World Tour

By Sandra Alex

His fingers bled. Her body healed. It was more than a scalped concert ticket. It was a life change.

Diana Shaw is every parent’s dream. She’s a straight A student, loved by great friends, keeps her nose clean with boys, and sings in the church choir with her mother, while her father watches proudly from the pew. Diana is sunshine and happiness to most, until her life is torn apart over an eighteen month stretch of nightmarish treatment, which she tells nobody about. Until someone makes a gruesome discovery after a concert one night. Can she go against everything she believes in and lie, or does she tell a total stranger the truth and risk everything?

Danny Spellman is the lead guitarist for the popular and long-running band ‘Risk It’. Female fans adore him, male fans want to be him, and his bonds with his band members are strong and fruitful. In the business ten years and running strong, on the last night of the band’s world tour, Danny meets a little wallflower that notices something about him that nobody else has. Intrigued, Danny pushes her, testing her limits, until he learns something about her that both terrifies and infuriates him all at the same time.

With a sudden shift of the testosterone level in his house, Danny finds himself comforting Diana, befriending her, and learning things about the female species that he would never have guessed. And just when Danny thinks that Diana’s innate strength is something gleaned through heartache, she invites him to church, to hear her sing. Feeling like he’s discovered the next big thing, Danny is feverishly on the phone with his producer and recording company. Little does he know that he’s stirring the pot with someone he least expects to be watching. And the gunshot is the telling tale.

Loaded with tons of emotion and inspiration, this rock star romance will leave readers looking at the music industry and the artists in a whole different light. Like in real life, things are not always as they seem in a rock star’s life. We sometimes forget that these people are human. This book reminds us of that.

HEA (Happily Ever After)
Rock star romance
Physical abuse (non-descriptive)
Medium heat
Violence
Course language
Fourth book in a standalone series
Sneak peek into 'First Cut'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Alex
• Release date: Oct 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781989427538

Sandra Alex

Meet your next book boyfriend.Love stories that could actually happen.About the AuthorSandra Alex introduces the Ford brothers. Five sexy, rich, swoon-worthy men that will make your toes curl. Each book features one sibling. This sizzling series will knock your socks off!Proceed with Caution:"White knight, prince charming romance. This book was an awesome read. I enjoyed every page. Who doesn't love a prince charming and white knight! I liked the story, the characters, how it was written, the hot scenes and the HEA. I'll be reading more from this author." -5 stars from M. Hebert on Goodreads and BookBubEnter at Your Own Risk:"This book was a great read! I loved the main characters and how they were able to deal with what life threw at them. Sexual situations that were steamy and hott! Relatable heroine. I wanted to cheer for them as a couple. Bridezilla was funny too!" - 5 stars from C. Kasner on GoodreadsHandle with Care:"This poignant story draws you in and touches your heart. Garrett and Nora are a testament that true love never dies." - 5 Stars from M. Jelks-Emmanuel on GoodreadsJoin Sandra's newsletter to get an exclusive prequel and an extended epilogue, plus other....treats.Visit https://www.sandraalexbooks.com to subscribe.

Book preview

World Tour

A Rock Star Romance Series

Sandra Alex

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ISBN 978-1-989427-53-8

ISBN 978-1-989427-54-5

Copyright © 2021 Sandra Alex

All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

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

First Cut

Keep in Touch

Other Books in this Series

First Cut – Sample

Did You Enjoy This Book?

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Danny

There’s this chick in the front row on my side. She’s literally climbing onto the shoulders of this other girl, who looks like she’s about to tumble underfoot, and it makes me shake my head, smiling. Chicks are nuts. They will do anything to get any of us to look at them. I watch as I sing backup and get ready for my guitar solo, as she stretches her arms right out, almost touching the security guard whose back is to me, and I want to throw her a bone, but I’m afraid. Last time I did that, the chick nearly pulled me right into the crowd of screaming women. I would have been trampled.

The nutty girl managed to smuggle her camera into the stadium, and I look right at her and smile as she snaps a shot of me, just before I do my solo. Kicking ass with my axe, my fingers tap down the neck of my guitar, and I can feel the vibe all over my body, and the fans love it. It’s such a rush. Guitar geeks are eying me from the side mosh pit, and I feel like I’m totally in my element. Like I have been since the moment I picked up a guitar at the age of ten. After my solo ends, it’s break time for me, and I sneak out the tiny door at the side of the stage, while Phil does his drum solo, as we do a little segue into the last leg of the performance.

