Twisted Rhythm: A Dark Rockstar Romance (Twisted Rhythm Series Book 1) Read online

  Twisted Rhythm

  A Dark Rockstar Romance

  By Lexxi Chase

  Copyright © 2018 Lexxi Chase

  All Rights Reserved

  Description

  He’s dark, twisted, and irresistible. Is a second chance with her dangerous obsession worth risking her life?

  I lick my lips and taste what remains of him there. But his salacious presence, his brutal, arrogant touch is just a bittersweet memory. No, an Obsession. One I should shrink from, yet the only one I run towards.

  He’s everywhere, and nowhere. And so am I. We’re tabloid gold.

  The alluring, beautiful big cat tamer and the decadent, volatile rock god. The only beast I couldn’t tame. The wild predator who’s gripped me and savaged me and shaken me right down to my filthy, adulterated core.

  Last time, before banishing me, he almost killed me. Only because he suspected my ultimate betrayal.

  I’ve betrayed him in many ways since then. And vowed never to reveal my most guarded, darkest secret. The revelation that’ll spiral him over the edge. No matter what he does to make me talk, and confess.

  More than anything I long for his forgiveness, even as I crave his fury. Reveling in the sticky-sweet memories of fear and pain and lust and pleasure all twisted into one.

  So I’m here, uninvited and certainly unforgiven. Afraid he won’t open the door and petrified he will. I swallow hard. Knock loudly. Braced to take my shameful, torturous punishment and end my pain.

  Because sometimes...the depths of darkness spawn the most reassuring light.

  Author’s Note

  This book is incredibly dark, raw, twisted and disturbing. Haunting and offensive, it strays from romance genre rules. Testing your limits of darkness, it will likely push you to the very edge of your comfort level...and over.

  If you have triggers, ANY triggers, run for the hills.

  If you cannot fathom loving an abusive “hero” this book definitely isn’t for you.

  Contains profanity, explicit scenes and violence, intense punishments, exchange of power, male dominance and strong D/s themes.

  Take a deep breath and read at your own peril. You’ve been warned.

  Twisted Rhythm is the first and darkest book in the Twisted Rhythm series. At over 113,000 words, it’s a full length novel with a satisfying Happy For Now ending.

  This series explores the haunting, toxic, brutal and violent side of obsessive love and lust, clawing its way to the last book and the light.

  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

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 1

  God, what am I doing, Amanda thought as the elevator doors opened with a chime and she stepped inside, her legs shaking and heart pounding. This is a mistake she thought, even as she checked her hair and lipstick in the patterned mirror of the doors. Even under this lighting she dazzled, her long golden-white blonde hair providing sizzling contrast to full burgundy red lips and sensual cobalt blue eyes accented by clever strokes of maroon eye shadow in just the right places. Wispy bangs accentuated her eyes while the rest of her hair, hanging at varying lengths, across her ample breasts and further down, cascading to a V just above her tiny waist, streamlined the effect. Carefully selected black clothing, high pumps, tight mini skirt and revealing gold-embroidered lace camisole, completed her attack. Amanda sighed.

  She looked great, no doubt about that, but still, would Jake even care? It had been so, so long and so much had happened that she was petrified he’d slam the door in her face or worse, not open the door at all. If she was lucky enough he’d let her in and beat her, but at least she’d be inside, alone with him once more, maybe able to at least convince him even a little bit that she wasn’t the monster she was sure he thought she was.

  Seventeenth floor. Amanda breathed deeply and stepped out into the hall. This is so damn crazy, she thought. Her whole body was shaking and she knew she couldn’t stop it even if she tried. Afraid to stop and think, afraid to stop for anything, she strolled ahead, looked at the gold plate on the wall that directed towards room numbers and she turned to the left, walking quickly, breathing now with controlled effort but continuing on. Seventeen fourteen. Dear God, was Jake even in his room? Closing her eyes, she knocked loudly and once again held her breath, wondering all of a sudden whether she should step to the side because he’d certainly look out the peep hole. And what if he was with someone?

  “Yeah?”

  The sound of his voice, soft, that same rough edge, hit her in the gut worse than any jab in the stomach. She felt sick, literally swooned and caught herself by leaning against the door. His concert had ended almost an hour ago and as she spoke she wondered if he was already drunk.

  “Jake it’s me. It’s Amanda.”

  Nothing. Not a stir from within. And she felt like dying...all over again.

  “Jake?”

  As the knob turned slowly, as if in slow motion, she literally prayed to herself. Please God let Jake be alone. Please, please God make him let me in. Just let me talk to him just one more time. See him just once more. Dear God, I love him, please don’t let him turn me away.

  And then there he was, standing before her, as magnificent as she remembered him, as alluring as he’d remained in her dreams every night, in between all of her thoughts throughout each and every day. Jesus, was this a dream? Some horribly surreal fantasy of the night from which she’d wake, yet again, sweating and crying and screaming that he wasn’t really there.

  “What the fuck?” he murmured.

