Twisted Read online

  Table of Contents

  TWISTED

  COPYRIGHT

  Dedication

  “Sugar Kiss”

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  LET YOUR VOICE BE HEARD

  Lost In Oblivion

  ANYTHING BUT MINE

  SHADOWBOXER

  TWISTED

  He’s always saved her. Now she’s going to return the favor...

  Gray Duffy never thought he’d end up as the co-lead guitarist of Oblivion, one of the hottest rock bands in the country. Even better? He's sharing the experience with his best friend, Jazz. Since the day she’d showed up as his family’s new foster kid, Gray has protected her. Loved her. And not just platonically either. After all these years of wanting her in his bed, he still doesn't know what it would be like to have her mouth on his.

  Except for that one time. The time he’d shared her with Nick. The best worst night of his life.

  Now they’re living their dream. They’re making music together and spending every waking moment trapped in tight quarters. With success at their fingertips, the time is right for him to finally make his move toward the woman he needs.

  He just never figured he would lose control. Or that she would find out.

  They’ve loved each other through everything. But what if this time love just isn’t enough?

  COPYRIGHT

  EBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  TWISTED

  © 2014 Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott

  ISBN: 978-1-940346-11-3

  Cover by Taryn Designs

  All Rights Are Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Rainbow Rage Publishing electronic edition: December 2014.

  DEDICATION

  To my Mom, who thinks I’m a rock star.

  To Taryn, who buys me bats and keeps me company on the many nights when I’m still awake to see the daylight. The music of friendship is the sweetest melody there is.

  To Erin and Diane, who are the best friends and cheerleaders we can ask for.

  To our Word Wenches, who keep us fueled with mancandy.

  And most of all to our readers, thank you for coming along for the ride with Oblivion.

  “SUGAR KISS”

  G. Duffy, N. Crandall, S. Kagan

  Up against the wall

  Or on the floor

  I’ll take what I need

  Anytime at all

  Watch me lick my lips

  Because you already want my kiss

  Up and down and side to side

  One long taste brings you bliss

  Don’t act so shy

  I taste the flavor on your thighs

  You know you want my

  Sugar kiss, baby

  I’ll dive between those lips

  Oh so sweet

  Lick my plate clean

  And all the places in between

  Feel my fingers

  Take my hard drive in your dock

  Beg me, beg me to stop

  I’ll keep on giving you my

  Sugar kiss

  CHAPTER ONE

  Then

  “Gray, your new sister is here.”

  Gray rolled over on his stomach and dragged the pillow over his head. He was still hungover from the party last night and wasn’t in the mood to play nice. Not while there were cymbals crashing in his skull. “Can I talk to her later?”

  “No. You can talk to her now.”

  He groaned. “Brent’s home for the weekend. Let him play welcome wagon. I’ll take the night shift.”

  “Brent already went back to campus.”

  Figured. His older brother swung in for a night then swung back out again before the fawning stopped. Leaving everything to Gray as usual.

  “Besides, I think you’re more suited in this case.” The mattress sank as his mom sat down at his side. “This one’s not had an easy time of it. I think a friend would do her good.”

  Instantly guilt twisted in Gray’s already knotted stomach. Damn Mad Dog. He was never drinking that crap again, no matter how often Jimmy tried to tell him getting loaded would help their band. Bullshit. All it had done was given him a fucking headache and put him in a pisser of a mood. He rolled over and tossed his arm over his eyes. “How bad?” he asked tiredly.

  “Pretty bad. Her mom kept her sister but turned Jasmine over to the state. Said she’d gone wild and she couldn’t handle her anymore. Since then, she’s bounced from place to place.”

  “So she’s trouble.” He didn’t have time for that. He could stir up enough of his own.

  “I think she’s just lonely. You have to meet her.”

  The foster kids his mom and dad took in had usually come from rough environments. Some of the children were friendlier than others, which was understandable. It had been six months since the last one, and he’d begun to think that the Duffys had taken in their last kid. Brent was off at college now, and he would be too in a couple of years. Maybe his parents were looking forward to their empty nest.

  But now they’d taken in Jasmine.

  “Jasmine, huh? Like the flower?”

  “Yes. Jasmine Edwards. You two actually have a lot in common.”

  He snorted. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  “You’ll see.” She stood up. “I’m going to give you two some time alone. I’ll be in the den, okay?”

  He grunted and waited until she left to haul his ass out of bed. He checked his appearance in the half bath off his bedroom. Lovely. Bloodshot eyes, check. Way too long hair that looked like someone had gone at it with shears, check. Dragon breath from puking in the bushes before he’d crashed that morning, triple check.

