The Rock Star: The Rock Series, #1

By Rick Soper

The Rock Star is the first novel in the three part Rock Series, which is also available as a three-in-one Special Rock Series Edition at a discounted price.

Jake Martin saves rock star Jimi Christian from drowning on a California beach, and triggers a wave of unintended consequences...

Injured FBI Special Agent Jon Stevens is back on the job, with a broken skull, a broken spirit and a ritualistic murder case only his talents can solve...

And a vigilante begins targeting celebrities he deems worthy of his own savage brand of justice.

What ties them all together? A revenge served so cold and so calculating that it uses everyone from opportunistic Russians, corrupt businessmen, an agoraphobic hacker--to a rock super star--to reach its goal.

*The Rock Star* is the first thrilling book in the *Rock Series* trilogy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rick Soper
• Release date: Jun 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781301833368

Book preview

Book One of The Rock Series

THE ROCK STAR

by Rick Soper

COPYRIGHT

The Rock Star

Rick Soper

Copyright © 2012 by Rick Soper

Cover design by Baldemar Rivas

Book design by Rick Soper

All songs contained within, Copyright © 2012 by Rick Soper

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

No Songs contained within this book may be performed without the express written consent of the author.

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

Published by Rock Hard Press

United States of America

First Edition: November 2012

ISBN 9781301833368

Chapter 1

She’d told him that he shouldn’t dwell on a broken past while he could still make choices that could shape his future. She had said the words with such utter conviction that they took hold of him, drove him forward; but in the end she hadn’t taken her own advice.

He took a breath, rubbed his hand over his face, tipped his head back and took a long, deep drink of Coors Light, so cold it burnt the back of his throat. He enjoyed the pain – it reminded him that he was still alive.

He picked up a handful of the fine, white sand at his feet, and as the grains slipped between his fingers his mind fell into the darkness, the blood-soaked images of that night, the visions that he had tried so hard to push out over the last year but continued to fall into: the rewind that couldn’t be unwound: the paralyzing, consuming pain. He fell fast, before the screaming sound of an engine above his head tore him out of it as a car burst through the guardrail in an explosion of sparks and sounds.

Instinct pushed him into motion and he threw his body into a roll as the car flew through the air over his head. An instant later it crashed onto the rocks sticking out of the furious water. Jake kept rolling until his feet hit the ground and he burst up into a run, throwing off his jacket and shoes, shooting himself into the icy waves. The water was bone cold, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins carried him forward.

He reached the car in seconds. It teetered on a high, flat rock as he reached in and grabbed the arm of the unconscious driver. As he pulled, a wave crashed into them and the car slid off the rough granite, falling right on top of him but he kicked himself out of the way just in time. He pushed his head out of the water as the car sunk down, took a deep breath and dove straight back to where the car was settling in the sand, ten feet below the surface.

He scrambled in the pitch black water, feeling around with his hands until he found the open window. He grabbed the driver’s arm and pulled, but the body wouldn’t give so he reached deeper into the car: the seat belt was still connected.  His lungs burned – he didn’t have time to go back up for air. He pulled himself into the car and fumbled around for the seat belt latch as another wave crashed into the rocks above them, sending swirling water down that smashed him against the car, and then ripped him away. At the sudden disorientation, fear shot through him. He longed to escape, but if he gave up the driver would die, so he fought through his fear and searched until he found the latch and pushed the button. Then he pulled himself back out of the car, grabbed the driver’s arm, anchored his feet against the side of the car and pulled. The body still wouldn’t budge. Another wave hit, but this time the swirling water gave Jake the leverage he needed to pull the unconscious driver out of the car.

Jake grabbed the body around the neck and pushed off the sandy bottom, shooting them both up and out of the water, where Jake’s greedy lungs sucked in the sweet, night air. It took a second for his oxygen starved brain to stop bursting stars across his field of vision. When it did, he beat desperately against the water with his free arm and his legs until he was close enough to the shore to be able to stand. Then he easily swung the small body into his arms and carried it to the sand.

