Make It Rain

By Sasha Marshall

Kip

When you rip the Guitar Goddess's world apart, and your own, how in the f@*k are you supposed to find redemption? She's my world, and I've shattered her. What began as a break for us to both heal, ends in the dissolution of our relationship. I committed the most unforgivable transgression. One more tragedy—one more f@*king tragedy—may be the only way back into her heart. I have one more chance to explain what really happened, and hope she believes me.

But maybe not everything is as it seems.

Henley

He was the only one who had never betrayed me, until he did. He never lied to me, until he did. He was always by my side, until he wasn't. The one person who had always been my constant, best friend—and then lover—left me. Then, he showed up again with his gorgeous green eyes, tattoos, and undercut, and I have a hard time staying away. But I also can't seem to look him in the eye anymore. I can't give him any more of my heart, because that precious little organ barely survived him the first time.

Maybe we should never have crossed the line from friends to lovers. If we hadn't, I'd still have him by my side. If we'd never danced the way we did, he'd still be my best friend. I don't know how he's supposed to fit into my life anymore. He's always made my life brighter, happier, and carefree. How do you learn to live without that?

I thought I knew everything about him, but now I question everything.

This book is not a stand-alone novel. Books 1-4 in the Guitar Face Series should be read first. If you are looking for a story of redemption with comic relief and a heavy sexual tone, you've found it. If you are offended by hot, tattooed rock stars, who are vulgar then this is not the book for you. Please be warned, this book is not for anyone below the age of 18. The book has sex, death, violence, and harsh language.

About the author Award-winning author Sasha Marshall, a concert photographer, toured with legendary bands such as The Allman Brothers Band. A self-proclaimed free spirit, she's most often found outdoors, or painting a canvas, capturing a photograph, people watching, reading a book, or writing a new book. Sasha makes her home in the beautiful state of Georgia and loves to hear from readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: Sep 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781611949650

Sasha Marshall

Sasha Marshall is a romance author who loves bad boy with tattoos. In a prior life, she wrangled at-risk youth for a living. And, in the life prior to that, she traveled right along with the legendary rock act, The Allman Brothers Band, popping from the tour bus to the plane, hotel, and venue as a concert photographer. When she’s not writing, she’s loving on her two dogs, spending time with loved ones, crafting, or organizing book signings with Hot & Steamy Events. You can connect with her at Linktr.ee/SashaMarshallWrites

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Sasha Marshall’s Titles

from Bell Bridge Books

The Guitar Face Series

Broken

There’s No Crying in Rock and Roll

Walking Back to Georgia

River of Deceit

Make It Rain

There’s a Woman

Make It Rain

The Guitar Face Series: Book 5

by

Sasha Marshall

Bell Bridge Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

Bell Bridge Books

PO BOX 300921

Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-965-0

Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-955-1

Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2019 by Sasha Marshall

Published in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

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Cover Design: K.B. Barrett Designs

Interior design: Hank Smith

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Dedication

For Mom,

I was born with you as my guardian angel. Thank you for being the best Mom a child could ever ask for.

Prologue

Rolling Stone

The Queen of Rock-N-Roll Destroys the Stage

April 24

Rock star antics are nothing new in the music industry. We’ve seen everything from the biting off of bat heads, driving a Rolls Royce into a pool, setting oneself on fire, snorting the ashes of one’s father, burning down casinos, to the antagonizing of biker gangs. Jim Morrison has always taken the prize for the best stage breakdown until now.

Last night in Austin, Texas, Henley Hendrix made Jim Morrison proud. Instead of sitting on the stage and refusing to play, the rocker dismissed her band and then launched into a forty-minute guitar solo. No one from the tour has commented on her dismissal of band members Rhys Ryan, Griffin Hughes, and brother Memphis Hendrix, but if the reviews posted by critics from this tour are true, then maybe we should’ve seen it coming.

Critics reported unfavorable reviews from the last leg of this tour that was postponed for months after Kip Paxton’s mother shot his girlfriend, Henley, then turned the gun on herself. Had the band recovered from the tragedy before fulfilling their contractual obligations? The reviews cited Abandoned Shadow made amateur mistakes during the entire show and there was absolutely no camaraderie be­tween the band members while on stage. Hendrix has always received great reviews for her showmanship, but as one critic cites, It was as though she was playing a one-woman show.

