Page 3 of Dirty Rock

Their words wouldn’t mean shit to me.

The bruises would always fade.

I’d be who I was always meant to be.

I’d look like Billie Joe Armstrong. I’d be cool like Richard Ashcroft. I’d hypnotise people like Dolores O’Riordan.

And I’d remain indifferent for always because that’s where peace lay.

When I made it, nobody would ever dare to touch me again without seeking my permission first, and they’d have to get through an army of protectors to affect my heart.

One day, I’d find my purpose, and I wouldn’t look back on this life again.

Not even for a minute.

Chapter One

RHETT

Eleven Years Later

Sweat trickled down my back as I stormed off the stage of Hard Rock Stadium in Miami after one of the best performances of my life. I was coiled, ready to spring free and orgasm on life—to make the earth shake and the people in it bow down at my feet.

This was why I loved this gig. This feeling right here.

The unmistakable energy floated through my bloodstream, gifting me with a feeling of invincibility I couldn’t find in anything elsebutthis—the music, and the fact that I was damn good at it, too.

The other members of the band were walking ahead of me, already numb to the euphoria being a rock star offered. Not like me. I soaked up every single second, even after three years. The screams, the fuck me eyes from the women in the front rows, the swaying arses, and the look of jealousy from the men who wished they were up there on the stage, doing what I did.

Owning what I owned.

Being who I was: Rhett fucking Ryan.

Lead singer of the world’s most talked about British rock band, Youth Gone Wild.

We were killing the charts, smashing records, winning awards, and we had so much more to give.Within three years, Presley, Big D, Hawk, Coops, and I had achieved more than bands ten times our age, and we’d done it all with cocksure grins on our faces. The others had their own reasons for being smug. Mine? Mine were plentiful, and a fleeting memory of high school bullies and people telling me I couldn’t achieve shit flitted through my mind before I forced it back and pushed all those faces away.

“Motherfuckers!” I cried, gasping for breath as I strode towards my bandmates, pushing my overgrown black hair away from my eyes.

Our lead strummer, Hawk, turned and slapped me on the back as I passed him. Coops, our rhythm guitarist, had already made his way backstage to find alcohol or pussy, while Big D, the burly bass player, was currently talking to our drummer, Presley, and his girlfriend Tessa—the girlfriend who wasn’t meant to be here.

No permanent women. That’s what we’d promised each other three years ago when we’d been starting out. We vowed to stay true to the dream. To focus on the songs. To conquer the world.

And then that blonde-haired fool decided to go and fall in love.

Fat lot of good those promises had done.

Throwing my arms around Big D’s and Presley’s shoulders, I pulled them into me, jerking them back and forth as I stared at Tessa, the illegal immigrant of our tour.

“Fuck me. Was I good out there, or was Igoodout there?” I cried.

Tessa Lisbon—also known as Cherry—with her cherry-red hair and her pretty gorgeous face, stared back at me, smirking. “I’ve seen you play better.”

“The fuck you have.”

“Pretty sure I heard you miss a note duringDirty, Dirty, Love Me, Rhett.”

I glanced at Presley. “You know, I’d have respected you more if you’d chosen a pretty little brunette who had bigger tits than her mouth.”

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