We’ve been all over the world this past year. Met a whole bunch of people, half I can’t remember the names of, but that’s my manager’s job. This is our last stop before the tour ends. I had my mechanic arrange to drop off my Lamborghini at the stadium, because I couldn’t stand another minute on a plane or tour bus. I’m driving my baby home tonight.

Yo, Danny! Booker calls. He’s our lead vocalist.

Yeah, I mutter over the din of the drums and the screaming fans behind us, as I walk into the green room and down an entire bottle of water.

Your roadie’s looking for you.

His name is Tex, asshole. I chide.

What the fuck kind of name is that, anyway? Booker whines.

Same kind of name as ‘Booker’, man. I volley back.

He ignores my jibe. Yeah, but is it short for something?

"It’s just a nickname. I don’t know what his real name is. What’s the difference? He’s not your roadie, stupid."

Again, he ignores me. Sometimes Booker is really in his own little world. Probably short for Warren or something equally nerdy.

Nerdy? Don’t you think ‘Booker’ is nerdy? I chuckle, as Tex strolls into the greenroom. I look at him. Hey, man. I’ve got like two minutes until I’m back on stage. What’s up? Booker says you were looking for me?

Tex shrugs. Yeah, man, I just wanted to know what chicks you wanted me to round up for you.

Typically, I have Tex or one of our security guys pick me up some entertainment for after the show. Since this is our last show, it’s a pretty special night, and I know that Booker and the other guys are doing the exact same thing. In fact, I know that Kramer, our bassist, is off getting a blow job in one of the camps under the stage right now. I know because I saw him picking up a chick that his roadie scrounged up for him during his solo earlier.

Yeah, first row. I answer. Two chicks are standing right there. One’s got a huge set of tits, no bra, white tank top, and the other one I couldn’t really see, but she’s got a red shirt on. Cute as hell. Young. I say, wiggling my brows.

Got it. Tex nods, trotting away.

Roadies hand out backstage passes to the chicks or sometimes the dudes at our request. Guitar geeks I throw a bone to here and there, especially when they’re younger, and they look like they’re totally fucking mesmerized by what I’m doing. I’ve been there. That’s one of the ways I got to where I am. Those are the kids who follow my every move and I owe them dearly for it, so I allow them backstage and pay my dues. No other guitarist ever gave me the same respect when I was a kid. But here I am, at any rate. And I don’t forget that.

You gonna do her in your Lamborghini, man? Booker asks, smirking, almost wistful, as if he wishes he’d thought of the same thing.

We’ll see how hot she is.

You say there are two of them?

Forget it, man. I’m not fucking sharing.

I wasn’t suggesting that, jerkwad. Booker scoffs. I was going to ask if you’re going to do them together.

Maybe. They’re both pretty young, though.

Hey, this is a sold-out show, man. Think of what they already had to do to get up front. Assuming they aren’t celebrities.

Nobody I know. Nothing like that here tonight, or we’d have already met them before the show.

Booker clucks his tongue. Exactly. He winks at me righteously. How young do you think they are?

Booker has a penchant for younger chicks. I just figure if they’re desperate enough to form a human pyramid amidst a mosh pit mob, they earned themselves a visit backstage. I’m not partial to age, but both girls are pretty cute. If they’re game, hell, I am, too. Dunno. Sixteen? Eighteen, maybe?

Yo, fucking robbing the cradle tonight, my man. Booker high fives. We’re both twenty-six. Just make sure that they aren’t under sixteen. Remember what happened to Jughead last year.

Yeah, don’t sweat it, man. I’ll be careful. Jughead, a former band member, got stuck with a statutory rape charge last year. Fucking ruined him. That’s one of the reasons why he left the band. Couldn’t take the heat from the press. That’s the trouble with some of our fans; they’re young. Too young. With us being in our mid-twenties, we tend to attract that market, especially females. Our type of rock music is catchy, sexy, and stuff that you can dance to, so we have a mixed bag of males, females, guitar dudes who get a hard-on over my playing, and chicks who seem to love me and Booker.

You would think that with a name like Booker, that he would be seen as a geek, but not our lead vocalist, oh no, he’s furthest from that. Buddy wears skin-tight jeans with holes in conspicuous places, he’s built like a brick shithouse with a six pack and everything. The guy’s been a kickboxer since he was ten. Sure, he was a choirboy, that’s how he picked up the pipes, but he also won a few titles in kickboxing while winning chick’s hearts over in the junior high choir and in church.

