Tough Luck

By C.M. Stunich

Tough Luck (Hard Rock Roots #3) - A Rocker Romantic Suspense
(Book #1, Real Ugly is Free!)

Warning: This is a dark, gritty tale of lost love, new love, and true love. It's about second chances, rock-hard music, and secrets, secrets, secrets. Read only if you like tales of murder, mystery, sex, and romance. Drummer boy meets drummer girl. Can they synchronize the pulsing beats of their dirty hearts?

"He wasn't just playing music, he was commanding sound and demanding sacrifice."

Ronnie McGuire is my target.
But I wish he wasn't.
I didn't sign up for this destruction, this pain.
In his music, I hear his soul crying out for me.
If I could, I'd run away from here and never look back because to tell you the truth, I'm terrified. There are forces weighing in on me that even I don't understand. I'm scared. Things are dangerous. This could get real ugly, real fast.

& & &

Lola Saints is a godsend.
But I wish she wasn't.
I don't know sh*t about her, but already, I'm hooked.
When she plays, I can almost imagine the ghosts of the dead are calling out to me.
If I could, I'd shed my soul and leave the pain of the past behind me. But I can't. I have to figure out if there's a way to fall in love anew and respect the old. But something else is going on, something weird. Something that tells me my tough luck might just run out real fast.

***300 Pages in Print

Also Available From CM Stunich

-Groupie (A New Adult Rocker Trilogy)
-Tasting Never (New Adult Contemporary Romance)
-Losing Me, Finding You (New Adult Biker Romance)
-Hell Inc. (Comedic Paranormal Romance)

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.M. Stunich
• Release date: Jan 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781938623646

C.M. Stunich

C.M. Stunich is a self-admitted bibliophile with a love for exotic teas and a whole host of characters who live full time inside the strange, swirling vortex of her thoughts. Some folks might call this crazy, but Caitlin Morgan doesn't mind - especially considering she has to write biographies in the third person. Oh, and half the host of characters in her head are searing hot bad boys with dirty mouths and skillful hands (among other things). If being crazy means hanging out with them everyday, C.M. has decided to have herself committed. She hates tapioca pudding, loves to binge on cheesy horror movies, and is a slave to many cats. When she's not vacuuming fur off of her couch, C.M. can be found with her nose buried in a book or her eyes glued to a computer screen. She's the author of over forty novels - romance, new adult, fantasy, and young adult included. Please, come and join her inside her crazy. There's a heck of a lot to do there. Oh, and Caitlin loves to chat (incessantly), so feel free to e-mail her, send her a Facebook message, or put up smoke signals. She's already looking forward to it. ? ☠? KEEP UP WITH ALL THE FUN ... AND EARN SOME FREE BOOKS! ?☠? JOIN THE C.M. STUNICH NEWSLETTER – Get three free books just for signing up ❥ http://eepurl.com/DEsEf TWEET ME ON TWITTER, BABE – Come sing the social media song with me ❥ https://twitter.com/CMStunich LOVE YA SOME SNAPCHAT? – Want to receive your news hot, current, and quick? Get exclusive Snaps from live book signings and see what I'm working on before anyone else does ❥ add me by searching for cmstunich or C.M. Stunich LISTEN TO MY BOOK PLAYLISTS – Share your fave music with me and I'll give you my playlists (I'm super active on here!) ❥ https://open.spotify.com/user/CMStunich FRIEND ME ON FACEBOOK – Okay, I'm actually at the 5,000 friend limit, but if you click the "follow" button on my profile page (vs this one), you'll see way more of my killer posts ❥ https://facebook.com/cmstunich LIKE ME ON FACEBOOK – The more, the merrier! Please hop on over and give me a little love ❥ https://facebook.com/cmstunichauthor & https://facebook.com/violetblazeauthor CHECK OUT THE NEW SITE – TBA (under construction) but it looks kick-a$$ so far, right? You'll be able to order signed books here very soon ❥ http://www.cmstunich.com READ VIOLET BLAZE – Read the books from my hot as hellfire pen name, Violet Blaze ❥ http://www.violetblazebooks.com SUBSCRIBE TO MY RSS FEED – Press that little orange button in the corner and copy that RSS feed so you can get all the latest updates ❥ http://www.cmstunich.com/blog AMAZON, BABY – If you click the follow button here, you'll get an email each time I put out a new book. Pretty sweet, huh? ❥ http://amazon.com/author/cmstunich & http://amazon.com/author/violetblaze PINTEREST – Lots of hot half-naked men. Oh, and half-naked men. Plus, tattooed guys holding babies (who are half-naked) ❥ http://pinterest.com/cmstunich INSTAGRAM – Cute cat pictures. And half-naked guys. Yep, that again. ❥ http://instagram.com/cmstunich GRAB A SMOKIN' HOT READ – Check out my books, grab one or two or five. Fall in love over and over again. Satisfaction guaranteed, baby. ;) AMAZON ❥ http://amazon.com/author/cmstunich B&N ❥ http://tinyurl.com/cmbarnes iTUNES ❥ http://tinyurl.com/cmitunesbooks GOOGLE PLAY ❥ http://tinyurl.com/cmgoogle KOBO ❥ http://tinyurl.com/cmkobobooks VIOLET BLAZE ❥ http://amazon.com/author/violetblaze P.S. I heart the f*ck out of you! Thanks for reading! I love your faces.