  Spoken so softly, so calmly as she died slowly inside. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, couldn’t even blink, couldn’t speak, or smile or cry or even move. He was obviously about to go out partying somewhere, he was dressed for the night and then the stabbing thought hit her once again - was he with anyone; was there some babe inside his room? She spoke, not recognizing her own voice. What came out was foreign, barely above a whisper.

  “Hey...I’m sorry...please don’t close the door...just talk to me for a minute...”

  Jake held his gaze, silent, and Amanda tried desperately to read his look, his thoughts, to get even a tiny inclination of what he was thinking. Heat washed over her in a searing wave, ramming her heart to her throat, extinguishing the very air she struggled to breathe. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to speak, not even sure she would hear his words if Jake said something - blood pounded loudly inside her head; her throat was bone dry and even her vision waned. I’m going to pass out she thought; God no, not now, not when I’ve come this far.

  And so she stood there like an idiot, breathless and scared, frozen in time. She realized through the haze that her mouth was parted slightly and then suddenly she struggled to gather her thoughts, to bring forth words, to get something half decent and appealing out of her mouth. But nothing. It was like Jake had her hypnotized, like he’d always had, and here again in his presence she became his puppet once more.

  He shifted his light green eyes ever so slightly but she caught the look that she remembered so well, anger
mixed with innocence and confusion - a gentle soul tainted and gone wild - the goddamn look the groupies found so appealing, the notorious glare that mesmerized the masses into idolization, mindless worship and self-identification. Jake was a rock god but he was so utterly fucking real, a slithering, writhing, tormented victim risen from the ashes and he bled and cried and screamed until you gratefully made his pain your own, struggling with him to find release in his music and freedom for his soul.

  Amanda could do nothing but stare at him in disbelief. Jesus, he looked better than ever - those incredibly high cheek bones and long straight light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail that hung down past the middle of his back. Lean, muscular, well-toned body enhanced as always by the clothes he wore. Tonight it was tight jeans tattered with holes in all the right places and a black leather jacket that hung open revealing an unbuttoned green silk shirt that stood out in sharp contrast against his tan. He’d brought back a light version of his goatee and it added a ruggedness to his character, a razor edge to his already cutting form.

  He smirked, laughing softly...

  “Minute’s over baby,” and leaned against the door, starting to shut it in Amanda’s face.

  “No!” Amanda pushed against the other side, suddenly finding her voice inside of panic.

  God no, she was thinking. Don’t let it end like this this time.

  “Jake wait. I have to explain.”

  She moved closer to him, almost grabbing his arm but then thinking the better of it. And good thing because he stepped back from her, distancing himself, and she’d already learned many many times the hard way that when Jake wanted space you gave it to him.

  “There’s nothin’ you could say that interests me. Bottom line, bitch, is that I just don’t fucking care.”

  This time when he looked at her she could read his disgust, his sheer indifference to it all, to her and to whatever the reason that motivated her to show up at his hotel room past 2 a.m. in this, perhaps the most boring city on his North American tour. Steel Demon rocked on with Jake Steel at the helm but it was clear to her that still, after all this time, she was nowhere near being welcome to come along for the ride.

  “Jake, I know you’re angry,” she pleaded. “Please just let me explain some things. There’s so many reasons why...”

  His look silenced her mid-sentence, his eyes flashing hatred, his full, even now sensual lips set tightly in unusually controlled rage.

  “Angry? Well, if that isn’t the understatement of the century...”

  His voice, deep and cool and emotionless, surprised her. She was used to yelling, mockery and even desperation but not this. She held her breath as he turned and looked away.

  “I got past the anger long ago,” he glanced back at her sharply, “when I realized you were never worth it. But shit, good fucks are costly, aren’t they? Saw your wonderful performance on Dr. Drew last week.”

  He crooned and mimicked her, “Oh Jake has such a wonderful, passionate and sweet side. I’d hold him as he cried about his childhood. He’s so volatile and vulnerable, people just don’t understand him.”

  He laughed then sarcastically, softly, under his breath, “Well fuck, they sure understand me now, don’t they? At least your sensationalized version of me, huh? How much money has your motherfuckin’ book made you so far?”

  Amanda didn’t answer, afraid, and turned her face away. Truth was that Heart of Steel had already netted her high six figures with a bullet, rising fast.

  She took a step inside the doorway, saying only, “It was never about money.”

  “Never about money?” Jake’s smile floored her.

  To Jake, everything was about money, not so much for himself but about the money he knew or always suspected that people wanted to make off of him. Sure, he loved money and his lavish lifestyle as much as anyone else, but not even so deep under the surface Jake’s music, his lyrics, his passionate vocals were all about art and expressing himself, “subjugating his demons” as Amanda had put it in her book.

  “I was in pain,” Amanda finally managed to say. “I...I can’t even explain why I started to write. I just kept thinking about everything, over and over again, trying to sort it all out in my mind, trying to understand, to make it better and, oh fuck, I just didn’t want it all to ever go away, if that makes any sense.”

