Beg (God of Rock Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Contents

  Beg

  Also by Eden Butler

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  What Readers Are Saying About Eden

  Preface

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from Fall

  About the Author

  Also by Eden Butler

  Also by Eden Butler

  THE SERENITY SERIES

  Chasing Serenity

  Behind the Pitch

  Finding Serenity

  Claiming Serenity

  Catching Serenity

  THE THIN LOVE SERIES

  Thin Love

  My Beloved

  Thick Love

  Thick & Thin

  GOD OF ROCK SERIES

  Kneel

  Beg

  STANDALONES

  I’ve Seen You Naked and Didn’t Laugh

  Crimson Cove

  Platform Four

  Infinite Us

  Fall

  Find out more about Eden’s books on her site www.edenbutler.com

  Copyright © 2018, Eden Butler

  All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the Author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author Publisher.

  Edited by Librum Artis Editorial Services

  Cover Design by Cover Couture

  Cover Image by Vania Stoyanova

  Cover Models: Aaron Dominguez and Hilda Santiago

  Formatting by Tee Tate

  All song lyrics by Eden Butler.

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

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the word-marks and references mentioned in this work of fiction.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Forgiveness, so says Tay Tay, is a nice thing to do. Then she laughs and laughs and laughs because it’s not always possible. Jamie Vega did something horrible to the one person who loved him most in the world. Many have told me that what he did was unforgiveable. Some suggested I have Iris walk away and never look back. Funny thing about publishing, sometimes you get random suggestions from people. Some is good advice. Others, well…let’s just say it’s eye opening what some folks will demand of a perfect stranger.

  The point of this series isn’t simply to tell the story of two broken characters as they stumble in their lives away from each other. The point, if there is one, is that forgiveness comes first to the individual. We all sin and fall and do things that hurt others. We can be greedy. We can be possessive and, yes, we can be manipulative for both good and bad reasons. The bottom line, however, is learning how to forgive yourself before you ask the same of those you’ve hurt. Man, is that hard to do, but forgiveness is never really about the person that got wounded. Many times, it’s about the person delivering the wound. Jamie had to learn that and he isn’t a guy who is good with life lessons. It took him a while to get the message.

  I hope what you find in this final God of Rock novel, is an understanding of why Jamie became Dash and how both men got saved by the woman who was always in a league of her own. Thanks for sticking with me during this small journey. It was fun playing a rocker for a little while.

  For all my Saints & Sinners, manically supportive readers and bloggers.

  You're the real rock stars.

  What Readers Are Saying about Eden Butler

  “I loved this book! The hero is a tatted up Irish rugby player who has traveled to the states to play for college. Like the heroine he has a tragic past and when Autumn and Declan meet sparks fly! Nice to read a book that is anything but predictable.” —Kele Moon, author of the Battered Hearts series

  “This book explores emotional heartache, but on different levels. It’s not just about romantic love, but about the love of family (and “family” takes on a whole new meaning. It encompasses friends, too). From disconnect to possible re-connect. From old scars that refuse to heal, to potential emotional mending. You’ll feel it, deep.” —Maryse Black, Maryse’s Book Blog

  “When I read the first book, Chasing Serenity, I had a bone deep knowing that Eden Butler was a special author. Her ability to pull you into her stories - the world that she creates, the characters that she molds, and her ability to immerse you into the emotions of those characters – is nothing short of spectacular.” —Mean Girls Luv Books

  “There is a bold mission when [Butler] puts pen to paper to grab our attention, open our hearts, and engage our imagination. Butler didn’t hold back with crafting these characters from different cultures, tossing in some major adversity, and challenging them to dig deep for inner strength. At the end of the day, Thin Love is hearty blend for the soul.” —Michelle Monkou, USA Today

  “Read [Thin Love] in one sitting! Without a doubt, my favorite dynamic of bad boy meets feisty good girl. Superb writing!” —Penelope Douglas New York Times bestselling author of Bully and Until You

  “We LOVED this book [Thick Love] and would recommend it in a heartbeat!” —Totally Booked Blog

  “Eden Butler has the gift to immerse her readers into plot [of Thick & Thin] that, albeit fairly light on steam, is heavy on heart. We fall for the characters, their culture, and their love story. I sincerely look forward to what's next in store with Eden Butler.” —Allison, The Reading Escapade Book Blog

