Finn Beckett

  Copyright © MJ Fields 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of MJ Fields, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  1st Edition Published: November 13, 2015

  Published by MJ Fields

  Cover Design by: K23 Design

  Cover Model: Franggy Yanez

  Photo credit Love N Books

  First Edit by: C&D Editing

  Final Edit by: Kellie Montgomery

  Formatting by: M.L. Pahl of IndieVention Designs

  Thank you for downloading/purchasing this eBook. This eBook and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, or distributed for commercial or noncommercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download/purchase their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

  *Disclaimer*

  This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. It involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situations are consenting adults over the age of 18.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Stars

  Clouds

  Storms

  Beaches

  It’s in the past

  No Future

  The Taste Left Behind

  Bitter and Sweet

  Sleeping Dogs Don’t Lie

  Room Service

  Hard to swallow

  Auditions

  Houston

  Dallas

  Orlando

  Noah

  Tampa

  What Now

  Jersey

  Facing the Music

  Head On

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Thank You

  INTRODUCTION

  I walked through hell, some of it caused by myself. Things were torn away from me that I would never get back. Hearts were broken beyond repair. Then mayhem ensued, and I lost who I was.

  Music was always a part of it. Music almost killed me. It dragged me in, caught me up, and almost destroyed me. I lost who I was and became someone I never wanted to be.

  Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. The release, the buzz, the electric guitar’s rage against all that was fucked up in the world. It took me away and made me feel something when I was a soulless nothing … until the high wore off.

  Music also brought me back.

  I woke to a Zeppelin song, face down in my own vomit, next to a pile of coke and with three naked women at my feet. Disgusted with myself, disgusted with them, I walked, and I walked alone.

  One chance meeting, a golden opportunity, a chance of a lifetime changed it all.

  The sins of the past are behind me now. The day has finally come when I will walk onstage, not as an opening act, but as the act. Hours before my dream comes to fruition, though, I run into a girl, one fucking girl, and I am back on the path of destruction.

  When Memphis Black’s piece of ass ran out of Bader on August twenty-eighth, I was slightly astounded. Tally wasn’t a wild child, far from it; she was a preacher’s kid.

  “Tales, you stealing purses now?” I look at the outfit she’s wearing and laugh. “Or selling your body?”

  “Fuck you,” she yells in my face then steps back, her hooker heels breaking and causing her to fall into Memphis. “I hate you!” she then spews at Memphis.

  “Is that so?” he snaps back, sweeping her up.

  “Put me down, you asshole.” She starts to kick and scream.

  “My purse!”

  I look up when I hear that nails on a chalkboard voice to see a strawberry blonde in a pencil skirt running after Tally.

  “Bring it on, bitch!” Tally is acting like a crackhead.

  The purse falls on the ground, and the other chick lunges for it, but I snatch it up.

  “You better hope there is something in this,” I mutter to Tally.

  Billy has the other chick now, and River is laughing. Then Nickie D opens the door to the stretch Hummer, calling out, “Get them inside!”

  I look at the girl who is glaring at me like I am public enemy number one, and the hair on the back of my neck immediately stands up. I don’t like her one bit.

  Inside the car, Tally is freaking out and screaming, and the other chick is shooting poison darts at me with her fucking amber-colored eyes. The color makes me sick. She makes me sick. And suddenly I know damn well that Tally is freaking out for a good damn reason.

  I grab the purse and dump it out, and the evil chick reaches for something. Through all Tally’s ranting, yelling, and freaking out, I know it’s an SD card, so I snatch it up while the evil bitch grabs a chain or necklace of some sort.

  “You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?” I ask evil incarnate.

  “None of your business. Now give me back my belongings and let me out, or I call the cops,” she says in an eerily serene voice.

  The way my body and mind react to her is something unexplainable. She seems familiar to me, but I know damn well she’s not. I want her under me, but I don’t. I should back the fuck down, but I can’t.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sonya. Sonya none-of-your-damn-business,” she says as she picks up her wallet, a pocket-sized photo album, and her phone.

  She incites anger in me, an anger I haven’t felt in years.

  “Okay, let’s just calm the hell down and sort this all out,” Xavier, the owner of our production company, interrupts with the words that were at the tip of my tongue. “Sonya, what’s on that drive?” She just looks out the window. “Sonya …”

  “It’s not mine, haven’t seen it, don’t know, and really don’t give a damn.”

  Nickie grabs his laptop and pops it in. “Fuck me, Memphis. Oh, yeah, baby, fuck me just like that.” It’s the bitch, Stevie’s voice.

  “I’m gonna fuck you my way. You just lie back,” Memphis’s voice comes out loud and clear. “And enjoy the show.”

  “Sure that’s me?” Memphis asks.

  “If it looks like a duck, sounds like a duck, then fuck, it’s a duck,” River says as he sits back. “But we already knew this. Well, not all of us.”

  “She knew! She saw me the next morning, all marked up.” Memphis grabs Tally’s wrist, and she flips her shit. “Tales, you fucking knew.”

