Love Rock'ollection: The Brutal Strength Rock Star Trilogy, books 1-3 (29 page)

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n.

A fundamental change in the way of thinking about or visualizing something.

A FLASHING BLUE and red light pattern illuminated Sara’s pale blood spattered face. She wanted to crawl away and hide from its revealing glow. The continuous flickering magnified the splitting headache behind her red-rimmed eyes. Even at one AM, the Texas night air remained stifling and oppressive, adding another layer of discomfort to her battered body.

A fine sheen of perspiration coated the exposed surface of her skin. Inside she felt numb, detached from the reality around her. She closed her eyes, wishing to be anywhere but here. Unfortunately, no amount of wishing could fix what had happened tonight. Nothing could. Nor would the present veil of darkness conceal for long the unspeakable evil that had taken place inside of her parents’ bedroom this night.

A sudden gust of warm wind rustled against the thin fabric of Sara’s white nightgown. Feeling a tremor in the tiny hand threaded together with hers, she glanced down at the cherub face of her younger sister, Samantha. The beautiful trusting grey eyes that looked back up at her were wide and brimming with tears. That small hand anchored her in place, while every other instinct screamed at her to run away and escape this nightmare.

Her body began to shake with the effort it took to keep from falling apart. Insanity clawed and butted like a ravenous beast against the thin barrier of her self- control. Wanting to take over. Wanting her to let go and give in.

Over the years as her parents’ tumultuous relationship had deteriorated, more and more of the responsibility for Sam’s upbringing had fallen to Sara. She didn’t mind. She loved her four year old sister to distraction. Adorable as an old fashioned Kewpie doll with her round, ringlet-framed face, Sam also had a sweet innocent spirit that won over everyone she met.

Sara’s head jerked up. The sound of her father’s loud, protesting voice reached her ears. He was handcuffed, and being escorted by two police officers out of the termite infested house they’d been living in for the past six months. He stumbled clumsily on drunken legs as he descended the dilapidated front porch steps. With bloodshot eyes, he scanned the weed infested trash strewn front yard until he found her.

His eyes narrowed, and he lunged in her direction before being yanked back.

Slurred words spewed from his vile lying mouth. “She had it coming. Sara, honey. Tell ‘em. She brought it on herself.”

Anger hardened her gaze. The audacity of the man, always rationalizing. But no amount of words could justify this. Straightening her spine, Sara gripped Samantha’s hand tighter and turned away.

“Don’t turn your back on me, you wretched, ungrateful child. I’ll wring your worthless scrawny neck. Your momma was a whore, Sara. You know as well as I do!” he yelled before pausing and gentling his tone. “Sara… please, Sweetie. Look at your Papa.”

Never look weak. Never show fear
. Sara repeated her coping mantra to herself before responding. Warily, she glanced over her shoulder and watched the cops drag him toward the waiting squad car.

“You’re gonna have to stand up for me soon, Sara. Don’t be like her. Do what’s right when the time comes,” he implored before the cop shoved his head down and pushed him into the back seat.

After the cruiser door closed, Sara sucked in a deep breath of the dank night air. It was finally over. “It’s ok, Sam. He’s gone. We’re safe.” She knelt down and the dry grass crunched underneath her weight. She wrapped her arms tightly around her sister’s delicate frame.

Sam sighed and sagged in her embrace.

“He’ll never be able to hurt us again,” she whispered into Sam’s ear, closing her eyes. Her momma’s image ghosted into her mind along with the labored last words she’d spoken.

“Promise me you’ll always take care of your sister.”

SARA DANIELS WALKED offstage after the encore, taking the chilled bottled water and a hand towel from her manager’s outstretched hands. Lifting her straight light brown hair up off her sweaty neck, she blotted away the moisture.

“Sold out venue again, girl. Preliminary numbers on merchandise looks to double the ticket take, easily. How you holding up?”

“Good Leann.” Sara managed a weary smile. “Just worn out. Wanna get a shower and unwind, you know?” Patting her manager on the shoulder, she started to walk away.

“Not so fast.”