  “Eden is continually proving herself in the ranks of every genre of romance, no matter the plot, type or setting, she will pull you in. Prepare yourself.” —Trish Leger, best-selling author of the Amber Druids series

  “A wonderful standalone that will entrance you and captivate you from start to finish. I cannot stress how much I enjoyed reading this. #oneclicknow” —Kawehi, Kawehi’s Book Blog

  “Eden Butler’s writing is fantastic, poetic, and heartfelt. The type of books you remember. Love her!” —Penelope Douglas New York Times bestselling author

  “Beautifully written, skillfully interwoven, a wonder of a tale. It's not often that I am truly impressed, but Eden Butler has blown me away.” —New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Amy Harmon

  “Infinite Us is a gripping story of the roots that define us, the hardships that
test us, and the healing power of love and acceptance. It's a testament to how far we've come and how very far we have to go.” —J.A. DeRouen, Bestselling Author of Low Over High

  “Eden is a masterful storyteller who takes mere words and turns them into magic. She takes you on an intoxicating journey that refuses to let go. Infinite Us is an unforgettable story that'll leave you breathless.” —Cassie Graham, Bestselling Author of Who Needs Air

  “Simultaneously commercial and literary, a thinking person’s romance. —Christopher Ledbetter, author of Drawn from Evernight

  Hurt me and never stop

  Love me like you do

  Mend my wasted soul

  It’s yours, this heart for only you.

  —Hurt Me by Hawthorne, 1986

  Prologue

  Chicago, Illinois, 2009

  The hum of noise came at me through the air vent overhead. The sound was low, pulsing in time with the backbeat of a drum, and started in like a quiet murmur that slipped around the crowd and funneled through the stage corridor, right into the dressing room.

  “More!” The chant was constant and loud enough that the mirror in front of me rattled.

  The crowd ached to be fed. The slipstream of sound filled something inside me, but it did little to make me whole. Not much would.

  “They’re restless tonight!” Nico said, squealing like a band geek who just got felt up by the quarterback on prom night. “We’re gonna kill.”

  “The fuck we are,” I said, because he was being a dumbass, stupid even by Nico standards. I didn’t bother watching him as I lit my cigarette. “Middle acts are filler. You should know that mierda by now.”

  Mick Phillips stepped behind me, shooting Nico a look I’d seen before. It was the same look the guitarist got every time during the past month that I’d make piss-poor predictions about us sucking. But coño, it was the truth.

  “Jamie, man…you gotta have some faith,” Mick said, fanning his fingers through his gel-stiff hair, pumping up his fauxhawk. “It gets old, you saying that shit.”

  He didn’t need to complain. I knew what a pendejo I sounded like. It was a good shot, being on this tour, bookended by a band with even less experience than ours—which was saying something—and The Plebes, who were on their way to landing their first Grammy nod.

  Still, the bullshit morose attitude was something that had taken root inside me a long time ago. As a kid, my mama made sure I knew how pointless it was to shoot for good things. They’d never come to her, why the hell would they come for her kid?

  “Whatever, pai,” I told my guitarist, leaning back in my chair to puff out smoke rings into the air. “Same shit, same set, different fucking day.” He stopped primping long enough to shake his head and fan smoke from his face. I laughed at his frown, knowing I sounded like an ungrateful bastard, but finding it impossible to care much that I did. “Middle sets are when they grab beers and take pisses. We ain’t nobody special to them.”

  “I hope you don’t really think that,” Ronnie Davies said, coming into the dressing room to lean against the table in front of me. As promoter, it was Ronnie’s job to get asses in the chairs and money out of pockets. He’d given me a shot based solely on what he’d heard of my last band, Omen, and set me up with this new group, but it wasn’t the same. We weren’t connecting, which added to my bitter attitude.

  “Shit, Jamie,” he started, moving his head toward me after Nico and Mick disappeared from the room. The gray streaks along his temples glinted against the fluorescent light above us. “I hope you don’t think you landed this tour because I needed a bunch of assholes to play music while the crowds piss and buy shit.”

  He didn’t seem to like my shrug, and I knew why. My mama may have planted the shitty attitude, but my cousin Isaiah and ex-girlfriend Iris had nurtured it into something thick, something that sprouted deep roots. I couldn’t shake this attitude and doubt that felt dense enough to choke me now.

  “You know you’re not here because…”

  “So why am I here?” I asked Ronnie, pushing the chair back away from the table. “I’m all that’s left of Omen.”

  “Jamie, you were all that mattered in Omen.”

