes them so hard her thumbs turn a red that I can see in the barely illuminated car. “It’s the way fans feel like they own you. It’s the panties you get in the mail, the naked pictures on email. The way they talk about you on social media.” She looks up at me, her face wet with tear tracks, and I rub my thumbs lightly over her cheeks. The salt stings me like I’ve got open wounds. “While you’re theirs, you’ll never be mine, Kade. When you were playing bowling alleys and bars, it felt contained. You were theirs for a short while, and then I got you back. It’s not like that anymore, and what kind of person does it make me, that I can’t share you with your dream? I thought I could do it, that I’d get used to it all. I figured watching you onstage would help. I thought if I made things more…” She turns away from me and looks out the window. “I can’t do this, but I can’t live without you. I’m trapped.”

  Her shoulders shake, and I gather her into my arms again. “I’m not theirs, Angel, I’m yours. Only yours. You’re everything to me. You make me who I am, you give me everything. I’m nothing without you.” I’m floundering, trying to find words I can’t express as guilt and remorse smother me. How did I not see this coming? How could I not know she was struggling the way she was? “I want you, not those other girls. That’s all performing. What you and I have
is real. You have to know that?”

  She pushes off me and moves across the seat. After digging in her purse for a tissue, she wipes her eyes and blows her nose.

  “Em, you have to know you’re my everything.”

  “Can we just go home?”

  “Em, please. We need to talk about this.”

  “Kade, I just need to go home. Please take me home.”

  My stomach sinks and I run my hands through my hair. I blow out a breath and turn the key, flicking my gaze to Emily once more before I pull out onto the road. I tell myself she’s right: we just need to get home and take a breather, and we can talk about it once we’ve both calmed down. Emily stares out the window the entire ride. With every mile we get closer to home, I feel her pulling further away from me. Words race through my mind as I grapple with something to say that will fix it. As I pull up to the curb, I reach for her hand, but she pulls it away and clutches the strap of her purse.

  Remorse chokes me. I have to fix this. We get into our town house, and I run her a scented bath and pour her a glass of wine. She smiles sadly at me and allows me to undress her, the glow from the flickering candles making her look more like an angel than she already does. My angel. I hold her hand while she lowers herself into the tub and kiss her lightly on the head. I tell her I’ll give her space as I leave the bathroom and close the door. Grabbing a beer, I head to the porch and wonder how I could’ve missed it. How did I do this again?

  Sitting on the porch swing I put up for Emily just before we went on tour, I slip off my shoes and socks and try not to let the memories flood my brain, but no matter how hard I try, they intrude anyway. My mother, five months after my father died, lying in her bed, an empty bottle of pills in her hand, froth coming out her mouth. The suicide note telling me she’s sorry she couldn’t do it. That she tried, but she couldn’t live without my father. That every day it got worse and worse for her and that I should wait with Mrs. Maier, the kind old lady next door, until Pops, my grandfather, came to take me to live with him. At thirteen, I’d racked my brain for the signs I’d missed, but I couldn’t think of any. Sure, she’d been sad, but she’d still baked cookies and come to my ball games. And even if some of the light had dwindled from her eyes, she still had mini-concerts with me in the living room. She’d even push all the furniture back so I’d have more room. I’d missed the signs like I’d missed them with Emily.