Hard Rock Remix Read online




  Hard Rock Remix (The Lonely Kings, #2) (New Adult Romance)

  by Ava Lore

  Published by Brittle Divinity Press, 2013.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  HARD ROCK REMIX (THE LONELY KINGS, #2) (NEW ADULT ROMANCE)

  First edition. September 28, 2013.

  Copyright © 2013 Ava Lore.

  Written by Ava Lore.

  Other Contemporary Romances by Ava Lore

  The Lonely Kings

  Hard Rock Arrangement (The Lonely Kings, #1) (New Adult Romance)

  Hard Rock Remix (The Lonely Kings, #2) (New Adult Romance)

  Standalone

  The Billionaire's Wife (The Complete Series) (A BDSM Erotic Romance)

  The Billionaire's Muse (The Complete Series) (A BDSM Erotic Romance)

  Watch for more at Ava Lore’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  To my fans--

  Everything is possible because of you.

  Chapter One

  It was my wedding day, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  I sat in room 202 of the Lake Zion Motel, my shoes pinching my feet and the collar of my wedding dress closing around my throat like a hangman’s noose. Sweat poured from every pore, trickling in rivulets along my ribs, and my pounding heart screamed in my chest, beating against my breast as though it could escape the confines of my body.

  A burst of hairspray around my coiffed hair momentarily choked me as my sister Evangeline struggled to contain each flyaway strand. It wasn’t working, and she sighed with frustration.

  “I wish your hair were as obedient as you,” Mother Ruth said. She sat in one of the armchairs, slowly waving a huge white fan. The air conditioning in the room was out. It was a hot, sunny day in Salt Lake City, and I was about to be married to a man forty years my senior whom I had never met.

  I kept my face schooled and sweet as I perched on the edge of the motel bed, but inside I was screaming.

  On the other bed, Rachel was actually screaming.

  “I won’t!” she shrieked. “I won’t marry him!”

  Her sisters and mothers fluttered around her, vainly attempting to placate her, reminding her of her duties, of the fires of hell that awaited her if she didn’t marry her step-father.

  The perverse thought, At least you know your husband, crossed my mind. I only knew my intended through private rumors and public reputation. The public reputation was impeccable. The private rumors chilled me to the bone.

  I kept my gaze firmly ahead of myself, a small smile on my lips, as though this were the happiest day of my life and I couldn’t wait to be married. That was what it was supposed to be, and I had become good at playing the game. Everyone thought I would be the perfect wife, mother, and bride. No one thought I wanted to escape.

  I knew that was my only cover. My outer shell smiled.

  Trapped inside, the real me screamed and screamed.

  Run.

  I forced myself to be still, to not panic. This was my last chance. I had to do it now, or I would be dragged back to the ranch, and then I would never get out. Miles of deserted prairie scrubland lay between the ranch and the nearest city, and anyone walking those flat expanses would be easy to spot.

  I had to find my opening. I was easy to spot in my homemade prairie wedding dress and long poofed hair, but I’d rather be a moving target than a lamb led to slaughter. I wouldn’t give in, and I wouldn’t give up.

  There was a life out there that I wanted, and once I made my move I wasn’t going to stop until I had it.

  But when could that move be made? That was the question, and as the answer eluded me, my stomach twisted tighter and tighter.

  Evangeline finally finished fussing with my hair and doused me with another dose of hairspray. I started to cough, my stomach turning from the stench. Rachel was still screaming and I was developing a headache. I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to think straight. If I could just get some air...

  “Get away!” The clock radio on the side of the other bed went flying across the room, smashing into the wall in a hundred pieces. Everyone flinched and Rachel took the opportunity to tear out of her mother’s iron grip and race into the bathroom. The door slammed, and she locked it behind her.

  Rachel’s mother, just as much a screamer as her daughter, leapt up from the bed, charged over to the door, and began to kick it. “Your husband will not tolerate this behavior!” she screeched.

  You would know, I thought. He’s your husband too. The sound of her voice grated over me, but then Mother Ruth stood up and bustled over to the crowd around the bathroom door.

  And there it was.

  Evangeline was watching the show, transfixed, the can of hairspray still in her hand. I didn’t have to pretend to feel ill when I grabbed her sleeve and looked up at her. I just let my true feelings show through. She glanced down at me and gasped.

  “Anna!” she said. “Are you all right?”

  “I have a headache,” I said. “I need to get some air.” I tried to look sick. I didn’t have to try very hard.

  “Of course, of course,” she said. She helped me up and I stumbled to the door. She made a movement as though to come with me, but then another scream from the bathroom caught her attention. She glanced away from me, and I saw my opening.

  I tried to put my sweet face on as I reached out and touched her arm. She looked back to me, distracted. “Go comfort Sister Rachel,” I said to her. “I’ll be fine.”

  The lie was a burning brand on my soul. Evangeline was a kind, gentle girl. She was going to get in trouble if I escaped. But if I got caught, we would both be in trouble, and I would be married.