  I ignore the rest of the relationship meltdown as I watch the girl, Sonya, eye the door. Although she appears calm, she is a caged animal, waiting to spring free the second she gets a chance.

  Tally suddenly pushes past all of us, opening the door, and I stick my foot out to block Sonya from getting out, as well. When she glares at me, I give it right back.

  Nickie D grabs my attention, saying, “You wanna sit with her while I get—”

  “I’d prefer to chew off my own damn leg than sit in here alone with her.” I point to Sonya none-of-my-damn-business.

  “Finn, easy, man.” Xavier shakes his head, then whispers, “She’s just a kid.”

  “She’s no kid; she’s a wild animal,” I respond, not giving two shits if she hears me, because she is. I can tell. She’s a fucking ticking time bomb.

  “Just do it. We have enough shit to deal with trying to talk Memphis off the fucking ledge,” Xavier snaps at me.

  “Fine, what-the-fuck-ever,”
I blow him off, but he’s right. Memphis is all kinds of twisted up.

  I step out of the car and look back at her pissed off face, which pisses me off even more. “Let’s go, None-ya.”

  She doesn’t budge.

  “Fine, have it your way. Sit your ass there. When Stevie falls, so will you.”

  I walk a few steps before I hear gravel crushing behind me. Then I glance over my shoulder to see that she’s coming.

  There is a storm cloud over her that is now hanging over me.

  I hate storms.

  I fucking hate them.

  I walk into the dressing room, thankful the dark cloud that is None-ya, otherwise known as Sonya, was swept off by Xavier’s wife Taelyn, another one of our managers.

  I head to the bathroom, and when I open the door, a cloud of smoke hits me hard.

  “Shit, sorry, man,” River says, fanning away the haze of pot before he steps out into the band’s green room.

  I haven’t touched the shit in years. Hate drugs, but is pot really a drug?

  My womb, or as some would call a mother, was a fucking meth head. Dad tried to get her to stop, but it didn’t work. From the ripe old age of seven, I was taking care of the bitch while Dad was fixing bikes and muscle cars. He was making a paycheck in our two-car garage so he could someday make enough to add on to it and buy my mother a house. When she lost her job due to her lack of showing up, the burden of the mortgage for the singlewide trailer and five acres it sat on was his alone. Why the fuck he put up with her is beyond me.

  I made dinner, usually boxed mac and cheese or Ramon Pride. If it was a good week, Dad would grill steaks outside on a Friday night while tipping back some beers with his friends. During hunting season, it was venison.

  Mom didn’t care to eat. All she cared about was her next fix. Dad didn’t have it in him to fight.

  When I was twelve, shit got really bad. She caught the place on fire. Mobile homes go up fast, and kids with meth head moms get yanked from their homes. Then dads who look the other way aren’t seen as much.

  Ten miles from the charred up remainder of my “home,” there was a family who took in kids. They had horses and shit and treated us all well. Not everyone did the same to them.

  “It’s pot, River.” I push past him and shake my head. “Give it to me.”

  “Nah, man, you don’t—”

  “Is it laced?”

  “Fuck no.” He gets all defensive, like the question is ludicrous, when it’s legit for me to ask. He sees the look I’m giving. “I told you all this shit is real now. I will drink and smoke some pot once in a while, but I’m not shooting up. I’m not smoking anything but the real deal, home grown.”

  I take Chilz from his hand and hit it hard.

  “Motherfucker, old iron lungs has returned.” River smirks like the Cheshire Cat as I hit it again. “It’s the chick, isn’t it? She—”

  “She ain’t shit,” I say, trying not to choke.

  “Word. Bitches and hoes.” He holds his fist out for a bump, and I give him a lame one.

  The door opens and Billy walks in. “I can’t do this,” he grumbles.

  “A little late for that.” River laughs.

  He sniffs the air. “Are you both—”

  “Takes the edge off,” River interrupts.

  While Billy looks at River then me then Chilz, I see an inner conflict before he sighs.

  River holds up Chilz like he’s a fucking proud papa displaying his first born. “One hit won’t kill ya.”

  “What if you get caught?” Billy eyes the room suspiciously. “What if there are cameras?”

  “Just don’t do it, man,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re already paranoid.”

  “The bathroom.” River points, and Billy snatches Chilz from his hand.

  “One fucking hit, Billy. That’s it,” I tell him.

  When he shuts the door behind him, I glare at River. “Not one of your brighter ideas, man.”

  “He’ll be fine, Finn. Chilz will take care of him.”

  The door opens and Memphis walks in, looking between the two of us. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  River sighs. “Just took the edge off.”

  “Where is it?” he asks.

  Billy walks out of the bathroom with Chilz in hand.

  “No shit?” Memphis chuckles.

  Billy grins. “Just to take the edge off.”

  “Aw, fuck, man, give me that.” Memphis takes it from him and skates into the bathroom.

  We all just stand there, looking at each other.

  “Edge definitely taken off.” I smirk.