Perhaps this led the beloved Guitar Goddess to pummel the stage in Austin last night after her guitar solo. She’s known to use her fists when needed and has never backed down from a fight. Last night, she used her guitar and various mic stands to destroy speakers and her band members’ instru­ments. Video clips of the rock star’s tantrum went viral over­night and has received a mixed reaction from fans. Some are turned on by her violent actions, some praise her for standing up to the men in her band, and some think she had a mental breakdown.

Whatever the reason for Hendrix’s outburst, Abandoned Shadow fans are concerned for the future of their favorite band. After Hendrix demolished a set of drums, two guitars, a bass guitar, speakers, and two mic stands, she shouted at her fellow band members who remained on the side of the stage for the solo and destruction.

If that wasn’t enough, Hendrix appeared angry enough to walk offstage, but not in the direction in which she entered. She sat down on the edge of the stage and launched herself into the crowd. Security members ran after her. It is unclear where Hendrix went and no one has commented on the whereabouts or the current state of the Guitar Goddess.

Chapter 1

Cory

HENLEY! I SCREAM after her as she runs straight for another crowd congregated outside the venue.

I push myself even harder to catch up with her. When she’s within reach of my fingertips, I make contact. It stuns her enough, allowing me to grab hold of her body as she falters. Out of instinct she fights me.

Stop fighting me, I tell her and throw her over my shoulder in the midst of a large crew of security members. I get her to the bus as quickly as possible and deposit her in the middle of the living area. You don’t have to face a damn soul in there, but stop putting yourself in danger, I yell.

She bites her lip while fighting tears.

The driver will take you home. Do not stray from the path. I’m begging you not to compromise your safety, Hen, I plead with her.

She nods with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

Say something, I say, out of breath.

She breaks eye contact and shakes her head slowly as she looks to the right, I’m done.

I don’t blame you darlin’, but no more bullshit. I can’t protect you like that. You hired me to protect you, please help me do my job. Are you going to stay on this bus until you get home?

Yeah, she answers.

I pull her in for a hug. They’ll have enough room between the other two tour buses. It’ll all work out. It always does.

I’ll be okay, she promises.

I’ve got some other shit to take care of here tonight, but we’ll be right behind you. If you need anything, call me or Joe, I tell her.

Thank you, Cory.

I leave my favorite rock star on the bus and watch the driver as he takes Henley back to Georgia. I don’t have the time I need to sort her out.

What’s the problem? I ask Joe.

He’d approached me moments before everything went to shit on stage about the girl Kip cheated on Henley with. He sighs. I’ve seen shit overseas men should never have to see; this one takes the cake.

I hold a finger up to him and answer my ringing phone, Hillary?

Cory. I don’t know where the fuck all your damn goons went, but it’s DEFCON motherfucking one in here, or however you soldier boys equate dealing with a shit house rat kind of crazy . . .

Whoa! What the fuck is going on? I ask her.

Hasn’t Joe told you? We’ve been waiting over an hour for you! she yells at me.

Calm down, woman.

"Did you just call me woman?" she asks.

Normally, I know better, but I’m a little stressed out and stretched thin. We had another issue arise that needed my immediate attention. Joe hasn’t had the opportunity to tell me anything, because Henley sent her band off the stage and then destroyed the damn thing with a guitar and a mic stand. I’ll talk to Joe as we make our way to you. Is Marques there?

Holy shit . . . yes, Marques is here.

I end the call and fall into a fast pace with Joe as we walk toward the entrance of the venue.

Jasmine, the girl . . . he begins.

I cut him off, I know who the fuck she is.

She’s Jasmine, but she says she’s not Jasmine, Joe continues.

What? I ask, losing what little patience I have left, with every word that comes out of his mouth.

She’s calling herself Danielle and talks about Jasmine like she’s another person. Then she goes back to saying she’s Jasmine and acts differently. It freaked me the fuck out, Joe says.

She has multiple personalities? I ask.