His lungs were still screaming and his body shook from the cold, but he knew that the person next to him only had seconds before asphyxiation. Jake willed himself to move. He rolled the driver over, only to be shocked by the face that he saw.

Jake had assumed that with the small frame and long hair, the driver was a woman, but the face that he was looking down on was that of a bearded man. That was surprising enough, but the real shock was that he recognized the face. He couldn’t place it… but he knew the little man.

The shock only lasted an instant and then he lifted the man’s face up, his chin down, took a deep breath, and pushed air into the man’s mouth. Then he pulled back and pushed on his chest. One, two, three, and then another breath. As he pushed a third time, water shot out of the man’s mouth. Jake grabbed his arm and pulled him onto his side, where he continued to choke water out for a few more moments as he coughed and sucked in air.

Jake fell over onto his back. His heart was pounding in his chest, he was gulping in air, and he couldn’t stop shaking, but he felt more alive then he had in the last year. Then he heard a surprising sound.

Oooooooohhh shit! the driver screamed, and then started laughing as he said under his breath that did not go at all as planned.

Jake thought that he must be in some sort of shock. Are you alright?

The little man turned towards Jake and grinned. That was fun, he said.

The grin and the look were familiar, but before Jake could ask him who he was, the air filled with the sounds of sirens in the distance.

The driver struggled to get up. That’s my cue to get going.

Jake rose with the other man and grabbed his arm. I don’t think you should be going anywhere.

The man smiled again. I don’t want or need the publicity.

The publicity... You’re Jimi Christian!

Jimi nodded. Yes I am, and now that we’ve established that can we get out of here? He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

Jake let go of his arm and pointed towards the parking lot down the beach. My car is over there.

Cool. The two of them ran, Jimi struggling to keep up.

Somewhere deep down Jake knew he shouldn’t help Jimi leave the scene of an accident, but he didn’t want to talk to the cops either, especially not here, and not tonight. For the first time since that night a year ago Jake didn’t feel like a ghost, he felt alive, and he wanted to keep a hold of that as long as possible. Part of it was the adrenaline, but most of it was the person he’d saved: Jimi Christian wasn’t just anyone. Jimi Christian was a rock star.

Chapter 2

Are You Ready? Liz asked.

It was a simple question, but it seemed to him to be loaded with all the possibilities in the world. She took a deep breath, pulled her lower lip in under her teeth, pushed her chest out, and stared at him mischievously.

Uh.. Aaron tried to speak, but his brain was mush, his mouth incapable in that moment of forming words.

She smiled, leaned back, tucked her legs under her in the car seat and then reached forward and ran her fingers through his hair, down the side of his jaw and then grabbed him, pulled him to her, and kissed him deeply.

Aaron’s inexperienced body shivered with excitement at her touch. He tried to reach his arms around her, but found himself caught by the steering wheel on one side and the car seat on the other. She didn’t even notice as she caressed the side of his face with her other hand, cupping his head as her much more experienced tongue made its way through his mouth. He was trembling, sweating, and breathing hard as his hands finally encircled her small waist.

She pulled back, took another deep breath, smiled at him and bit down on her lower lip before surging forward again, kissing him deeply and urgently. Her hand made its way down his neck, over his heaving chest and then she rocked hard against him, fell back against her own seat, and giggled as she looked at him from under her brown bangs.

Aaron immediately thought he had done something wrong.

She could see the shock on his face and said, oh, cute little Aaron, I can’t make it that easy for you as she reached back, pulled on the door handle, and slipped out of the car.

What the… Aaron twisted, turned, and fumbled to get his own door open, and then dropped onto the cold, sand covered asphalt. He flipped over again and popped up to see her grinning as she looked at him from across the top of the car.

He could barely breathe as he watched her circle around until she stood right in front of him. Then in a sudden, violent movement she slammed him into the car, grabbed his head, and started kissing him again. She rolled her hips up into him, grinding into his crotch. His excitement gave way to embarrassment at his fully engorged erection but she only pushed against him harder, wrapping a leg around his waist until he was about to explode.