  He brushed his teeth a couple of times, pushed a hand through his hair and sniffed his Dokken T-shirt before taking another run at his pits with his deodorant. Good enough. He headed downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. It wasn’t like he was meeting anyone he needed to impress.

  Five minutes with this chick and he could consider his d
uty done. Then maybe he could get some practice in on Krystal Sword’s new material. He’d been writing this new song—

  Halfway into the living room, he came to a halt.

  Everything stopped. His feet, his breath, his heart.

  Curled up in one corner of the couch sat a tiny brunette, a guitar stretched across her lap. It dwarfed her, making her seem even smaller. Her fingers moved like a blur, coaxing out the most beautiful music from the antiquated acoustic. Scratches and welts covered the cherry wood, but it didn’t matter. She might as well have been playing the finest instrument that ever existed.

  Head bent, she strummed and sang a song about a woman on her wedding day. Hope, fear, excitement. Crying tears of joy. He didn’t know the song—folksy type music wasn’t his thing—but he couldn’t stop listening. Or watching the way her perfect pink lips curved around the words she sang so effortlessly that she became one with the melody.

  When she finished, she glanced up and flushed. “Oh.”

  Her eyes were bright blue, like the sky on a sunny day. Surrounded by blue-flecked lashes, those stunning irises bored into his and left him mute. He couldn’t say a damn thing.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have been playing.” She set the guitar aside and brushed her hands over her skintight white jeans. The denim had been sliced all the way up and down her legs, and through the holes he could see glimpses of color on her skin.

  He cleared his throat. “Tattoos?”

  Her flush only worsened as she followed his gaze to her legs. “No. Markers.” She pulled open one of the gaps on her knee and a drawn-on daisy appeared in the hole. “When I get bored, I draw on my clothes. And on myself, since I’m easier to wash off.” She gave a little hitching giggle and stood up, sticking out her hand. “I’m Jazz. You must be Gray.”

  He clasped her hand, not the least bit surprised when heat flared between their palms. But she didn’t seem to notice. She just kept smiling at him, her huge eyes locked on his.

  “Yeah.” He swallowed hard. “I’m Gray.”

  “Nice to meet you. How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.” Not for too much longer though. “You?”

  “Fourteen. But I feel way older.”

  He looked her up and down. “You don’t look older.”

  She threw back her shoulders. “Yeah, ’cause I’m little. But I could still grow. It could totally happen. I take my vitamins. I work out.” She flexed her tiny biceps under the pink sleeve of her T-shirt and he couldn’t help grinning.

  “Sure. I bet you’ll end up six-feet tall.”

  “Nah. That’s as tall as you are. I’d settle for five-two.”

  Gray glanced down at her red Chucks. “You could wear heels.”

  “No way.” She scrunched up her perky nose. “I’d rather be short.”

  He laughed and gestured to her guitar. “So how long have you played?”

  “All my life.”

  He tried to take a deep breath and realized his lungs were still seized up like he’d just run a mile. God, she was cute and she was into music? And she’d be living in his house? Down, boy.

  Talking to chicks wasn’t difficult. Well, before today. He’d never had any trouble acting cool around them in the past. Besides, this one was too young. Fourteen-year-old girls weren’t going to be as easy to coax up into his bedroom, something he did on the regular. He loved girls. The way they smelled. Tasted. Felt under his hands. They were like guitars, all smooth lines and perfect curves. He adored pulling different sounds out of them, just like he did his axe.

  But this particular one would be his sister. Sort of. Which made this awkward.

  “Me too. I’m in a band,” he said, preening a little.

  “You play too?” Her eyes lit. “What instrument?”

  The nerves finally disappeared as he slid his hand down the neck of her guitar. The wood felt good under his hands. Like it was meant to fit his grip. He grinned. “Guitar.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Now

  The stage throbbed with the bass. Confetti from the New Year’s Eve celebration littered the stage and colored strobe lights swung back and forth, landing on each member of Oblivion in turn. The lights bounced over the crowd, revealing individual faces caught in various stages of excitement. The first time they’d played at Frenzy, back home in Carson, California, the crowd hadn’t been nearly as enthusiastic, at least at the beginning. They’d had to seduce them into the music.

  Tonight they were all ready to fuck.

  Gray Duffy closed his eyes and threw back his head, letting the beat take him. His head was spinning, his heart pounding with every crash of the drums behind him. Jazz was killing it. He followed Deacon’s lead as he always did, tracing that heartbeat bass line that led into “Taste of Candy”. The song wasn’t his favorite, but he didn’t care. When the sweat was coursing down his face, the salt burning on his lips and tongue, and his fingers were climbing the frets, so fast he wondered how any skin still covered the muscles and bone, he tasted every note. Became them. Even the dueling guitar played by the guy against his back—Nick—only heightened the experience.