I don’t fucking know. I can’t take this crazy bitch back home if I don’t know where it is, and I can’t find the damn thing if I don’t know who she is, he snaps.

Jesus Christ.

We move quickly through the backstage crowd, and I give Joe directions to put everyone not in the inner circle on a bus back to Georgia as soon as possible.

Marques is leaning on the wall across from the dressing room door. His large arms are crossed against his chest, and he looks as though I asked him to babysit toddlers all night. The slightest change in his expression tells me something is amiss.

Well, if the big bad bodyguard isn’t here to save the day, Jasmine greets.

Immediately I notice she’s handcuffed with a table separating her from Hillary and Jamie.

How can I help you, Jasmine? I greet with no patience.

DO. NOT. CALL. ME. JASMINE.

Jasmine is the name you gave us. Isn’t Jasmine the name Kip knows you by? I ask.

She huffs and rolls her eyes. It’s disrespectful. I’m not that weak bitch.

I’m confused, I say.

Welcome to the fucking club, Jamie grumbles.

You’re fucking crazy. Aren’t you? I ask Jasmine, or Danielle, or whoever the fuck she is. I know it’s not couth, but I don’t feel like being nice. She’s giving me heartburn. I should be halfway to shutting this damn place down and getting rock stars back to Georgia. I’m fully aware that truly crazy people don’t know they’re crazy, but it’s always worth a shot.

She lets loose a laugh that’s scary and definitely crazy.

So who am I talking to?

The name smoothly rolls off her tongue, Danielle.

Where do you live, Danielle?

She laughs again and I look at Marques, who I’m pretty sure is planning on snapping her neck.

Wherever I want, she says.

That’s not an answer.

It’s the only one you’re going to get.

I could smack you around a little and see how forthcoming you’re feeling after a few minutes, I threaten.

Are you always such an asshole? she asks with a sly grin.

Mostly, yes.

I want to see Kip, she orders.

I’m not sure you understand the situation here, Danielle, Jasmine, whoever the fuck you are. You aren’t going to see Kip or anyone else beyond this room. You have two options. You can tell me truthfully where you live, or I’m going to make up some crazy shit about you when I take your ass to the nearest hospital. I will make sure they lock you up in the nuthouse for three days minimum. They’ll find out who you are and where you live. So we can do this the easy way or the hard way, it’s up to you.

At the mention of a psychiatric ward her eyes narrow. Surprise, surprise, she’s been there before.

No! she screams, startling me.

What the fuck? I should shoot her now and save us all the trouble. Disposing of a body is a lot easier than listening to this shit.

Weak, stupid little bitch, she yells.

Can I stab her? Jamie asks.

Yes, I answer.

She picks up her pen and leans across the table, but Marques stops her. The nutcase starts crying; her eyes are darting around the room with fear in them.

She came back, didn’t she? the girl asks.

Who came back? I ask.

Danielle, she answers.

I open my mouth to say something and promptly close it, because I think I can now say I’ve seen it all. What in the hell am I supposed to do with this one?

And you are? I ask.

Jasmine, she answers meekly, not making eye contact.

Shit house rat crazy, Hillary says and looks at the girl like she’s the eighth wonder of the world.

Where am I? Jasmine asks.

What’s the last thing you remember, darlin’? I ask.

I was shopping at the local store for food, she answers without meeting my eyes.

The girl is genuinely terrified. Where was the store?

Snowmass, Colorado.

You have no idea where you are? I ask.

No, she whispers and looks ashamed.

Is Jasmine your real name?

Ye . . . Yes. Who are you?

My name is Cory. I’m a security professional for Abandoned Shadow and Broken Access.

Her eyes light up. My friend, Kip, plays in Broken Access.

Yes.

He told you about me?

No.

I . . . I’m sorry. Where am I?

Austin.

Texas?

Yes.

What did she do? Jasmine asks as concern settles in her eyes.

I’m not sure, honey. What’s your last name and where are you from? There has to be someone who’s looking for you, I softly say.

My dad. His name is Jeffery Corners.

Do you have a number for him?

She nods her head and recites the number from memory. She took my medicine, she says to no one in particular.

Danielle?

Yes.