  She took a deep breath and continued, “For a long, long time before I started to write I was suicidal. I have no idea how or why I didn’t kill myself. I only know that one day I couldn’t stand lying in bed and watching your videos anymore. I couldn’t stand looking at your pictures, at pictures of us and not doing anything. Jake, you wouldn’t take my calls. No fucking one would take my calls. I couldn’t get near you anymore,” she lowered her head.

  “I couldn’t even get a message to you. You shut me out, like I didn’t exist, like none of it ever happened. I guess I just wanted to make it real, to make it all alive again because I felt so dead inside.”

  She paused then, but only because she was at a loss for words. She was so afraid but raised her head anyway and looked at Jake.

  He looked forlorn, almost weary, and merely said, “You coulda written the fucking thing and never published but no, you chose to make a shit load of cash off riding my cock for four years.”

  Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. What the hell more could she say? Jake could never, would never, understand that writing it all down solely for herself wouldn’t have been enough.

  “I just wanted you to know what it all meant to me, what you meant to me Jake. I tried for so long and couldn’t get you to listen.”

  He stepped back, swinging the door with him, raising his arms to a non-existent audience.

  “Hey motherfuckers, she just wanted me to know what I meant to her and that’s why you all got the play by play.”

  Amanda rushed into the room, yanking the door closed behind her just as Jake dropped his arms, slamming his fists into his thighs. All she could think was my fucking God, I forgot how good he looks when he’s so hyped, so angry. Jake’s eyebrows arched intently and his voice cut into her like a multitude of knives.

  “You fucking stupid cunt! Don’t you even realize what your personal little quest for more dick has done? And you have the balls to say I’m egotistical and self-serving? You’re nothin’ but a piece of shit that I made the mistake of using as my whore for far too long, a fuck of a lot longer than I actually enjoyed.”

  “No!” she screamed at him. “Don’t you ever say that! Don’t you dare pretend I never meant anything to you. Don’t lie to me; you held me, you made love to me so passionately. Jake, we’d talk for hours, about everything. We understood each other. I was always there for you, always, in every fuckin’ goddamn way.”

  “Yeah,” he smirked, looking like some sort of deranged biker as he tugged his black leather jacket back into place at his shoulders. His smile was wicked; his eyes jaded, leveled at Amanda as he sneered, “Every goddamn way.”

  His gorgeous green eyes lit up as he looked her up and down excruciatingly slowly, in just the way that had always made her blood boil and pussy wet or, on other occasions, had chilled her to the bone. Sometimes, she remembered with labored breath, the two extremes had been simultaneous.

  He cocked his head slightly and said, still wickedly smiling, “From what I remember, you always liked back door entry the best.”

  Once again, Amanda was at a loss for words. She could only stare back at him, doing her best to hold her gaze. It was so, so difficult because all she wanted was to lunge forward, to wrap her body around him, to hold him just one more time, her head against his cheek, feeling his strong, muscular arms envelop her. Jesus, she thought, I want to be his whore once more.

  He stepped back a few steps, slowly, and leveled his gaze, still deep and dark and fixating. She noticed how long his hair had gotten, remembered suddenly with a familiar warmth between her legs, how, when out of the ponytail, his long soft hair had draped over her face, her neck and
breasts, then slid down slowly as Jake made his way down her stomach, his tongue flicking playfully inside her navel and then finally, after what had always seemed like an eternity, she’d felt the caress of his hair, the warm, sweet pressure of his tongue as he tasted her tattoo, a steel demon just above the crack of her pussy. She’d never forgotten how soft and silky his long hair felt draped over her thighs when his tongue finally made it home.

  “Jake,” she managed to whisper, “I like what you like. All I ever wanted to do was please you.”

  “Please me?” he almost laughed, his face a boyish grin, “Your book hasn’t exactly given me a boner.”

  He took a long, slow drink of beer, a bottle she hadn’t even noticed on the table - Heineken, the brand of choice in most hotel bar fridges and one of Jake’s favorites. God, her own mouth was so dry. Without thinking, instinctively, she reached towards him and he turned his head, arching his eyebrows but then, surprisingly, handed her the bottle. She drank deep and swallowed thirstily; it had been a long long time since she’d shared a drink with Jake, since she’d shared anything with him at all. She wasn’t surprised that, as she put her mouth on the bottle already wet from his lips, that she reveled in the taste of him.

  Lowering the bottle, she glanced at Jake and saw that he’d been watching her intently as she drank, indignant, his mouth still set tight, his warm green eyes alight however with remembrance and memories.

  “Thought you were gonna swallow it all baby,” he stood back and smirked, his long sensuous fingers brushing lightly against hers as he took the bottle from her.

  Amanda thought she’d go crazy then, right then as her thoughts sped out of control. Standing so close to him, she couldn’t take her eyes off his full lips, his goatee, remembering how it had tickled when he’d had his lips on her, how he’d smiled and laughed at her whenever she’d groaned and squealed in delight.

  Her sex life with Jake had been anything but boring, “tumultuous and violent, ardent and passionate and emotional to the extreme” was how People Magazine had described it and their entire relationship when writing about “the final incident,” their explosive break up, which of course had made headlines and had landed Jake in jail for his thirty-second time and her in the hospital for her fourth.