  Put your own mask on before assisting others. The thought flitted through my head. It was an evil thought, one from the outside world, a thought I’d stolen away in private moments, but I clung to it. I had to take care of myself first. Then I could fight for my sisters—the ones that could still be saved, that is.

  Evangeline had no idea what I was thinking, though, and she thrived on drama. She loved to play the part of sweet savior, the girl who intervened and calmed people down, and I saw no point in depriving her of the pleasure, not when she was about to be in so much trouble. She gave me a sweet smile and nodded.

  Then she turned away and I was alone in a room full of people. Alone at the door.

  With shaking fingers I pushed down on the latch and let myself out.

  The oppressive heat of late June engulfed me. It was worse here than it was back in Arizona and it did nothing to ease my headache, but my already pounding heart beat faster. Swallowing hard, I stepped out onto the balcony running in front of the rooms. To my right was room 201, the room where the weddings were to take place. Beyond that, the stairs to the ground floor. Stationed at the foot of the stairs, two men.

  For a moment I wavered. I had no plan, and it had been foolish to think that I could just walk down the stairs and into a new life. No, I had to be cleverer than that.

  At the sound of the door, one of the men in the parking lot looked up. I saw him from the corner of my eye, but I was determined not to act suspicious. I cl
osed my eyes and took three deep breaths, trying to calm my stomach and clear my head. Then I turned deliberately to my right and walked away from the stairs.

  I strolled, keeping my footsteps measured and slow even though everything in me screamed at me to run. But I knew that running attracted attention. Running would get me caught. If I was going to get away, I had to be slow. I had to be sweet. I had to be everything they wanted, up until the last moment.

  I plastered a smile on my face and folded my hands in front of me—or so it would look from the ground. My right hand, exposed to the world, behaved as expected. My left hand—the devil’s hand—did not. I was divided into two people, but it had always been that way, even before my mother dragged us into this terrible life. The one in the open, and the one in secret.

  My secret hand leaped from my side and touched the lever of the door to room 203.

  Locked.

  I had no idea what I was doing. Perhaps there was no way out. But if I could find an unlocked room... I didn’t know. Maybe I could figure something out from there. Crawl into the air vents. Leap out the window. Something.

  Sweat trickled down my spine. My face stayed sweet. My left hand reached for the next door.

  Room 204. Locked.

  My feet were numb. My face was numb. I hurt from smiling, my jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth would crack and break.

  Of course the doors were locked. Who wouldn’t lock their door? And maybe there were only church members here anyway. If I walked into a room that had a church member in it, I was doomed. They’d find me. I’d never escape then.

  But I had no other options.

  Room 205. Locked.

  There were only twenty rooms in the motel. I only had five rooms left to me. My heart trembled and I thought, faintly, that perhaps I should go back. Perhaps I should get married. If there was no open door, then God did not want me to leave. If there was no open door, I needed to turn back and face my fate. Face my time. Face my all eternity.

  I didn’t really believe in God. I never had. But now I prayed. If He existed, I’d be covering all my bases.

  Room 206. Locked.

  The sting of tears in my nose. A lump in my throat. The heat buried me, filled my head, smothered me.

  Room 207. Locked.

  My smile stayed plastered on my face, my sweet face that showed nothing of what I was truly feeling inside, but the sting of tears grew sharper, harder. I blinked, willing the heat of the day to whisk away the moisture from my eyes and not betray me.

  Do not waver. Do not stray. This is your last chance.

  I could always kill myself, of course. If I didn’t find an unlocked room, if I reached the end of the balcony, I could simply fall against the railing, fold myself up, and plummet the quick fifteen feet to the ground head first. No eternity for me then.

  My eyes fixated on the railing ahead of me. My left hand floated out.

  Room 208. Locked.

  I’m going to die, I thought. I’m really going to die.

  A curious calm stole over me. I was going to die. I would rather die than be subject to the man I was supposed to marry.

  The knowledge was a shield against the fear.

  Room 209. Locked.

  My last moments on earth. The sun shone. The sky was blue. My skin was hot and my heart was cold. There was no one here to comfort me in my final hour. The ridiculous thought, that my smashed skull would ruin all the hard work Evangeline had put into my hair, began to circle around inside my head, and it was so absurd that I found a grin on my face. Perhaps I would go out smiling after all.

  Room 210.

  Unlocked.

  My heart jumped straight into my mouth at the give of the latch and the click of the door. I barely believed what my own body was telling me. On autopilot, my hand grew heavier and the latch moved downward, until at last the door swung open, silently.

  The sour smell of alcohol slapped me in the face, and the light of the sunny day fell across the bed.

  There was a lump under the blankets. Someone was here. Someone I didn’t know. Were they church? Were they Gentile?

  It didn’t matter. This was my only chance. On muffled feet, feet that had carried me silently through groaning houses and creaking trailers, I slipped between the door and the frame, blocking the light of the sun, and then shut the door behind me, plunging the room into darkness.