Hillary goes in for the kill, Jasmine, are you still alleging you engaged in sexual intercourse with Kip Paxton?

Hillary, I warn.

There’s awe in her voice. What? No. Kip is just my friend. He’s in love with Henley Hendrix. She’s so pretty. I wish I could be confident like her.

Kip

I HANG MY HEAD and bury my face in my hands. My shoulders are weighed down with a thousand pounds of shame, guilt, and pain. The look on her face each time she lifted her weapon of choice strikes a burning ache through my heart.

I remain in the dressing room all alone, waiting for the crew to announce it’s time to head to the bus. A sliver of my soul wants to take the first step down the path to redemption by seeking forgiveness from her. Another part of me hopes they never come and leave me to rot in this dressing room. The largest part of my soul is afraid to step onto the path paved with apologies and groveling. Fear of failure and rejection cover my conscience tightly, suffocating me.

I don’t deserve anyone’s sympathy. I fucked up. I committed the most unforgivable sin, the most abhorrent of all sins. I was unfaithful in my time of grief. Thoughts of accountability and the commitment I made to another human being didn’t factor into my actions. Only feelings that alternated between despair, anger, and numbness washed through me as I walked a path lit with the flames of purpose, the purpose of destruction.

A knock sounds at the door, but I’m too tired to raise my head. Another knock comes seconds before the door is opened. An announce­ment isn’t made, and the silence causes me to lift my head. I meet Cory’s eyes. They’re full of anger, frustration, and maybe even a bit of sadness. His sadness isn’t for me though. His sadness is for the one I betrayed. The only one who deserves sympathy or pity.

Get up, he says with impatience.

If he wants to fight, I’m not doing it in here. I think we should take this outside, I say as I stand.

No.

I stare at him for a moment, attempting to gauge his intentions.

No? I ask.

We have much bigger problems than we thought, he says.

I scoff, I seriously doubt it. I fucked up as badly as a man can. How can it be any worse?

Did you fuck her? Cory asks.

I think back to the morning I woke up with Jasmine wrapped around me. The taste of bourbon was old on my tongue and I was naked under the covers. She laid on my chest quietly asleep. Somewhere between sleep and consciousness, I thought she was Henley. When I leaned down to smell her hair, reality smacked me in the face. It wasn’t Henley.

I asked you a question, Cory glares at me.

I . . .

Did you fuck her? he asks between clenched teeth.

I guess . . . that’s what she said, right? I answer the best I can.

Do you have any memories of the act itself?

I . . . uh . . . no.

Tell me about Jasmine. I need to know everything you remember, he says.

What’s this about?

I’ll tell you that once I hear the story. Things may not be what they seem, but we’re dealing with a clusterfuck here and I need you to tell me everything from the beginning.

I run my hands through my hair and try to think back to where it all began.

Prior to the makeup tour

Kip

I TAKE ONE LAST look at her as she sleeps with Cash curled against her back, sleeping like the dead. She whimpers from the pain of her injuries and maybe the nightmares. I rethink my decision to leave, to leave her. I don’t know if I can do this. How am I supposed to leave her? I need her as much as I need to leave her. I can’t keep doing this to us. Neither of us can scream out as my mother’s demons slowly kill us and tear us apart. I’ve watched and felt those demons bring darkness to our lives and our relationship. If I don’t leave now, they’ll do irreparable damage to us both as individuals, but more to us as a unit. We’re best friends, lovers, partners-in-crime, and connected on some deep spiritual level I can neither explain nor at times fully understand. I know what I’ve always felt between us, and even more importantly, I know I feel the demons tearing it apart.

I need to put distance between us. We can heal individually and then come back together whole. This is life or death for me, for us. I don’t have the balls to tell her, to see her tears, to hear her pleas for me to stay. I take the coward’s path and write her a letter while she sleeps. I place it on my pillow and softly tell her I love her before I force myself to turn and walk away.

Henley,

I’ve tried for a week to tell you the things I need to say, but I could never find the words until last night. I sat up and watched you sleep while I wrote this. The words finally came to me, but I realized it wasn’t the words I couldn’t find that stopped me as much as it was my fear of telling you.

