Path of Destruction
by Cara Dee
Release Date: March 16, 2017
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/2mjDth9
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2m6soEn
Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2lEpBkL
Amazon DE: http://amzn.to/2lK15il
The first time Adeline Ivey danced into my life, high on ecstasy instead of life, was at the party before the kickoff of our seventh tour. I spotted her out on the lawn, a gorgeous girl spinning around in circles with her arms wide and a big smile directed at the Los Angeles sky.
We shared an insane summer on the road, surrounded by sex, drugs, and rock n' roll—a combination that could only end in disaster.
That was ten years ago. The world has forgotten Lincoln Hayes, rock god and guitarist in Path of Destruction. As the date of my parole hearing approaches, I'm nothing but a number in the system of the Michigan Department of Corrections. And as much as I want to forget the events of that summer and move on, the girl I can't get out of my head is trying to make an encore appearance in my life.
She was damned beautiful, still.
I folded my arms over my chest, my knee bouncing. I sat like some slouch, and she was as stiff as a stick. Still talking. Her lips moved. Every now and then, she'd lick them, and I tilted my head. In a past life, I'd pushed my cock between those lips.
She shifted in her seat and sat a bit straighter. "I'm asking for permission. I know I don’t need it, but—"
"No, you really don’t," I replied flatly. Why she wanted to write our train wreck of a story was beyond me. I shrugged. "You said it'd be anonymous."
"No names," she confirmed. "No details that would give anyone up, nothing that led up to…" She gave the room a glance and winced.
I stared at her. "You can say prison, Ade."
* * *
"Destruction! Destruction! Destruction!"
The Forum in LA was alive tonight.
Mikey got behind the drums, his kid brother having taken care of soundcheck. We were getting lazy. Everything was handed to us. Tony followed, zipping up his leathers after a pre-show blow job. A roadie handed him his guitar. Then Sam joined, and we were ready.
"Destruction! Destruction! Destruction!"
I drained my beer and threw it somewhere behind the amps.
The second I hit the first chord, the arena erupted in cheers, screams, and stomping feet. I repeated the six-note lick a few times, teasing the audience. The buzz coursed through me and mingled with the coke; these days, it was the only way I knew I was alive. It put a grin on my face, and my heart pumped blood through my system, offering a moment where I was fucking ecstatic. A moment where these shitheads weren't so shitty, after all. Maybe I even loved them for seeing me as a god who could do no wrong.
"Can I come with you on tour?" I asked casually. "When are you leaving, again?" Men like it when you don't want it. "I mean, I wouldn’t sleep with you," I tossed out flippantly. Lying through my teeth.
That crashed and burned. He didn’t see a challenge. "Don't worry, I don’t fuck twelve-year-olds."
"Ouch." Except, it didn’t hurt at all. "I'm eighteen, numbnuts." I sat up in the grass, my hair spilling down my front.
"Do you even know what to do with a cock?"
"I suck it like a lollipop." I showed my palms, a lazy grin on my face. "Sorry, no virtue to protect."
He merely laughed, and I bit my lip and scrunched my nose. So…? Was he gonna let me tag along? A girl had to know. Then he nodded and stood up.
"The bus is at the Beverly Wilshire. Be there at seven AM and ask for
He started walking away while I did a little shimmy in the grass. Fuck yes, I was going on tour. More importantly, I was leaving the West Coast! That made me giggle, but I stopped when I had another question.
Lincoln?" I called
He flicked his cigarette into the pool. "The guy whose cock you'll suck like a lollipop."
* * *
It messed with me, having a fresh memory of
In the last decade, he'd become more and more a ghost. A twinge that tugged at me every now and then, or visited me when I slept. Now there was the crystal-clear image of his face and hardened features, his body in that navy blue, scrub-like prison uniform, and fuck-off attitude. He despised me.
"Where's Abel?" Jesse asked quietly.
"Not home from school yet." I walked over to him and rubbed his neck gently. "You look more and more like your father every day. You know that?"
He smiled faintly and closed his eyes. "I miss him."
"Me, too." I refused to get emotional. In front of Jesse and his little brother, I had to remain strong.
About the Author
As a writer, I'm not finished until the men and women in my books come to life, until I can see them as real people, until I can connect with them. Which means I write what I want to read: everyday heroes and heroines who have the same struggles we all do. They evolve, have flaws, make mistakes and amends, learn, and find the endings they fight for.
Those are the characters who take the readers on a journey away from work, laundry, grocery shopping, and to-do lists.
When I'm not writing, researching, or brainstorming, I'm either planning my next trip (never-ending bucket list!), reading, watching hockey, or spending time with family and friends.