ROCK F*CK CLUB (Girls Ranking the Rock Stars Book 4) Read online

  Copyright © 2019 Michelle Mankin

  All rights reserved

  All rights reserved except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a data base or retrieval system without prior written permission from the owner/publisher of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Edited by Pam Berehulke

  Cover design by Michelle Preast at Indie Book Covers

  Formatting by Elaine York at Allusion Graphics

  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

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Other Books by Michelle Mankin

  Marsha West has completed filming for her season of the Rock F*ck Club. Actually, she is one rocker short of the ten she contracted to f*ck.

  Can she get her contract changed?

  If she can’t will she lose the rock star she wants to keep?

  And what about the next season of RFC?

  Who will be the next star?

  Who will be f*cking whom?

  Marsha

  I CAREFULLY CLIMBED OUT of Ivan Carl’s tour-bus bunk. The sexy front man stirred, but he didn’t wake.

  My toes touched the floor before the soles of my feet did. There were no vibrations from the roll of the vehicle’s large wheels on pavement to rock me. The tour bus for the Heavy Metal Enthusiasts remained parked in the concert venue’s lot, its floor a stable foundation. The overall bus was a shelter, but it was within Ivan’s arms that I’d discovered a more meaningful refuge.

  One musically enchanted evening not so long ago, Ivan had seen and pulled me out of the audience at one of his concerts. We’d spent one night together, a night that changed everything.

  Scared by him and all that he made me feel, I’d run away to the wrong man. Unbeknownst to me, Ivan had watched and waited for an opportunity to reclaim me. His chance—our chance—had come during my season of the reality TV show, Rock Fuck Club. Laying siege to the heart he’d nearly won at the beginning, Ivan had charmed and charged his way through my remaining defenses, knowing somehow that the heart that beat behind it was destined to be his.

  Ivan slept on as I watched, his arm thrown over the space I’d recently abandoned. Even asleep, he sought to hold on to me.

  The heart he completely possessed pounded fiercely, and my gaze burned as I stared at him. We were a couple now—Ivan was mine as much as I was his. That was no longer in doubt, but problems remained that I worried could wreck our relationship if not resolved.

  Seemingly untroubled, Ivan turned his head. His hair spilled over his pillow, a white canvas for the reddish-brown strands as if they’d been melted by the heat of the previous night’s exertions. He was exhausted, and I was relieved pre-dawn restlessness hadn’t disturbed him. He needed his sleep. He’d driven his Firebird from New Orleans to Houston only the night before, and then we’d kept each other up during most of the previous one.

  An errant wish surfaced to see his eyes, if only for a moment. Their tantalizing brown depths contained a certainty regarding our future that I couldn’t currently summon. Ivan had proven steadfast when I had faltered, but he was more than that. He was understanding, loyal, and lavish in his love, like the heroes in my favorite television series set during medieval times.

  Like those heroes, Ivan had made his affection for me public when he serenaded me from the stage last night. Then he’d swept me off my feet, carried me to his bus, and showed me how he’d redecorated his bunk for me. Thinking of Ivan’s love and how he expressed it, many times and in many creative ways throughout the night, I found myself smiling despite the inner turmoil that had woken me.

  He said he wanted me with him wherever the road might lead. But was that permanent togetherness an obtainable reality?

  Without the refuge of Ivan’s embrace and the steady metronome of his loyal heartbeat in my ear, unwanted doubts arose.

  Stop! I told myself, mentally shouting over the dissenting clamor inside my head. He thinks I’m the goddess of war. It’s time for me to act like her.

  Dropping my arms to my sides, I straightened them and firmed my resolve. Sure, we had problems. What couple didn’t? But those problems had solutions, didn’t they?

  I had one in mind, and it was up to me to implement it.

  As I turned away from the bunk, my hero’s muscle tee swirled around my thighs like a mystical mist, one infused with his tempting masculine leather scent. Emboldened, I marched down the narrow aisle between the looming stacks of curtain-drawn bunks with my head held high.

  I skimmed the cool metal handrail with my fingertips, careful not to make any noise. Not that there was anyone else on the bus to disturb. The other bunks were unoccupied. Ivan’s bandmates had spent the night in the hotel, granting their leader and me the privacy we craved, time alone inside the band’s home on wheels . . . just the two of us.

  His bandmates extended us the courtesy because Ivan loved me and had insisted they do so. Someday, I might actually be adopted into his band family. But that someday hadn’t happened yet.

  Sure, Jagger “Jag” Anderson, the absentminded bassist, and Nicholas “Arrow” Winslow, the blunt-speaking rhythm guitarist, both liked me. But liking wasn’t enough, and I didn’t have that from all his bandmates.

  My lips flattened as Tyler Vaughn came to mind. The drummer for the Heavy Metal Enthusiasts didn’t like me, and the feeling was mutual. Thinking about him, I yanked back the curtain that separated the sleeping section of the bus where I’d been from the front lounge where I was going, using more force than was warranted.