Why the chicks come after me, I have no idea. I’m not built like Booker, that’s for sure, I mean, I barely work out, but I suppose all the muscles I use when I have to position myself to hit those chords during my licks is what caused the tone in both my guitar and in my body. And since I do everything except sleep and shower with a guitar in my hand, I can thank that for keeping me in shape. Plus, we don’t just stand there on stage and play. It’s a two and a half hour goddamn workout. We’ve been on a world tour for the past eight months, doing shows nearly every other night…so, active? Oh yeah, we’re nothing but active between shows, rehearsals and soundchecks.

Nick, our road manager, walks in and whistles. You’re up! he says, reminding us that we have a show to finish, and that Phil’s solo is wrapping up. I forgot to piss, so I’m fucking mad at myself now. No more breaks until the end of the show and we’ve got another twenty minutes to go, plus an encore, and then meet and greets. Sighing, I jog back up the stairs with Booker in tow. The main lights are off, just the spotlights highlighting Phil are on, so the audience doesn’t see us climbing back on stage. Grabbing my other guitar from my technician off to the side, I sling it over my shoulder, as we break into one of our last songs of the night.

As we sing one of our fan favorites, the crowd goes wild. Booker, with balls the size of dump trucks, goes to the center of the stage, right at the tip, as he gyrates and grinds his hips into the air, driving the chicks nuts. They reach out and try to touch him, and he lowers his fingertips so a few can actually make slight contact, as I continue with my riffs, and Kramer walks over to me, playing his bass alongside. When we hit a point where he breaks for a few seconds, he pulls a bra off my mic stand and hangs it around my neck. Smiling, I lift my head, still playing, and I hear squeals and screams of joy from the floor.

Our encore is well received, and we all gather at the front of the stage, including Phil, who we bring down from behind his drum kit, joining hands and bowing, while fans scream so loud, I swear the roof of this place will come down. They know that this is the last show until our next tour, and it’s bittersweet. We had a fantastic world tour, with almost no hiccups, which is great, considering it was our first world tour. To thank for that is the awesome team of about a hundred that we have on staff. Between security, lighting, stage, management and road crew, we all took our part.

The next tour will be even bigger, and I hope to get started right after we record our album, which we’ve been jamming out between performances. Murphy, our producer and Leonard, our engineer, are itching to get us back into the recording studio. Murphy has joined us for the bulk of our shows on this tour, which is new. He had previous commitments with other artists for most of our other tours, but this one, he just about cleaned his slate, only flying back to LA here and there. Truth be told, I think he’s dialing down a notch, and not taking on more clients is a clear indicator of that. I still haven’t figured out why he’s come down a peg or two, but I’ll get into that later.

Stepping off stage, we can hear the crowd still roaring, hoping for a second encore, and we look at each other, knowing that this wasn’t part of the plan.

What do you think, guys? Booker asks, with a telling look on his face. The man can’t get enough of being on stage, and that’s why he’s our lead singer. Me, I love playing the guitar, day or night, so I’m game whenever he is. Kramer and Phil need a little coaxing.

Come on, man. It’s our last show. I say, patting Kramer on the shoulder. Let’s do ‘Leader’. I suggest. ‘Leader’ is a softer tune, that will likely calm the crowd some, although, the same sentiment left the audience roaring last month, since the song hit number one. No matter, because the entire record hit platinum just before.

Fine. We’ll do ‘Leader’. Phil says, surprising me. He’s usually the one who wants to hit the bottle right after a show, especially on the last night.

I look at Kramer. You game, man?

He shakes his head, pinching his lips into a smile. Fine. Let’s do ‘Leader’.

Signalling to the head of our stage team, we let them know that we’re going back for a second encore, which isn’t necessarily unexpected. We like to give our fans what they want. If they want another encore, so be it. It’s funny because they know it. They know that we’ll come back out if they scream loud enough, and man, they sure are. Laughing inwardly, I grab my other guitar from my technician off to the side, and he knows it, too. It’s funny how we’re all practically reading each other’s minds. But we’re veterans now, I suppose.

Like they couldn’t get any louder, the screams go to yet another extreme as the lights come back up again and we start playing ‘Leader’. We meant to add the song into our list when it hit number one, but I suppose this is why we didn’t. It gives us our edge. Our reason to come back again, giving our fans what they want. Booker has the audience join us singing the chorus by sticking the mic up in the air and letting them take over. The smile on his face is a mile wide and it’s contagious.