Book preview

This shit is real ugly, and it ain't getting any better. Hope their tough luck holds out a little longer. These people have got bent enough.

Tough Luck

Smashwords Edition

Tough Luck © C.M. Stunich 2013

Stepbrother Inked © Caitlin Stunich 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 89365 Old Mohawk Rd, Springfield, OR 97478.

www.sarianroyal.com

ISBN-10: 1938623649 (eBook)

ISBN-13: 978-1-938623-64-6 (eBook)

Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

Optimus Princeps Font © Manfred Klein

El&Font Gohtic! Font © Jerome Delage

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

for the broken, the blinded, the bloody; for the ones who don't see straight but see crooked instead.

for the hearts that beat in tandem with the plucking of strings, the snapping of sticks, and the growl of rebel voices.

and for the following people who helped make this book possible:

Lola Stark & Amanda Carroll

Sign up for an exclusive first look at the hottest new releases, contests, and exclusives from bestselling author C.M. Stunich and get *three free* eBooks as a thank you!

Author's Note

The wild world of Hard Rock Roots is back for the third installment and holy hell, it's awesome. In this book, Indecency's drummer, Ronnie, takes center stage. It's time for this broken man to heal … but can an Aussie rocker chick with a heart full of secrets really soothe an emotional wound that's been bleeding for ten years?

I know it's difficult sometimes when a series features different characters as the leads in sequels, but trust me when I tell you that Ronnie McGuire and Lola Saints are a couple worth reading about. If you're really missing Turner and Naomi though, they'll be back in book four, Bad Day.

P.S. This is book three in the series, but if you need book two, Get Bent, you can download it for less than a buck.

Love, C.M. Stunich (aka Violet Blaze)

Hard Rock Roots Reading Order:

Book #1: Real Ugly (free!)

Book #2: Get Bent (only 99 cents!)

Book #3: Tough Luck

Book #4: Bad Day

Book #5: Born Wrong

Book #6: Dead Serious

Book #7: Doll Face

Book #8: Heart Broke

Book #9: Get Hitched

ALSO AVAILABLE: Hard Rock Roots Box Set #1 (Books 1–5 plus three short stories including a prequel!)

What a fucking idiot.

I'm sitting at my kit watching one of my best friends hop around the stage like he's gone completely mental. There's blood leaking from the wound in his thigh, staining the white bandages and drawing little gasps from his throat between verses that the crowd actually seems to like. They're diggin' this tortured, wounded bad boy schtick. Me, not so much.

Dumb ass, I growl out under my breath, slamming my sticks so hard I'm pretty damn sure one of the fuckers is going to snap right in half. Wouldn't be the first time. Anyway, this shit is getting stale. I'd like to move onto the next town, please and thank you. But no. No. Stupid ass cops think holding us here while they investigate shit is going to help. Why can't they just book Katie Rhineback and be done with it? It isn't like a good two dozen people are eyewitnesses to her brother's murder. Guess the dead cop they found in the woods spooked 'em.

"Battered and broken, bleeding for you."

I follow up Turner's hook with some backup vocals. I hate backup vocals. Shit.

"Bleeding for you."

My friend tilts his head back, letting his shades slip down his sweaty face. From the shadows, I'm pretty sure I can see a hint of Naomi Knox, arms crossed over her chest, lips twitching somewhere between love and irritation. Yup. That's the honest truth right there. Those two have it, whether they know it or fucking not. Forgive me, Asuka, but these stupid fuckers make me want to fall in love again. Doubt I'm going to find someone in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma though.

"Why can't I forget you? It's not like I want to, but, baby, call me crazy. I cannot move on."

Jesus, I hate this friggin' song. The day Turner wrote it, I almost socked him in the face. I know he was trying to help, but to be honest with you, it just kind of makes things worse. Even all these years later. Even after all these fucking years.