  Could an analogy be made? Ivan’s best friend certainly seemed to be a barrier between us, much like the curtain.

  Shaking my head, I returned the heavy black-out fabric to its original closed position. The curtain served its purpose, blocking out most of the peach-colored glow from streetlights streaming in from the front lounge windows.

  Tyler’s animosity toward me served a purpose of sorts too. He wanted to protect Ivan. But knowing that didn’t make him any easier to deal with.

  Tense from my thoughts, I held my breath and strained my ears.

  Did Ivan sleep on? Or had I waked him with my agitation?

  I waited, counting one heartbeat, then a few more. I didn’t want to have to explain my reason for being up in the middle of the night. I just wanted to right a potential wrong if I could, and I preferred to accomplish that task alone and anonymously.

  Met with only silence, I exhaled and scanned the lounge. The small rectangular area was the main living space on the tour bus. It contained a kitchenette, a small banquette, and two built-in black leather couches. I fou
nd what I was looking for on one of them and moved toward it.

  Taking a seat on the couch, I unzipped the main compartment of my backpack in the near darkness and removed my laptop. I lifted its lid, and within a few moments, I was powered up and logged on to the band’s Wi-Fi. Headphones in place, I was soon absorbed with video files and editing software, a domain I was comfortable in. Tucking a loose strand of my long blond hair behind my ear, I began editing the files I planned to combine.

  My arm muscles cramped as dawn came and went. Eliminating one of the biggest obstacles in my relationship with Ivan meant I had to do more than present my case to Suzanne Smith. I had to get her to understand and support my point of view. The World Media Organization executive in charge of the Rock Fuck Club would be difficult to convince. But I reminded myself that Ivan and I had overcome much bigger obstacles to be together.

  At one time, I hadn’t been able to envision how being with him could ever be right. But this “wrong” had turned into the most right thing I’d ever known.

  I only lacked the right script to pen a happily-ever-after for us like my favorite characters on Tides of Conquest enjoyed. Until I set my current plan in motion, I was afraid the future I wanted for Ivan and me would elude us.

  After all, this was rock ’n’ roll, not storybook romance.

  Plus, I only knew how to lose men. I didn’t have any experience keeping one. Sure, I had my reasons for my previous pattern of hooking up and moving on. Ivan understood me. But did that understanding equal success for us?

  Additionally, I remained the current—not the former—star of a reality show, where I had signed a contract to fuck rock stars. Ten of them.

  I lacked one more to fulfill my obligation. But if I fulfilled that requirement, I might lose the one rock star I wanted to keep. No matter what, I had to find a way to escape the legalities that bound me.

  Ivan was worth it. The love we’d found together was worth it.

  My stomach remained knotted with worry, yet I stubbornly lifted my chin. I’d overcome worse. We had overcome worse.

  Glancing in the direction of the bunks, in his direction, I focused on who and what I could lose, and I found the motivation I needed.

  My badass rocker had proven his loyalty to me. Well, I would show him I was loyal too. I was no shrinking damsel in distress, standing passively on the sidelines waiting for rescue. I would fight for the future I wanted.

  I would fight, and I would win.

  Winning that future in mind, I brought the collar of my man’s mantle to my nose. The worn cotton of his Firebird tee was pleasingly soft, and it smelled like him. His familiar scent imbued a renewed sense of purpose inside me.

  I dropped my chin and refocused on my task. Another hour passed and the sun rose higher, but I eventually finished. I pressed the button to send the email—finally—then lowered my headphones to my neck and tried to massage the stiffness from my own muscles. I was pretty sure what I’d sent would convince the WMO exec that I was serious about there being no further hookups for me.

  Rolling my head in a circle, I set my laptop aside and froze as a long shadow fell over me.

  His shadow.

  My dark knight was awake.

  Marsha

  “WHY ARE YOU UP so early?” Ivan asked, his deep melodic voice making my spine tingle.

  I licked my dry lips. “I had some work to do.”

  Tousled and just out of bed—our bed—Ivan wore only dark gray boxers that barely contained his very sizable erection. Spine tingles grew into the heat of maximum want.

  His eyes narrowed. “What kind of work?” Apparently, he wasn’t as distracted by me wearing only his muscle tee as I was by him in only boxers.

  “Stuff for Suzanne.” I shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal.

  “Such as?” he asked, apparently unwilling to let me get away with being vague.

  “Stuff that’s finished now.” I dipped my gaze, attempting to avoid the searchlight of his eyes, only to get snapped by electricity at the sight of his cock lengthening in front of my eyes.

  “There are better things to do than work first thing in the morning.”

  I nodded and looked up to meet his eyes. I had a sudden impulse to get up and run, not to get away, but so he could chase and then catch me.

  “I can’t imagine what could be so important that you had to leave our bed.” He moved toward me, stalking closer.

  Ivan was lean, sculpted, and lethal, a rocker who sang like a legend and fucked like a god. My heart fluttered, and the rest of me quickened as if connected to a string that he wound around me, tighter and tighter.

