Tainted Shadow

By Sadie Haller

Tainted Pearl's lead singer has a stalker problem and bodyguard Brody Clarke doesn't think twice about cutting his vacation short when he's asked to protect her. 

Sparks fly—and not the good kind—when he rubs the rabidly independent rock star the wrong way. Now he needs to convince her that letting him be in control might just save her life. 

And if it has the side benefit of turning those sparks into a completely different kind of heat? Brody's up for that kind of dominance as well. 

This is a revised edition of Tainted Shadow with extensive new content.

• Language: English
• Publisher: QTP
• Release date: Jan 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9780995981119

Book preview

Prologue

Shit got real for Honeycunt when she stepped off the bus at the venue and saw the posters.

PEE PEE AND THE TESTICLES OF RAGE

With special guests

Tainted Pearl

Up until that moment, she’d been expecting someone to tell her it was all a cruel joke.

Nope. Not a joke.

They had a real chance to make something of themselves.

The band was escorted to their dressing room—one they didn’t even have to share. And the back of Honey’s neck tingled when she saw the sign with their band name on the door.

Okay, so it was only printed on paper rather than an engraved plate, but it was still their name on the door. She pulled out her phone and took a quick selfie with the sign for posterity.

A few hours later, as she was getting ready for the show, Honey realised that in her excitement, she’d left her lozenges on stage after sound check.

What the fuck are you doing? Daryn asked as Honey opened the dressing room door.

Going to grab my lozenges.

In just a thong?

Doors aren’t open yet. I’ll be quick, Honey said as she slipped out of the room and into the hallway.

It only took a few uneventful minutes to get to the stage, but just as Honey was turning the corner into the corridor that led back to the dressing room, she caught movement in the corner of her eye coming from the other direction. She turned her head to see a line of people with their backs to her shuffling into the green room.

She’d forgotten all about the meet and greet for Pee Pee and the Testicles of Rage.

Nobody seemed to notice her, so she carried on down the hall like she owned the place. Not that she would have cared if they had—she lived for shock value.

She turned to look back down the hallway as she entered the dressing room and saw the most fuckable man she’d seen in ages looking back at her.

Yum.

She made a mental note to keep an eye out for him at the after party—if he was at the meet and greet, he’d have access. And if he showed…they were both getting lucky.

Honey rejoined the rest of the band and finished getting dressed before going through her pre-show routine.

The walk from the dressing room to the stage was surreal. The atmosphere was electric, and the adrenaline high left no room for nerves.

From the view on stage, the crowd seemed endless. Honey knew these people were only here for Pee Pee and the Testicles of Rage, but she was determined to grab their attention and hold on tight.

She leaned into the mic. How the fuck are ya, Seattle?

The roar of the crowd sent more adrenaline coursing through her veins.

They started the night off with Dirty Angel. Her personal favourite and always a good one to get the crowd onside before disturbing the shit a little.

Well, you know we’re Tainted Pearl, but let me make the proper introductions. On bass over there, we have Boots O’Mara, she said, pointing to her right. On drums, we have Teagan Fitzpatrick and Idgie Carlisle, she continued, indicating each drummer in turn. Daryn Hawke on rhythm guitar and I’m Honeycunt—lead guitar and vocals. Honey immediately launched into the opening bars of the next tune and gloried in how quickly the audience moved past their shock and relaxed right back into the music. What an amazing crowd.

When their set was over, Honey stayed in the wings to watch the headliners. She wanted pick up performance tips.

Soak up the ambience.

Memorise everything about her first big show.

And learn to be be better.

By the time Honey and the rest of the band got to the bar for the after party, she was walking on air and totally wired with energy to burn.

She’d just climbed up on the bar to scan for Mr. Fuckable when Joan Jett’s Bad Reputation came on, and she just had to dance.

The song wasn’t even halfway through when the shit hit the fan.

Some guy had tried to stop another from touching her, and had taken quite a beating for his trouble before anyone really had a chance to step in.

It’s disturbing how little time it can take for a guy to get his nose busted and his head cracked open.

The next thing Honey knew, Mr. Fuckable and some other fella were there, holding the big jerk who started the whole mess. Without thinking, she marched over and punched that fucker in the face with everything she had.

Her fingers hurt like a son of a bitch, and she hoped she hadn’t done any serious damage, but it was totally worth it for the satisfaction of busting the bastard’s nose.

That was the last she saw of Mr. Fuckable.

Shaking her hand, she turned away and hurried over to where the injured man lay on the floor. Boots, she shouted, call 9-1-1 for an ambulance and the cops.

Kneeling down next to the guy on the floor, Honey peeled off her t-shirt and pressed it to the wound on his head. And somebody find me a fucking first aid kit.

Honey held his hand and did everything else she she could think of to make him comfortable until the ambulance came.

What’s your name, gorgeous? she asked.

Mike. Mike Rosswald.

I’m sorry you got messed up for being a decent guy.

It’s okay. If I had a do-over, I wouldn’t change a thing.

You’re a sweet man, Mike. Got a girlfriend?

Nah, I don’t have much luck with women.

I guess the right one just hasn’t come along yet. When she does, I hope she realises how lucky she is.

The ambulance arrived a few minutes later, and Honey insisted on riding along with Mike to the hospital.

Honey wasn’t allowed to stay with him while he was being checked over, so she went to find a vending machine.

As she reached up to push the door to the waiting room open, she caught sight of the dried blood on her hand and detoured to the nearest bathroom.