I can still see Asuka's smile, still hear her voice, still feel her body brushing against mine, soft and perfect. My love, my one, true love.

I smash my cymbals and kiss the sound with a spin of my sticks. I'm no Gene Krupa, stirring up dixieland or any of that shit, but I'm alright. I hit my solo running with a double bass beat and tune out the audience like I always do. Turner might eat that crap with a spoon, but I'm happy back here, cloaked in shadows, worshipped but forgotten. That works for me. It's been a long, long time since I've had the desire to be the center of attention.

"Without you by my side, my passion's lost and I'm bleeding inside …" Turner pauses and licks his lip, sliding his eyes to the side of the stage in a move I doubt anyone else would notice. But I know the asshole too well to miss it. He's checking with Naomi. By God, the man is actually considering someone else's feelings. Well, I'll be damned.

And then he grabs both sides of his shirt and tears, splitting the fabric and letting it hang in strips from either shoulder. I roll my eyes and keep playing, pumping my foot pedal, listening to the cry of the guitars cut through my ears and warp my brain. I don't know what Naomi thinks about that, but when I look back towards stage right, she's gone, melted into the dark shadows behind the curtain.

Maybe they'll have another fight tonight? Or maybe not? What does it matter? They're already out the gates, so there's no turning back. I just hope Campbell knows how good he's got it.

The crowd surges forward, frantic and frenzied, a mass of faceless faces, howling grins. I've never seen crowds like we've been having lately. With each nightmare, each tragedy, our popularity is growing. At this point, it's almost stifling. I can't help but think how much worse it's going to get, because it is. There is no fucking doubt in my mind about that.

I watch Trey playing angry, swiping his strings like they're to blame for this whole situation. It's nobody's fault, really, but he blames Naomi. It might've been her sister that got us stuck here, but that's just the dandelion swaying up there in the goddamn breeze. Down below, there's a root. I don't know where it is or how it got planted, but as soon as I do, I'm going to tear that fucker out.

I let the tempo hit my soul and keep my hands in motion as my mind wanders. I don't need it to play, never have. Music isn't about the brain anyhow; it's all about the spirit. I'm pretty damn sure that's why I'm still alive today. Even when I wish I'd died with Asuka, I can play. As long as I can keep a beat going, I'm going to stay on this earth. It's not an easy thing to commit to, but I made that decision long ago, and I intend to keep it.

"Keep my sanity, leave my pain, without you here, I'm losing it. I'm pretty sure I've fucking gone INSANE!" Turner growls this last bit out, lifting his mic away from his lips as he bites off the last word in a scream. Next thing I know, it goes flying and he's storming off the stage while people scream and clamber over one another, barely held in check by the last vestiges of humanity that cling to their tired, dripping forms.

I finish the song with the rest of the band and then twirl my sticks a few times before chucking them out into the crowd after Trey's guitar pick. Let the vultures pick the meat off those bones before they go for ours. I duck out from behind my kit and slide into the relative safety of backstage, taking some small amount of comfort from the cops and the bodyguards that line nearly all the walls. There's a lot at stake here, for us, for them. That creep, Naomi's foster brother, whatever the fuck his name was—Eric, maybe?—might be dead, but he wasn't solely responsible for Naomi's kidnapping. It could happen to any of us, at any time. Or worse.

I'm used to expecting worse.

I crack my knuckles and roll my head around on my sore neck. I have not been sleeping well. I miss my damn bus. Stupid motherfucking tornado. I hate the Midwest. Scary ass fucking shit out here. I mean, the people are alright, but I don't think I could ever get used to a giant funnel appearing out of the goddamn sky and fucking us royally, flipping buses and shit.

"The van's out front, ready and waiting. If we could get out there before the horde grows any larger, I'd much appreciate it." Milo's talking, but nobody's listening to him. Poor guy. Tonight's a bit of a bust, and he knows it. The star of this tour is injured, but here we are anyway, making up for last week's interrupted OKC show—mostly because we aren't allowed to leave yet.

What a crock.

I glance over at the world's new favorite couple, drinking in their drama just like everybody else. Admittedly, it's kind of entertaining. Anything to distract me from myself I guess.

"What's the problem? You liked it, didn't you? I can barely walk; I had to do something to stir up the crowd."

"For fuck's sake, Turner. You're such an asshole. Shouldn't you be recuperating in a bed somewhere?" Naomi Knox slides a cigarette between her lips and looks up at the ceiling like she's praying to a God I know for damn sure does not exist. If he did, Asuka would be here right now, smiling at the play by play between them. It's a little ridiculous, I'll be the first to admit. But it's cute. Sort of.