  * * *

  The dam of numbness broke under the force of my panic. Away from prying eyes, away from my family, hidden in shadow, my real self came out. I came out.

  And I was terrified. What have I done?

  My family. My mothers, my sisters, my brothers—I’d left them.

  Horror swept over me. I’d left my sisters to their husbands and our father, my brothers to be abandoned on the highway, my mothers to be forever bound to my father through this life and through all of eternity...

  No. No, I didn’t believe in eternity. I didn’t believe in any of it. There was no life beyond, no God, and even if there was, He would not be so cruel as to seal our family together until the end of time. Not even in Hell would such a punishment be justified.

  I’d done only what I needed to do. Only what I had to do to survive. That’s what I had to remember.

  I stood in the blackness, breathing hard, but over that sound I heard the soft sounds of the other person in the room. The stink of alcohol and the underlying musty smell that all motels have invaded my head, but it smelled like flowers to me. Almost in a daze, I reached out and locked the door.

  The clank of the deadbolt sliding into place sounded like freedom.

  I had done it.

  Not all of it of course, but the first step had been taken, and in the Church, that first step might as well be the last. It can never be undone.

  Now I just had to figure out the next step.

  Should I wake the person in the bed? Beg for their help? In movies and TV it always worked, but were those just lies told by the outside world? I remembered my early childhood, before the Church, but my mother had always been strange and stunted, always swore up and down that the world was full of evil men, and the Church claimed the same. What if the person in the bed truly was evil? What would they do to me?

  Nothing worse than what your husband would have done, I thought.

  That was the truth. Very well.

  I took a step toward the bed, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was almost no light coming in from outside, but a few small beams of sunlight slipped from behind the curtains to hit the ceiling. For a long moment, everything was black, and the only sound was the harshness of my breath, and the low, gentle snores from the bed.

  Not Church, I thought. There were drunks in the Church, and there were plenty of people in the Salt Lake area that were secretly adherents, but he probably wasn’t Church. Probably.

  Probably wouldn’t drag me back and force me to get married.

  I hesitated anyway. Should I risk it?

  ...I didn’t have any other option, did I? Unless there was a window in the bathroom.

  I sucked my breath in and slid my feet over the floor. My toes nudged bottles and soft mounds of clothing, and I realized the room was a mess. I put my hands out to catch myself in case I hit something.

  My fingers found the table, and then the door leading into the bathroom. It was open, but there was no light coming from it. No window. I was trapped in here, and my only hope was the lump in the bed. If I could enlist his help, he could smuggle me out of the motel, out of Salt Lake City, even. If he wanted to.

  I knew that was a long shot. No one, not even friends, interfered when my father went ballistic on his own family, or when other priesthood heads went beyond the bounds of discipline. We all stood by—even me. I didn’t deserve help, and I doubted the person in the bed would help me, either. But the only other option was to step outside of the room and either fall to my death or go back to my wedding. Which, from my perspective, was the same thing, really.

&nbsp
; My feet stayed firmly planted on the carpet.

  All right, then.

  I needed to wake the occupant of the bed. I hesitated, wondering if I should wake him in the dark, or if I should turn on the light first. The light, I decided. I would panic if someone I didn’t know woke me in the dark. I reached out and turned on the bathroom light.

  Illumination spilled into the room behind me, and I turned, my brain whirling with thoughts, making my argument. Help me, I’m on the run, I’m being forced to marry against my will, help me, help me, help me—

  Swallowing, I picked my way back to the bed. As I’d thought, the floor was covered in beer bottles and discarded clothes. A mess of papers and a pen were scattered in the corner, and a guitar stood propped against the night stand. A prescription bottle of pills perched on the edge of the night stand, gleaming white.

  Doubt began to creep over me but I brushed it away and finally pulled up alongside the bed for a peek at the person who lay there. I don’t know what I was expecting, but, in retrospect, I should have been expecting exactly what I found.

  I inhaled sharply.

  It was a man. I mean, I’d guessed that, but I hadn’t been prepared for the reality of this man.

  He was...very much a man. A shirtless man. I hadn’t seen a shirtless man in the flesh, or at least not this close up, since I was a child. It was...strange.

  He was young, with a boyish face and dark hair. Jewelry, more jewelry than I’d ever been allowed to wear, gleamed against his skin. His ears twinkled with rows of earrings, a curved spike jutted from his eyebrow, and even his lip had a piercing. I hadn’t known that pierced lips happened.

  And he was covered—absolutely covered—in tattoos. Thick black lines, thin, dancing shapes, sharp jagged patterns—all of them flowed over his skin, dipping and diving and rising again on the landscape of his body. His muscular chest and well-formed arms were more ink than skin, and even his throat had been decorated.

  I knew what the Church taught about tattoos and piercings. That our bodies were temples from God, and that tattoos and piercings desecrated God’s gift to us, as if someone had painted graffiti all over a temple. I knew they were supposed to be wicked. I knew they were supposed to be wrong.