You used to tell me there was this darkness inside of you. A darkness you couldn’t escape from no matter how hard you tried. I now understand what darkness feels like. I thought I understood after Gary’s death and Beau’s shocking tale, but I had no idea the depths of which darkness can penetrate your soul.

For weeks I’ve watched you heal and itched to fly. If I could’ve sprouted wings and flown away for just a little while, it would’ve done the job; however, I can’t sprout wings and I can’t fly on my own. I can’t fly this out. I’m so lost in the clutches of the black poison that fills me that I can’t find solid footing. I lose time. My thoughts are my own worst enemy, taking away moments of life I should be living. Moments I should spend taking care of you.

My God, baby, my own mother shot you. The bullet wasn’t merely meant to wound but take your life. I don’t know what I would’ve done if she’d taken you from this world. At the same time, I’m filled with regret and shame that she reached the point of no return. I let her drag you into her sick world, and I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for that.

My thoughts often take me through the scenes that have played out in life over the last year, and I have a running list of all the things I could’ve done differently. Should’ve done differently. I know they say hindsight is twenty-twenty, but I find the old adage to be an understatement considering the magnitude of the ripple effect my failures have caused. I know where to place the blame, with Pam.

All I ever wanted was a safe home and you. It was always so simple in my mind, grow up and take control of my own life and win the girl. I won the girl, but now I can’t bear to look her in the eyes. The distance between us is wider than it has ever been. You’re quiet and in pain. You can’t scream at me about the woman who tried to murder you, because she’s my mother. You can’t talk about anything surrounding that day because everything that surrounds your pain, both physically and emotionally, stems from the woman who gave me life.

I can’t scream how much it hurts that my mother took her own life. I can’t tell you how the guilt eats away at me slowly, taking pieces of me one day at a time. I can’t tell you what it felt like when I saw the blood on your head, because for a moment I was certain you were dead. A gunshot wound to the head can only equate death, and even in the height of the moment I knew that. I never turned around to look at my own mother. I searched for your wounds until paramedics arrived to care for you. I was off the bus, walking after you when Cory stopped me.

You see, I left my own mother, dead on the bus. She came to me that day because she was too far gone, and I did nothing but push her over the edge. I wasn’t with her in thought or in spirit when she died, which is only an additional guilt added to a pile that has grown too large for me to manage anymore.

I need to scream and cry. I need to move from underneath the stares and whispers of concern and shock. I need you to heal both emotionally and physically. You can’t do that with me around. Neither of us can let it all out around the other; therefore, I’m taking a break from the world for a little while. I’m giving us both the opportunity to heal without the constant fear of overstepping a boundary neither of us is sure even exists.

I didn’t want to leave you while you were broken and fragile, but I’m so fucking shattered I can’t help you. I’m the last thing you need right now, no matter how much I want to be there. I love you Henley. I’ve always loved you. Please know you’ve done nothing wrong. This isn’t about you being an innocent bystander in a fucked-up situation. This is about us and my refusal to let her tear us apart any more than she already has.

My mother may have shot you and killed herself, but I still need to grieve her. She may have taken a lot from me, but she’s still my mother. I’m not sure where I’ll go. I need somewhere quiet where I can work through the nastiness that clouds my mind. I knew that you of all people would understand my need to flee.

You’ll be with me every step of the way. You’re always on my mind because you’ve ingrained yourself inside me. You flow through every beat of my heart, into my veins, and circulate through again ensuring you never leave me. You ensure you touch every part of me.

I’ll think of you every minute. I’ll wonder if you’re alright. I’ll wonder if you still love me. I’ll wonder if I can still have you when I work through this.

I love you, baby. I’ll be home as soon as I can.

Love always,

—Kip

I drive my car to a storage building I’ve had for years. It’s the same place I keep an old Harley Davidson I bought. If anyone comes looking for me, no one will think that I rode off on a motorcycle. I’d been by here days ago and attached saddlebags to the bike for my escape. I don’t know how long my journey will be or how many miles I will cover, but I wanted to be prepared to travel light.

I pull my car into the storage bay and transfer my belongings to the saddlebags. I lock the vehicle,