You're right, Turner says as I move away from them with a shake of my head, their voices getting lost in the backstage din. "I should be in a bed right now—but it's not recuperating that I'd be doing in it."

Jesus Christ, my friend's an idiot.

I get out a cig of my own and light up, snapping the Mrs. Ronnie McGuire bracelet against my wrist to hold back a surge of craving for something stronger. Nicotine's going to have to do for the moment. The cops here aren't playing games. They've already arrested a half dozen of our roadies on possession charges.

I lean against the wall and wonder if they'll ever figure out that it wasn't Katie Rhineback who stabbed that cop. She's confessing to it, sure, but they know as well as we do that she is batshit friggin' crazy. But if they ever do find out it was Naomi, that girl is going to fry.

We have to get going, man. Deal with this shit later! Trey calls out, but Turner's in no place to listen to him, thoroughly embroiled in Naomi Knox la-la land. Trey mumbles some choice curse words under his breath and starts pacing under the green exit sign by the door, anxious to get back to the hotel and drink himself into a stupor. I keep wondering if I should drag him into the fold. He's headstrong and stupid as shit, but he loves Turner like a brother. If he knew what was going on, he might be able to help.

Listen to your little friend, Turner, and fuck off. Naomi flicks cigarette ashes at Turner's chest and then slaps him when he grabs at her wrist. Amatory Riot didn't get to play tonight; she's bound to be a little pent-up. Can't really blame her. Without the music … life's not really worth living, is it?

With a sigh, I push off the wall and move around them to the doors. Based on their body language, I'm guessing this little tête-à-tête is going to go on for a while. I pat Turner on the back as I pass, and then pull my cig out of my mouth to catch my breath. The air back here is stale and hot and dusty, almost stifling.

You got a light? a voice asks from the shadows to my left. The accent sounds familiar, but when I turn to look, I know sure as shit that the face is not. I'd remember a face like that.

The girl in question raises both her brows at me and holds out a cigarette. It hangs limply between us.

Have we met before? I ask, because unless she's a rogue fan who's managed to escape the horde of bodyguards Milo's hired, then I am plum dumb fuck out of luck when it comes to placing her. And I know everybody, and I mean everybody on this damn tour. I've slept with half of them, and fought with the rest. I chitchat with the best, and I know who's who—from the lowliest roadie to the most infamous tattooed self-proclaimed badass. I slip my lighter out of my jeans and fire her up.

The girl snorts and raises her bug-eyed sunglasses up with her other hand, teasing me with a hint of bright blue eyes and a little crinkle between her eyebrows.

I sure as shit hope so, Mr. McGuire, she says and drops her shades. I gave you a blow job in a utility closet once upon a time. She kisses the words out, letting them slip and slide over her lips, so that I can feel each and every one of them caressing over my cock. My body responds, much to the mystery girl's amusement. She laughs at the erection I don't bother to hide and takes a drag from her cigarette. I was told that if I wanted information, I ought to come to you. She smiles at me and blows a fresh cloud of smoke into the hazy air.

The crowd is tearing up the venue on the other side of the cement wall behind me. It sounds like they're getting ready to start a riot or something, shouting Turner's name, Naomi's, screaming for that backstabbing bitch, Hayden. I resist the urge to clamp my hands over my ears.

When I was growing up, I always wanted to be a rockstar. One, because I liked music, and two, because I was lazy as hell and thought it would be an easy job. Could not have been any more wrong about that. If I knew back then that I'd make it this far, I'd have probably gone for a nine-to-five, and not because I'd like it, but because it would take less gusto, less courage. Those two things have been in short supply for me for a long, long while. It's only recently that I've been able to grab onto them again, and already, they're being drained from me like pus from a septic fucking wound.

The shouting of the audience is giving me a headache, and the lack of drugs in my system is actually making the words less clear. Detox is a bitch. I rub at my temple with my fingers and blink at the girl, hoping to hell she'll give me her damn name before these people surge up and rip us all to pieces, eat our flesh and sacrifice us on some homemade altars in their parents' basements.

Yeah, I tell her, sniffling and running my hand across my face. I'm pretty much the gossip guru of the camp. What's up? I look the girl up and down, examining her small round face, her sylphlike body and her plump lips. I'd like to get more than a blow job from her, preferably in a state of mind where I can remember it. How do I not know this chick? I wonder, tilting my head to the side. I know fucking everybody around here.