  For once, I didn’t have a comeback. Ronnie’s admission deflated a bit of my attitude, and I was left with nothing to do but watch the man’s face. He didn’t smile. He didn’t do anything but nod, telling me with the smallest gesture that he wasn’t feeding me a line.

  “You got the goods, man.” He stood, pulling a cigarette from my pack on the table, his thin lips wrinkling when he lit the smoke. “But even the best musicians need to earn their grit. Everybody has to figure out who they want to be on that stage.”

  “I know who I am,” I defended, not liking the accusation behind Ronnie’s words.

  “Dude, you got no fucking clue.” He smiled at me, those straight teeth marred by the faint yellowing on the enamel from twenty years of smoking and hard road life. The grin made me feel like a clueless asshole, beating his chest because he could. Ronnie seemed to find the glare I gave him funny and went on like some hyena when I hardened my features. “It’s not an insult. I didn’t say you sucked. Your ass wouldn’t be here if you sucked.”

  “But I have no fucking clue?”

  Ronnie lowered his thin shoulders, holding the burning cigarette in front of his mouth, head tilted toward me like he needed a second to consider his answer. Then the man shrugged, waving the smoke in my direction. “You’re what? Nineteen, maybe twenty?” He took my frown as confirmation and continued. “You got chops. I’ve never seen raw talent like yours. You can write, and you’re comfortable on the stage, but your own shit? Your own mark? You haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “Dude what the hell does that even...”

  “You’ll know it when—” But Ronnie didn’t elaborate. His dark complexion paled, and his narrow eyes hardened as he went silent, standing from the table to glare at something behind me. “Shit…”

  There was something in his tone I recognized. It had been there two weeks earlier when my cousin Isaiah had tried getting back stage in Indy. He’d still sported a scar along his bottom lip from our fight months back, but seemed determined to get my ear. It had been a long time since that tussle over Iris, but I still had no plans of ever talking to his ass again.

  Ronnie’s low mutter meant drama none of us had the time for, but as I stood from the table and faced the door, catching sight of the small woman stumbling toward me, I realized that this shitstorm would be tempest-sized.

  “Hell, no,” I told her, holding up my hand when she smiled, chin lifted like she was convinced I was a meal ticket she intended to cash.

  “Papi,” my mother said, coming to stand in front of me.

  She seemed to be shrinking. The last time I’d seen her had been six months before when she banged on my Uncle Hector’s door, trying to see me. The fight in Isaiah’s room where I’d found him and Iris naked on his bed had ended things for me with my cousin and my mama. Hector was the only one I could ever depend on, and he kept my head clear and my ass busy, distracting me from the drama those two pendejos put me in. Since I was cutting ties, I’d made a clean break from everyone except Hector. That night at my uncle’s, with my mother wailing into the darkness like a perra loca, had been the first time in my life that I’d walked away from my mother and stayed gone. She’d spent two hours calling to me from the storefront below Hector’s apartment at 4:00 a.m. My mother had never been good at taking care of herself and hadn’t liked the fact that I’d quit doing it for her.

  Next to me, Ronnie let out a low sigh, as though he knew the drama we were heading for. “I’ll get security.”

  “No.” I pointed at him when he stepped toward my mother’s slouching, drunken form. Ronnie had taken a chance on me, God knew why. The least I could do was sort out my own shit. “I got this.”

  He watched me as I popped my neck, a distraction I told myself I needed to loosen my limbs in case mama decided to take a swin
g at me. “Fine,” he said, nodding once, before he jerked his attention to the clock above the dressing table. “I need you on that stage in twenty. Handle this shit, or I will.” He took half a step away from me before he turned. “And Jamie, make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Ronnie didn’t touch her as he moved out of the door or acknowledge her when she made a weak attempt at grabbing his arm. She looked thin, paler than I’d ever seen her, and pathetic in the tight, black skirt that barely touched her thighs and the black halter loosely tied at the neck and around her waist. She looked just like the person she was—a washed-up addict groupie who hadn’t been told she wasn’t hot and twenty anymore. Though she’d never be ugly, she was still a mess, with wrinkles cornering her big eyes and stretching across her forehead. Her skin was flaky, with a small cluster of pimples on her cheeks. The outfit she wore left nothing to the imagination and emphasized how thin she’d gotten—her collarbones stuck out, and when she turned, rolling her head against the door, her ribs protruded as though she’d gone months without something substantial to eat.