Before he could let go, Liz’s hand shot up to the back of his head and pulled his hair. Not... just yet…

It took a moment for him to catch his breath and relax enough to see again; when he did, she was backing away from him towards the beach with a big grin on her face. Then she turned and started running. He ran after her but he was still painfully hard, having to readjust himself so he could move at all.

He chased her through the parking lot and over the sandy rise that rose up and then sloped down to the beach below but he was moving too fast – his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the moonlight past the parking lot and he tripped, tumbling head over heels down the hill.

The hill was only thirty feet long, but each roll pushed his belt into his hard on and shot pain through his body. At the bottom he thought his dick might be broken until he checked it out, caught his breath, and made yet another – this time painful – readjustment before looking around, embarrassed, hoping Liz hadn’t seen but as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight he realized that he'd lost her.

He heard a crack off to his left and saw long, dancing shadows that had to be coming from a roaring fire, flickering from around a low, beach dune. The smell of something hit his nose – he couldn’t quite place it, but it reminded him of pork ribs. His first thought was that someone was having a party on the beach; it was just after midnight, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d come down here to party. But the parties were usually loud, and all he could hear was the cracking sound of the wood on the fire.

He started walking towards it and as he rounded the bend he found himself looking at a massive bonfire. The party fires where usually just a log or two but this one was huge, and the only one near it was Liz.

She was on her knees, pointing at the fire.

Yeah, it’s pretty big, he said as he started forwards, but then he saw the tears running down her cheeks, and he followed the line of her shaking finger to the heart of the fire, where a body of a naked girl was burning. He watched in horror as the girl’s legs shifted up, her arms pinched in, her head rolled to the side, and her mouth fell open as a soul-shattering scream ripped out through the night.

Aaron stumbled backwards, fell into the sand and turned to reach for Liz, but paused as he saw her face. The girl who had so confidently asked him ‘are you ready?’ and made it sound like it had all the possibility in the world was gone. What was left was terrified, shaking, and broken. It wasn’t the body in the fire that was screaming. Horribly, Aaron wished it was. Instead it was Liz, and he didn’t think she was ever going to stop.

Chapter 3

The Russian – Aleksei Petrenko – grinned as he watched the lowered, black SUV with the shining, silver rims and the loud, thumping stereo drive into his warehouse. Within the context of war, to draw attention to oneself was to invite your own destruction. But the American gangs puffed out their chests, wore their colors, drove their flashy cars, and wondered why they were continually shot at and arrested by police. Their stupidity represented an opportunity for profit, and Aleksei always took advantage of an opportunity when one was offered.

The SUV pulled in front of him. He raised his hand and the men inside flinched: his reputation had preceded him. He pushed the button on the remote control in his hand and closed the warehouse door. He was long past the point of needing to be in the gun business, let alone participating in individual deals, but he still liked to look into the eyes of the men he was doing business with.

Two clicks in his earpiece meant Viktor was signaling him that he had made sure they were not followed, that the jamming device was now on. Aleksei had done his homework. The man he was meeting with was called Tharon, and Tharon always had three other men in the car with him, and four others in a house in Seaside, watched now by Alexei’s man Sergei. Tharon’s crew was up from LA and wanted to make inroads into the drug trafficking in the area that was currently being run by the Mexicans and the Chinese. That venture would be short lived, but Aleksei would take the business while it lasted.

You the Russian? Tharon asked as he and the others got out of the SUV.

I am Aleksei Petrenko. Aleksei responded sternly, happy to see the sweat, collecting on Tharon’s brow.

You're the man himself. Tharon said, his eyebrows raised.

Yes. Aleksei turned and started walking away from Tharon and his men. It took a moment before they followed him but they did, not knowing that to turn your back on one's enemy was an insult, a question to their manhood.

Aleksei strode through a maze of crates stacked twenty feet high to an open area with three, sheet-covered tables. He stepped to the first table and pulled off the sheet. Here is the Heckler & Kock MP5K, a 9mm weapon, which fires at 900 rounds per minute, he said. Then he took a step to his right and pulled off the next sheet. And here is the Mac-10, also a 9mm weapon. Another step to his right and he pulled the sheet off the final table, reaching forward as he did, picking up the gun, But the best of all is the Kalashnikov Assault Rifle from my mother Russia. The AK47 fires a 7.62mm shell at 600 rounds per minute. It is the most reliable, accurate, and devastating weapon ever made. He passed the rifle to Tharon, who weighed it in his hands with a look of surprise.