Her hip is cocked out and her mouth is twisted in a wicked smile. She might be a foot or more shorter than I am, but she looks miles tall. She's got a confident air around her that commands attention, especially from somebody as lazy as me.

I smoke my cigarette and wait for her to respond.

Come on, ya wanker, you seriously have no clue who I am? She drops her cigarette to the cement floor and crushes it out with her purple velvet heels. Fancy. I lean forward and put my hand on the wall next to her head.

No, but I'd like to find out. I run my hand up her side. I mean, call me crazy, but she approached me. Anybody who uses the word blow job in their opening line is probably interested, right? I'm no Turner Campbell, but I like to make my rounds. If she's interested, I'm willing.

Oi, the girl snaps, stepping under my arm and spinning back around to look at me with pursed lips. If you can't remember my name, there's no way in fuck I'm screwing you, so piss off. All I wanted was an answer to my question. If you can't give me that, we're done here.

I sigh and turn, slumping back against the wall and sliding to the floor with my knees to my chest. Turner and Naomi make their way toward us, hurling insults at one another.

"Hah! You want your dick sucked? Ask one of your fucking whore roadies. This shop is closed, sweetheart." The girl and I both flick our eyes over to the pair of shouting rockstars. Naomi throws a bottle of water on Turner's chest and soaks him before tossing the plastic to the floor and storming past me, breezing between me and the girl like we're not even there. We don't exist to her in that moment, nobody does. Only Turner Campbell. I know because I've been in love before. It's a selfish fucking emotion. You never read about that in romance novels, but it's the truest truth there is. Love is selfish. Period. End of sentence.

Naomi opens the exit door like she's going to head out and pauses when a surge of raging fanatics press inward, forcing her back. She slams it and then hits the sticker studded metal hard with both palms, growling out a slur of curse words before spinning away and disappearing into the bathroom.

Turner isn't far behind.

Watch your ass, I warn him, and he flips me off before heading in after her.

"She better watch hers," he mumbles, and I roll my eyes.

Fun couple, ain't they? the girl asks me, drawing my attention back to her killer body and her tight jeans. They're covered in Sharpie graffiti that I don't even try to make out. I'm too tired, too fucked in the head right now to read tiny, scribbled words on some chick's pants.

If you want information, it's going to cost you. I take another drag on my cig and flick it away carelessly. I don't care who picks it up, and not because I'm like Turner and just expect someone to do it. I just really don't give a fuck. I think I'd be a hoarder in another life or something. Getting up and cleaning, taking care of shit, not something I'm capable of. I feel like I'm floating through life in a daze, hitching a ride on a cloud of smoke and sex and music. Recently, I've felt like the clouds might just be lifting for me, but who knows? Could be a false alarm. I should stop living vicariously through Turner.

You're going to charge me sex for information? Sounds a bit steep to me. I look up at the girl's massive sunglasses. They cover half her fucking face. Asuka never wore sunglasses. I shake my head to clear it. I promised myself that I was going to try to stay away from these kinds of thoughts. They don't help. All they do is remind me what I've lost and how good I had it. Remembering Asuka is one thing, but obsessing over her has got to stop. If it doesn't, I'll never make it to my thirtieth birthday.

Leave off the shades, Ronnie. I like your face better when I can see it.

I purse my lips at Asuka's voice in my head and sigh.

Just your name, doll, I whisper, and I have no idea how the girl hears me over the din in the next room. Maybe that should've been my first sign? I can hear you from a thousand miles away, and I'll come from a million. I can taste the beat of your heart on my tongue, and smell the flavor of your passion. In the darkness, you're my light, and you'll burn away the pain.

Lola, she says and her Australian accent cuts through the fog in my brain and makes me smile. Lola Saints.

I didn't sign up for this.

My heels clack loudly across the pavement as I walk alone towards the doors to the hotel. I'm the only member from Ice and Glass that was on that particular bus, so I'm feeling a little left out. Bands are a little like high school cliques, you know? Ronnie tried to sit next to me, talk to me, but I couldn't even look at his face.

I can't do this.

I clamp my hand across my stomach and smoke a cigarette with my other hand. I feel like I'm up the stick, nine months along and ready to pop. God, I wish all I was getting ready for was birthing a damn baby. That'd be half as hard as this. He's such a nice guy. I wonder briefly why I couldn't have got Turner as my target. The man is such a bloody fucking wanker. I'd have no problem cutting his balls off and feeding them to him, but Ronnie McGuire … He's not like that. He's sad. Just really, really sad.

Shit, I whisper as I push through the glass doors and step into