When he claps high in the air, overhead, they follow along, and as the song comes to a close, they’re all clapping in the air, as Phil’s drum beat carries on, repeating the last verse of the song over and over, like it’s never going to end, making fans love us more and more, and I feel it. It’s such a great sensation, the love and respect that these people have for us. It’s wild and has become my reason for working as hard as I do. It’s no longer just for my love of music, but for our fan’s love, too.

We lift our hands, waving, hearing them whistle and shout as we leave the stage, for real this time. And Nick throws us towels to dry off as we enter the green room for a two minute breather before the meet and greets. I’m soaked from the ass down, making it look like I’ve pissed myself, which I might as well have, since my bladder is still full. Yo, I have to take a leak. I say, not giving a shit if I get looks. There’s no point meeting people if you’re going to be standing around, dancing because you’re about to explode.

When I get back, Nick is urging me along, as the other guys have already left. I throw a shirt over my head after drying my chest and back off, and running the towel through my hair, too. It’s like I took a shower, only I didn’t, and I have the body odor to prove it. Bearing that, I grab my bag and shove the deodorant stick in my armpits quickly, before tossing it back into my bag and running for the hallway, where fans await.

The two crazy chicks that were making the human pyramid are in sight, both carrying backstage passes around their necks. The one in the red shirt looks like she’s a wallflower, cowering off to the side, as her big-busted friend takes pictures of her with Kramer, Phil and Booker. The wallflower sees me and smiles quickly, shyly, but turns her gaze back to the camera. Big boobs sees me after taking the shot and motions me to join in on the photo. Tex offers to take a shot of all of us, and we oblige.

Big boobs pushes the wallflower closer to me, and I rest my hand on her shoulder. She’s all but shrinking beside me, scared as hell, while big boobs has her arms around both Booker and Phil, like a rose between two thorns. I think she even pinches Booker’s ass, because he lets out a little squeal and then invites them backstage into the green room. And that’s when the little wallflower’s face turns pale as a ghost. It’s okay. We won’t bite. I say, wiggling my brows at her. Sometimes that little, subtle gesture is all it takes for them to loosen up. Not her. She looks the other way, but her friend catches on, and gives her an admonishing look.

Nick shows the girls to the green room, while we continue with the rest of the meet and greets. Turns out, an actor was in the crowd tonight, and he high fives me. Should I tell him that I have no idea who the fuck he is? He goes on and on, with ten times more ego than Booker, boring the shit out of me, but I keep my manners, and I notice that Phil takes interest in him, so I let Phil take the reigns. He asks for a picture of us all, and as we walk away from him, I ask Nick. Who the hell was that clown?

He names the actor, who has been in several movies, none that I’ve seen. Oh, okay. I nod blankly.

You still have no idea who he is do you. Nick chuckles.

Not a fucking clue. I admit, laughing.

Booker confronts me before we head back to the green room. Yo, I want the blonde, man, you cool with that? A common question to ask after a show. I peek to the left, just outside the green room. There is a line up of girls. There is a din of conversation, but mostly it’s chicks touching up their lip gloss, fussing with their hair, and eying us from the door, in a way that says anything goes. There are at least a dozen blondes, but I’m guessing that he’s referring to big boobs from earlier.

Yeah, sure man. Whatever. I answer, scanning the supply for tonight. The trashy look doesn’t cut it for me, and most of them look just like that. Bleached hair, some with long, some short, some with jagged styles from a crimping iron. Almost all of them are in skimpy skirts, some leather, and it reminds me of a burlesque show. The only chick that really pulls any interest from me is the one who isn’t looking in my direction. Her eyes are trained on a poster on the wall of me, Booker, Phil and Kramer. It’s a promo shot that was done for the tour, caught behind plate glass, nailed to a sleeve on the wall, making it easy to slide out and replace with a poster of the next band to play here.

She’s dressed in a jean skirt, not tawdry or tight, and a tasteful red blouse. Her hair is long and brown and flows down to her waist. It’s one length, and she has a comb holding up one side, while the other side softly sweeps across her face. Angelic, she’s wearing nothing but a smidgen of red lip gloss, with short, red nails polished red to match. When she sees me, she trains her gaze back on the poster. Her friend stands next to her, but quickly abandons her as Booker approaches.

I hate that poster. I comment to her. I like the one on the dust sleeve better.

The one where you’re holding your guitar? she asks, nodding.

Yeah. I always look better when I’m holding my guitar. I say, as I slide my guitar strap over my head. Chris, one of my guitar techs, not the one that was on stage, takes it from me. Thanks, man. I say, nodding to him.