  “Nothing, really. I—” I jumped as a sudden slam rattled the front of the bus.

  “Yo, Ivan!”

  The shouted greeting preceded the appearance of Tyler Vaughn. Tall like Ivan but wider-framed, the drummer came to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs.

  “Marsha.” Frowning, he gave me a quick scan. Irritation flickered in the burnt-sugar color of his eyes.

  “What the hell, Ty?” Ivan said. “You’re supposed to stay at the hotel.”

  “I got bored with the hotel.” Tyler’s gaze narrowed. “And I live here. Remember?”

  Ivan shook his head. “You could’ve found something else to do until bus-call.”

  “It’s almost that time, anyway, and why the fuck does it matter?” The drummer stroked his large hand over the edges of his thick brown mustache, all the way down to the end of his long beard while sweeping an analytical glance between his best friend and me. “You’re not fucking anymore. I heard you arguing when I walked up. Sounds to me like the honeymoon’s over.”

  “Fuck you, Ty,” Ivan said, shifting his attention to me. “Mars, ignore him. What were you going to say before he interrupted?”

  “I sent a video appeal to Suzanne Smith.” It was time for the truth, most of it, at least. “To remind her that I’m not willing to compromise, and hopefully show her why.”

  “What kind of appeal?” He lowered himself onto the couch beside me. His scent tantalized, his heat beckoned, but it was his earnest expression that demolished my resistance.

  “I put together some footage from the documentary I’m doing on Raven.”

  What my best friend had told me about the RFC, the Rock Fuck Club, and what her hookups had said about her, had struck a chord with me. The theme for her season was her sexual awakening. The theme for mine was different. It had been my emotions that had been asleep. But Ivan had changed all of that.

  “What kind of footage?” he asked.

  “Interviews featuring Raven where she talks about the show and what it meant to her. And a few segments that feature her hookups, where they explain what it meant to them to be chosen. Everything I could find to underscore the point that making the Rock Fuck Club stars adhere to a certain number of hookups undermines their freedom of choice.”

  “You explained that to her before on the phone.” Ivan placed his hand over mine.

  “Not with video evidence. Not with both sides expressing the same point of view.”

  “I’m not sure even that will sway her.” His brows dipped together. “But if it doesn’t, then we’ll just have to change her mind together. We’re a team now. Remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “I’m not sure you do.” His chiseled lips flattened. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “As stimulating as this debate is . . . not.” Tyler screwed his face up in a way that irritated me but didn’t detract from his hot mountain-man-without-a-razor look. Ivan certainly wasn’t the only guy in the band who had groupies lining up backstage for a chance with him. “Can you guys wrap it up already? I’ve got a killer headache. I need peace and quiet and caffeine. Fast.”

  Crossing the length of the lounge in a couple of long-legged strides, he stopped in front of the kitchenette and popped open an upper cabinet door.

  Another metal slam startled me again. This one was followed by more t
han one set of footsteps on the stairs.

  “What the hell?” Ivan threw his hands in the air as Jagger and Nicholas appeared. “Why the fuck are you two up this early?”

  “Not our choice. It was him.” Jagger hooked an accusatory thumb toward the drummer, who had his back turned to us all.

  “You need to learn to focus better.” Tyler laughed. “If you couldn’t finish them off, that’s your problem.”

  “Fuck you, Ty.”

  The drummer acknowledged the comment by throwing his right arm into the air, middle finger extended.

  “Beautiful naked identical twins open to experimentation.” Nicholas, a.k.a. Arrow, shook his head. His blond hair was short on the sides, but the front was so long, it skimmed his gaze. “Ty can’t stand for anyone to have fun if he’s not included.”

  Nicholas and Jagger dropped onto the other sofa and turned on their video game. In seconds, the sounds of tires screeching and explosions came from the flat-screen TV. Ivan glared at them, and Jagger sighed before he turned the volume down a little.

  “Okay, so what the hell, Ty?” Ivan asked. “What’s so important you had to ruin everyone’s fun first thing in the morning?”

  “We’re leaving.” The drummer pressed the switch to start the faded and stained coffeemaker and turned around. “Bus-call time’s been moved up.” Planting his hands on his narrow hips, he glared at everyone. “To now.”

  “Says who?” Ivan’s expression darkened. “Last I checked, I was the leader of this band. And I specifically remember telling you guys I wanted alone time with Mars.”

  “Gave you time.” Tyler’s gaze narrowed.

  “It’s barely midmorning. No one is supposed to be on the bus except Mars and me until checkout time.”

  “Know what you said. But we need to get on the road now so we can get home before rush-hour traffic.”

  “Corsicana home?” Ivan cocked his head. The ends of his silky hair brushed his shoulder.

  “Hell no. Nothing back there anymore for you or me. I mean our place.” Tyler gave Ivan a disgruntled look. The two of them were roommates, co-owners of a house in the Bishop Arts District of Dallas, and all the guys usually stayed there whenever the band wasn’t on tour. “I figured we could lay down the new tunes in the studio.”