One look at her reflection in the mirror and she almost puked. She looked like something out of a slasher film. At least the bartender had found her a new staff t-shirt to cover up with after she’d used her own t-shirt on Mike.

After cleaning herself up as best she could without access to a shower, she called Biddy, who picked up right away. Hey, Honey. How is he?

They’re looking at him now. Any chance you could jump in a cab and bring me some clean clothes? I’m wearing so much blood, I could probably pass for Lizzie Borden.

Sure thing. They probably won’t let me in the ER, so I’ll text you from the waiting room.

Thanks. See you soon.

Her next call was to their manager.

What’s his fucking name? Owen bellowed through the phone.

Mike Rosswald.

Tell him not to worry, the fucking bill’s taken care of. Now get your fucking ass back to the fucking bus and stay out fucking trouble. Click.

Honey was grateful for Owen’s uncharacteristic brevity. She’d been prepared for a long, loud lecture.

As soon as she entered the ER, she was approached by a cop. Ms. Hunnicutt?

Yes.

I need a statement, then I can let you get back to Mr. Rosswald.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long, and by the time Honey returned to Mike’s bedside, the ER staff had stitched his head and set his broken nose.

Boots is going to be here in a bit with clean clothes for me. If you’re all fixed up and ready to go, we can drop you at home before we head back to the bus.

Nah, I’ve got a concussion, so they want to keep me in for the night.

Honey felt like shit.

Mike, your bill is taken care of. I just I wish I could stay until they let you out and then get you home, but—

No, don’t worry about it. There’s no need for you to hang around. I’m just gonna sleep anyway.

Tell you what, give me your contact information and I’ll make sure you get an all access crew pass for every tour.

That would be awesome. Mike wrote his details down and shot her a big goofy grin as he handed them to her.

It’s the least I can do. Get better soon, handsome, Honey said as she leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his temple.

Her phone buzzed, alerting her to a text.

Biddy.

I’ve gotta go. I’ll be in touch to see how you’re doing and I’ll see you next time we’re in Seattle.

Mike nodded as his eyes drifted shut.

One

Seattle Eight years later…

Mike’s funeral was well underway by the time Honey slipped through the side entrance of the church. Standing in the shadows, she scanned the room.

She still didn’t understand how he could be dead.

Gone in an instant.

A good, decent life snuffed out for doing nothing but trying to help someone in need.

Again.

There should be so many more people. The church should be full. It should be standing room only.

Instead, only the first few front pews were occupied.

She had mixed feelings over the pitiful turn out of mourners.

For his sake, She’d hoped for a huge turnout.

For hers, She was glad there wasn’t.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. The only reason she knew Mike was dead was because Tainted Pearl still received Mike’s medical bills—that was something Honey and the rest of the band had been adamant about—and Owen gave her the news. He also ordered her to steer clear of he funeral. Send flowers if you must, but to stay the fuck away. His exact words.

She sent flowers. And donations to the requested charity. She’d even set up a small bursary in his name at the local junior college he’d attended. But there was no way she’d stay away from his funeral.

Owen had to know that. But he also had to cover his own ass.

She looked around again at those assembled to remember Mike Rosswald. Truly, there should have been more human beings in the world affected by his loss. He was a good, sweet man. She knew he had a crush on her, but he’d never let it get in the way of their friendship, for want of a better term.

She feel terrible for not getting to know him better.

They only ever hung out when Tainted Pearl played Seattle and he made use of his pass. And while she made an extra effort to give him as much of her time as she could, it wasn’t much and they never really talked about meaningful things. She knew he was an electrician and where he’d gone to school. She also knew he played in a darts league. But he never gave much of an opening to ask him about the more personal stuff, like family, every day life, what made him happy. Instead, he peppered her with questions. He wanted to know about life as a musician. What it was like on the road, how they come up with our songs, what inspires her, that kind of stuff.

He never talked about a girlfriend and she never asked after that awful night, all those years ago. She’d like to think if he had someone special in his life, he’d have at least mentioned her. And that made Honey feel even more sad.

If he had to die, he should have at least had luck with a woman first. Someone in his life to make him happy.

A tear slid down her cheek. It was all too much and she fled for home.

Two

Four weeks later…

Honey handed Biddy a glass of water and settled next to her on the sofa.

You look like shit. What’s going on?

I’m pregnant.

You have got to be fucking kidding me. Honeycunt was incredulous. As if a busted arm wasn’t disaster enough, Biddy was going to have a baby?

She reined in her frustration when she saw the tears welling up in her friend’s eyes and pulled Biddy into her arms, holding her tight.

I’m sorry, sweetie. I should have handled that better. When did you find out?

About an hour ago. I came straight here from the doctor’s office. I went in for my yearly and to get my arm checked over and came out pregnant.

I thought you had an IUD.

I do. We even used condoms, but one broke and I didn’t think anything of it because it only happened once and I thought I was covered.

I always knew you were one in a bajillian. I guess it’s a bit early for you to have made a decision on how to handle it, then.

I’m keeping it.

Not what Honeycunt wanted to hear at all. What about the father?

Biddy pulled away and shot her a pointed look. There is no father.

How the fuck were they going to manage with a pregnant bass player? Or worse, what if Biddy decided not to do the tour and they had to find a new bassist on no notice?

Okay. We’ll make it work.

Actually, their manager would make it work. And there was nothing that could stop her from being in the room with Owen when Biddy broke the news.

Fuck, the entertainment value in that would be more than worth the