Two other girls burst in next to us, interrupting, introducing themselves and basically drooling all over me. Trying to be polite, I pose for pictures with them, while the wallflower tries not to stare as she stands off to the side. I can tell that she has a crush on me, but she’s not making it obvious like these girls. She’s as cute as hell, but I’m not sure how old she is, so I’m reluctant to put my usual moves on her. These other girls are definitely over legal age, so it’s cool. But my gaze keeps going over to the wallflower, even though I know that I can bang these other two chicks, probably together, tonight.

Big boobs walks over to the wallflower and whispers something to her. Wallflower nods, but her face is set, and as she watches her friend trot away with Booker, her expression slips a notch. She’s been ditched. While these two girls claw away at my chest, I notice that instead of getting a hard-on, it feels more like I’m catching a rash, and I paste on a smile. Would you girls excuse me for a minute?

Sure. One says, but the pout is obvious, and for some reason, tonight, it makes my skin crawl.

As I approach, I see Booker creep out from the back room where he went with Big Boobs. He wiggles his finger at me, motioning for me to come here, so he can tell me something. I take steps towards him, as he leads me out of earshot. What’s up, man? You need something? I ask.

Booker leans in. Hey, man, this little nerd here is fucking in love with you. Her friend says so. She says that if you take her for a ride in your Lamborghini, that she’ll fucking blow you, man. She told me to tell you that.

I look the wallflower up and down. She’s trying to blend in with the other giggly girls, but failing miserably. No, man. That chick’s as scared as a fucking rabbit, and probably like fifteen, with my luck.

No, man, I asked. She’s nineteen. She just…dresses young.

I lift a brow. Usually girls in that age bracket dress to look older, not younger. Are you sure?

Yeah, man, it’s cool. Why don’t you take her for a spin and get some head, and then come back and see what these other chicks want to do?

I nod reluctantly. Yeah, okay. But after months on the road, all I really want to do is go home. If I head to my Lambo, I’m out of here. I just choose not to tell Booker that.

Oh, and they’re local, man. So don’t sweat it. Booker adds, as if that makes a difference. We’ve fucked chicks from all over the fucking world and it’s never made a difference.

I scrunch my face, but Booker ignores the expression, walking back into the room. The wallflower glances at me from the corner of her eye, but then averts her gaze back to the girls, trying to show interest in what they’re saying. I decide to go for nonchalant. Hey, I want to show you something. I say to the wallflower, and I take her hand in mine, as we walk away from the other girls. Her hand is like fucking ice, and she’s as tense as hell. There is no way in hell that this girl is up for what Booker said.

We walk out of the green room, to the hallway that leads to the back of the stadium, and she says nothing but follows me obediently. Is your friend giving you a ride home? I ask conversationally.

No, her…boyfriend dropped us off. She stammers.

What time’s he supposed to be picking you up?

I don’t know. She said that she would call him.

Her boyfriend isn’t going to kill her for fucking around with Booker, is he?

Not if she doesn’t tell him. she says, matter-of-factly.

"Does she fuck around on him as a rule, or is this just because we’re in town?"

Take a guess. She scoffs, and it’s the first time that she shows any sign of loosening up.

You have a boyfriend? I ask, smiling at her.

She smiles slightly in return, but she doesn’t answer, and we reach the door leading outside to my car, so I leave it alone.

You like Lamborghinis? I ask, gesturing towards my red baby parked outside.

A nod. I unlock the door for her, and she slides inside.

Feel like going for a ride? I ask, as I sit in my baby for the first time in months. You can’t wipe the smile off my face.

Another nod. Her face is taught, but I can tell that she’s impressed by the wheels, because she keeps looking around.

Hey, what’s your name? I ask, looking at her, trying to figure her out.

Diana. She answers.

Cool. Named after a princess. I comment. You know that I’m Danny, right?

She giggles and smiles. Of course.

I shake her hand, almost in jest. Nice to meet you.

Another nod. Nice to meet you.

I slide my key into the ignition and turn the engine, leaning my head against the steering wheel. Oh, man, that sound is almost as beautiful as my fucking guitar. I kiss the steering wheel before lifting my head. God…damn did I miss you, girl.

Diana giggles again.

You think that’s funny? I tease. I haven’t sat in this baby in over eight months. Aside from my red guitar, this is my favorite thing.

She smiles and I reach over and touch her face. Her gaze meets mine, but there is something behind her eyes that I can’t decipher. Your friend told Booker that you were into some stuff…you know…that you wanted to do with me. I state in a low, sultry voice, wondering if this whole shy thing is just an act. Some girls like to play shy, but then they’re animals in the sack.