  Memphis walks out, grinning. “It’s either the beginning or the end. We started this together; we end it together. Let’s fucking go rock them our way.”

  “We do it for us,” I say as we stand in a circle.

  “In the words of the great Eddie Vedder, ‘It’s a great time to be me.’ ” Memphis puts his fist in.

  “Jimmy Page once said, ‘I may not believe in myself, but I believe in what we’re doing.’ ” I put my fist in.

  “Kurt Cobain, ‘Nobody dies a virgin; life fucks us all.’ ” River fists in.

  “The amazing Billie Holiday once said, ‘The difficult, I will do right now. The impossible will take a while.’ ”

  “We have done the impossible. Fuck, Billy learned guitar, River has laid off the heavy shit, and Finn … not sure what to say. Best bass around, and apparently he decided today was the day to put an end to the ‘Just Say No’ campaign, which I need the story behind, fuck-stick.” Memphis shakes his head at me.

  “And you’ve got a steel dick.” River laughs his fool head off, talking about the piercing Memphis decided to get.

  Memphis smirks. “All right, STD, let’s hit ’em hard”—we bump fists—“light ‘em up”—we blow it up—“and let’s go fucking rock ’em our way!”

  We walk out the door and down the corridor, the entire Steel is crew here, including Momma Joe, and we’re all high. I laugh to myself.

  Xavier narrows his eyes at us. “You fucking kidding me right now?”

  Memphis chuckles. “Ready to rock, man.”

  I have to look away so I don’t start laughing and shit, and when I do, I see her. My lip curls automatically, and the chick, None-ya, scowls at me.

  I’m pissed she is still here, so I give her the same look she is giving me, then snap my teeth and bark at her.

  Memphis loses his shit and starts laughing. Xavier looks at me like I have lost my mind, and hell, maybe I have. Regardless, that little bitch is no good. I can feel it. I can almost see the storm cloud looming above her head, and I want as far away from it as possible. Chicks like that lead to one thing: a fucking storm. The guy I used to be liked to chase the storm. I got sucked into it like it was some magnetic vortex.

  Never again.

  “She get her fucking shots yet?” I ask X-man.

  “You, too?” he gasps, then throws his hands up in the air and walks away, saying, “What a fucking day!”

  I glance back, and None-ya is chucking stars at me with her eyes. And when I say stars, I mean the sharp bitches that ninjas throw. She’s no starry-eyed fan girl looking to suck my dick or get in my bed. No, she means to wound.

  I look at Memphis, who is making out with his girl. Then I look at River and Billy, both smirking, as the crowd seems to get louder and louder. Nickie D is introducing us and pumping them up. My band mates are eating it up, getting even higher on the applause than they already were.

  “Let’s get some.” River pounds my back as I sling my guitar around me.

  I feel the daggers in the back of my head, but fuck that. I’m not going to play the game and look over my shoulder at the bitch. I walk, and I walk alone.

  I pull my aviators over my eyes before we take the stage in a storm of electric steel.

  River beats us in, and then Billy and I play our asses off. I watch them eyeing the crowd, both looking in awe. I don’t even look. It’s me, the band, and
the music when I have Black Mamba in my hands. The only time I put on a show for the crowd is when I’m singing. Then I give them a look inside, but not too deep.

  Memphis, he’s another story.

  When Memphis takes the stage and starts belting out “Bang, Bang,” the crowd roars, reaching a new climax. With his injured arm from the bar fight in Miami, he can’t play lead, so Billy is taking his place.

  Tonight, I’m not singing. X-man and Nickie D weren’t all too happy with that. Then again, they know, when I’m done tweaking, when I’m ready, I will put on a fucking show for the people paying my bills while I’m doing what I love, what I do best, and that’s creating music that is balls deep.

  ***

  We all head off stage at the end. They didn’t want us to stop playing. Fuck, I was so deep in the rhythm and beat, still buzzing from the hit I took when we came off stage for a set change, that I’m pretty fucking amped, too.

  Tonight, we decide on not going out. Tomorrow, we’ll party.

  I walk by Taelyn, who congratulates me. Then I look up, and standing next to her is None-ya. That fucking look on her face is still there.

  “Thanks.” I nod at Taelyn and keep walking.

  River and Billy, who have chicks surrounding them, wave me over. However, I draw my hand across my throat and point to the back exit.

  I walk outside and see the chick who plays drums for Stevie Daniels’ band—I don’t know her fucking name—leaning against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. She has long, dark hair tucked under a black beanie; and she’s wearing a black, tight-ass tank top, showcasing her rack nicely; a red and black flannel tied around her waist; and a short skirt. She’s hot, but not my type, which is perfect right now.

  “You got a smoke?”

  She looks me up and down. “Not menthol.”

  I must look at her funny ’cause she smirks as she reaches into her black, little purse thing that’s slung across her chest.

  She hands me one. “Pot heads smoke menthol.”

  “Thanks. I’m not a pot head,” I say as she holds out her lighter. I inhale and let it burn. I haven’t smoked in years—not pot and not cigarettes—but something changed today, and I need it.