Sara froze and turned back around. “What?” she groaned. “What is it? Not another meet and greet. Leann, please.”

“No.” Leann’s brow furrowed. “Mary Timmons is here and wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, crap.” She should have made it a priority to return those calls. Mary Timmons, the high powered no nonsense CEO and owner of Black Cat Records, was not a woman to keep waiting. Sara had hoped to get through tonight’s performance before having to deal with her. Well, now it was time to face the music. “Where is she?”

“In your dressing room.” Leann raised a brow. “She’s everything they say, isn’t she?”

“No doubt,” Sara nodded.

“Good luck with that,” she said, walking away with a parting wave over her shoulder.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sara said, mumbling to herself. “I’m gonna need it.”

Sara’s boots clapped against the tiled floor as she wound her way through the confusing maze of dimly lit cinderblock corridors following the signs put up by the road crew. Nodding to the security guard outside her door, she entered her temporary dressing room almost knocking Mary over. The beautiful, petite exec had been standing near the door, deep in conversation, her ever present cell phone pressed against her ear.

“Ok, Beth, make it happen. Hey, I gotta go. Sara’s here. I’ll talk to you later.” Mary ended the call, dropping her cell into a brief case before pinning Sara with a disapproving look. “You haven’t been returning my calls.”

It was a statement, not a question, but it clearly demanded a response. Although only in her mid-forties, Mary’s maternal tone made Sara swallow nervously. She felt garish and underdressed in her black leather vest and rhinestone embellished Miss Me jeans juxtaposed against the well put together Black Cat exec. Impeccable in a flatteringly tailored eggplant suit with matching five inch platform pumps, Mary was every single inch the unruffled professional, looking as though she’d just bounded off the cover of a business magazine. She gave Sara herself a run for the money in the confidence exuding, don’t-mess-with-me category.

Sara couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about Mary that made her feel like a peasant in the presence of royalty, but she did nevertheless. Sara gave herself a mental shake.
Snap the hell out of it
. She was no easily intimidated newbie after all. She was Sara Daniels. Thirty-two years old and at the top of her game as country and western’s top grossing female singer… the past five years in a row. Yet still, underneath the pressure of Mary’s haughty gaze, she somehow found herself rushing to apologize. “I’m sorry, Mary. I planned to…”

Mary cut her off with a dismissive wave. “I’m calling in the favor you owe me.”

Hell.
She didn’t waste any time, did she? Forget royalty, being in debt to Mary was like owing the devil himself. You sure as hell knew she was going to collect. “Okay,” she drew out. “I’ve got a two week break, starting tomorrow. What can I do for you?”

All business, Mary crisply nodded and handed her an envelope. Sara took it while glancing back at her with raised brows.

“That’s a first class seat nonstop to Vancouver at ten thirty tonight. You’re sitting next to me.” She spun regally on her royal heel and glided away without any further explanation. The sound of her pumps clacking on the concrete flooring kept time as “Hail to the Chief” played in Sara’s head.

“Wait a minute. Tonight?” Sara protested. “I can’t just up and leave that quickly. I need to clear that with my staff.”

“I’ve already spoken to Leann.” Mary stopped with her hand on the door. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to get cleaned up and change. I’ll tell you what I have in mind en route to the airport.”

AT BLACK CAT, Chris Alex stopped in the studio doorway and stared at the woman inside.
Holy hell.
Mary had failed to mention that this country and western chick she was bringing in to sing on his album was smoking hot. Leaning his shoulders back against the doorframe, his gaze raked over her form. The corner of his mouth lifted in silent appreciation. She was tall, around his height, maybe a couple of inches shorter. Probably five foot ten if he wasn’t mistaken. Long, extremely well shaped legs were accentuated by skin tight denim. Boobs weren’t anything to write home about, but big enough to make him wonder what they would feel like cupped in his hands. They more than adequately filled out the form fitting red western shirt she had on.
Meh,
he was a leg man anyway.

His pulse kicked up as he took in additional details about the southern goddess standing in front of him. Light brown hair with highlights that were almost blonde hung straight and long around her sun kissed face. Her lips were light pink and glossed up. He wondered how they tasted.