  They were a unit again. They’d sewn the group back together, in spite of the fraying threads. But when they were playing for their fans, especially in their hometown, none of the shit that had transpired the past few months mattered. The grin Nick flashed him as he goaded him into the solo near the end of “Taste” was as genuine as the shoulder nudge Gray gave him when he tried to cut him out too soon. They weren’t friends, exactly, but they weren’t enemies anymore either.

  Simon slung an arm around Deacon’s neck and shoved the microphone in their bassist’s face, earning a growl that somehow fit the song. Simon laughed and pranced away, swaying his hips in his best Mick Jagger imitation. He hadn’t even zipped his leather pants. Why bother? He’d be screwing some chick the instant he finished the set. Maybe before, if the brunette in the front row who kept flashing her breasts actually made it up on stage.

  Jazz banged her heart out on her kit, her wild multi-colored curls flying, the sticks in her nimble fingers colliding with the skins with a beautiful poetry he never grew tired of watching. Every time she smiled, his chest caught, the breath in his lungs stalling out until he looked away and his heart eventually gave in and started beating again.

  The vibration of the stage under his boots brought him back to himself, to the solid reality of the instrument in his hand. The heat climbed up his spine, matching the fiery pressure in his fingers as he raced to keep up with the music inside him. Building, building. As potent as any orgasm, swelling to the point it finally exploded.

  And when Simon’s voice sliced through the screams of the fans, the tension inside Gray snapped, forcing him to his knees while he played for his fucking life.

  Two hours later they dragged themselves into the back, higher than they’d been in months. Laughing, joking with each other. Deacon grabbed Jazz and swung her up on his shoulders, making her squeal. Gray grinned and tweaked her bare foot, pulling on a candy pink-tipped toe, and she kicked out at him, thrusting her hand in his hair while she struggled closer. He leaned up to meet her mouth, knowing the kiss wouldn’t be anything but a glancing blow. Just friends being friendly. His blessing and his curse. Then his gaze flickered to the woman off to the side, smiling at him with determined promise.

  He stumbled back, mumbling an apology to Jazz. He didn’t see her face because he was focused on the woman dressed in the blue tube dress, her blonde corkscrew curls fountaining from the top of her head.

  About goddamned time.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he asked once he was at her side, gripping her arm to pull her close. “I called you five times last night, Cricket.”

  “Oooh, such an appetite you have.” She leaned up and spoke against his ear. “Got a new supplier, handsome. You’ll be ready to go tonight.” She reached down and grabbed his cock through his jeans. He gritted his teeth, hating for once in his life that playing al
ways made him hard. “You’re ready to go right now.”

  He grabbed her wrist. “Stop it. We’re not about that.”

  “But we could be.” She licked her vamp red lips. “You have no idea what I could do to you.”

  “Not interested.” He wished he could walk away. But she had something he needed more than he needed his pride. “All I want is what I pay you for.”

  “You haven’t paid me for anything in quite a while. Your tab’s getting pretty long.” Her gaze drifted below his waist. “Let me help you settle your debt.”

  Christ. It would be so easy to say yes, to just spread her legs and drill himself inside her until she stopped begging. But he was on the verge of begging himself, and not for the well-used landing strip between her thighs. “You’ll get your money. Now it’s your turn to deliver.”

  “Fifteen minutes. Outside.” Cricket looked pointedly over his shoulder. “Just you, handsome.” Turning on her razor-sharp heels, she left him standing there.

  He turned, knowing who would be waiting. Goddammit. He needed a hit before he faced those liquid blue eyes, so full of accusation. “Who is she?” Jazz asked, crossing her arms.

  “A friend.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue.

  “What kind of friend? A groupie?”

  “Does it really matter?” He stabbed his fingers into his eyes. “I need a drink.”

  A moment later, a damp bottle bumped his arm. “Here.”

  He opened his eyes and accepted Jazz’s offering. Water. He couldn’t help smiling. Simon was guzzling whiskey right out of the bottle, but Jazz was drinking water. So that meant he was too.

  He popped the cap with his thumb and tipped it back, sloshing the water into his mouth while he pulled her against his side with his other arm. He pushed the bottle at her next, holding it up for her as she swallowed. A few drops splashed her bare chest over her sharply V-necked top, but he wouldn’t give in to the urge to study the pattern of droplets on the tops of her breasts.