@CMStunich
Unedited Teaser: C.M Stunich's "Tough Luck (Rock Hard Roots # 3)
-Will contain spoilers.
If you haven't read REAL UGLY and GET BENT, back away from the teaser now! And as a side note, there WILL be more Turner and Naomi in future books, so don't let this scare you off.
Now, without further ado...
Chapter One: Ronnie McGuire:
What a fucking idiot.
I'm sitting at my kit watching one of best friends hop around the stage like he's gone completely mental. There's blood leaking from the wound in his thigh, staining the white bandages and drawing little gasps from his throat between verses that the crowd actually seems to like. They're diggin' this tortured, wounded bad boy schtick. Me, not so much.
“Dumb ass,” I growl out under my breath, slamming my sticks so hard I'm pretty damn sure one of the fuckers is going to snap right in half. Wouldn't be the first time. Anyway, this shit is getting stale. I'd like to move onto the next town, please and thank you. But no. No. Stupid ass cops think holding us here while they investigate shit is going to help. Why can't they just book Katie Rhineback and be done with it? It isn't like a good two dozen people are eyewitnesses to her brother's murder. Guess the dead cop they found in the woods spooked 'em.
“Battered and broken, bleeding for you.”
I follow up Turner's hook with some backup vocals. I hate backup vocals. Shit.
“Bleeding for you.”
My friend tilts his head back, letting his shades slip down his sweaty face. From the shadows, I'm pretty sure I can see a hint of Naomi Knox, arms crossed over her chest, lips twitching somewhere between love and irritation. Yup. That's the honest truth right there. Those two have it, whether they know it or fucking not. Forgive me, Asuka, but these stupid fuckers make me want to fall in love again. Doubt I'm going to find someone in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma though.
“Why can't I forget you? It's not like I want to, but, baby, call me crazy. I cannot move on.”
Jesus, I hate this friggin' song. The day Turner wrote it, I almost socked him in the face. I know he was trying to help, but to be honest with you, it just kind of makes things worse. Even all these years later. Even after all these fucking years.
I can still see Asuka's smile, still hear her voice, still feel her body brushing against mine, soft and perfect. My love, my one, true love.
I smash my cymbals and kiss the sound with a spin of my sticks. I'm no Gene Krupa, stirring up dixieland or any of that shit, but I'm alright. I hit my solo running with a double bass beat and tune out the audience like I always do. Turner might eat that crap with a spoon, but I'm happy back here, cloaked in shadows, worshipped but forgotten. That works for me. It's been a long, long time since I've had the desire to be the center of attention.
What a fucking idiot.
I'm sitting at my kit watching one of best friends hop around the stage like he's gone completely mental. There's blood leaking from the wound in his thigh, staining the white bandages and drawing little gasps from his throat between verses that the crowd actually seems to like. They're diggin' this tortured, wounded bad boy schtick. Me, not so much.
“Dumb ass,” I growl out under my breath, slamming my sticks so hard I'm pretty damn sure one of the fuckers is going to snap right in half. Wouldn't be the first time. Anyway, this shit is getting stale. I'd like to move onto the next town, please and thank you. But no. No. Stupid ass cops think holding us here while they investigate shit is going to help. Why can't they just book Katie Rhineback and be done with it? It isn't like a good two dozen people are eyewitnesses to her brother's murder. Guess the dead cop they found in the woods spooked 'em.
“Battered and broken, bleeding for you.”
I follow up Turner's hook with some backup vocals. I hate backup vocals. Shit.
“Bleeding for you.”
My friend tilts his head back, letting his shades slip down his sweaty face. From the shadows, I'm pretty sure I can see a hint of Naomi Knox, arms crossed over her chest, lips twitching somewhere between love and irritation. Yup. That's the honest truth right there. Those two have it, whether they know it or fucking not. Forgive me, Asuka, but these stupid fuckers make me want to fall in love again. Doubt I'm going to find someone in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma though.
“Why can't I forget you? It's not like I want to, but, baby, call me crazy. I cannot move on.”
Jesus, I hate this friggin' song. The day Turner wrote it, I almost socked him in the face. I know he was trying to help, but to be honest with you, it just kind of makes things worse. Even all these years later. Even after all these fucking years.
I can still see Asuka's smile, still hear her voice, still feel her body brushing against mine, soft and perfect. My love, my one, true love.
I smash my cymbals and kiss the sound with a spin of my sticks. I'm no Gene Krupa, stirring up dixieland or any of that shit, but I'm alright. I hit my solo running with a double bass beat and tune out the audience like I always do. Turner might eat that crap with a spoon, but I'm happy back here, cloaked in shadows, worshipped but forgotten. That works for me. It's been a long, long time since I've had the desire to be the center of attention.
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