That’s solid! Tharon flipped the weapon around and pointed it in the direction of the crates.

Tharon held the rifle low, next to his hips. Alexei hoped that when he fired it for the first time he held it the same way; the kickback would probably break his wrists.

How much for all of them? Tharon asked as he looked down at the AK47.

Aleksei’s first thought was that the price was something Hektor should already have discussed – but Hektor could be somewhat unreliable. Fifty thousand dollars, he said.

Aleksei sensed Tharon's surprise, despite the other man trying to hide it by tilting his head up and giving Aleksei a low-browed stare. Hektor said thirty.

Aleksei did not barter or negotiate. The price is fifty, he said, his voice cold.

Tharon looked over his shoulder at the three men behind him and then back at Aleksei, standing alone at the table. He drew himself up and took a step forward. I have thirty.

Aleksei stood stone still and spoke in a flat, emotionless voice. Then you need twenty more.

Aleksei could see that Tharon was used to people backing down when he stepped up, but Aleksei was not most people. Aleksei could see the thoughts rolling through Tharon’s head: he was thinking about being shown up in front of his men. He was thinking that there were four of them and only one of Aleksei. He was thinking thoughts he shouldn’t, and Aleksei knew what was coming even before Tharon turned the AK47 towards him. How bout I just take this shit, mother fucker, he said, snarling.

It was not the first time that Aleksei had stared down the barrel of a gun, and he didn't flinch. That would not be in your best interests.

Fuck you! Tharon screamed as he pulled the trigger of the AK47.

The gun made a clicking noise, but didn’t fire: Aleksei never put the firing pins in his guns until the deal was done. While they had been speaking, Viktor had silently made his way behind Tharon’s men and at the sound of the click he sprang into action, wielding two, Siberian Sabers one in each hand. His first strike was up and through the hamstrings of the two men closest to him, and then he continued the slicing motion of the sabers as they rose up to a point, into the neck of the third man standing behind Tharon, nearly severing his head clean off. Not stopping or even slowing down, Viktor swung on his feet and slammed the sabers back down through the throats of the men who had fallen and were grasping at the back of their legs. Then he spun, took two steps forward and thrust the sabers through Tharon’s stomach. They exited through Tharon’s back, but Viktor twisted them anyway, before pulling them back out sideways, leaving a gaping wound through which Tharon’s intestines spilled onto the ground.

Aleksei had stood silently during the attack and he waited after it was over, watching Tharon and his men quiver, spasm, bleed, and die. Then he looked up at Viktor’s grinning, blood covered face and said in Russian, go get Petr, meet Sergei and take care of the rest of them. Viktor nodded and started to walk away.

And Viktor, Aleksei said, once you get done with that, go get Hektor! We need to have a discussion. A discussion about why this opportunity had become a problem.

Chapter 4

The man who would call himself Gabriel wanted to be left alone. He wanted to be out in the wild, away from people, left to the hunt. He wanted to remain dead. He wanted to avoid his resurrection. But they’d brought the fight to him, they’d invaded his territory, they’d threatened his way of life, and now he had to react.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun with it.

His body bristled with anticipation. He waited in the mansion, by the second floor railing that overlooked the front door. Across his knees was a rifle. On the floor on either side of him rested two, loaded handguns. It was more firepower than he really needed, but better over prepared, than under armed.

Any hunt involved planning, preparation, and execution. But this was far beyond hunting an animal in the open wilderness. True, this prey lacked instincts he normally had to circumvent, but it was still beyond anything he had ever attempted. This was an equal, and when equals collide, anything could happen.

Outside, the sound of thumping music made its way down the driveway. It stopped in front of the doors, and a laughing group made its way in. As they entered, Gabriel let the breath flow out of his lungs, waited until the door shut, and began firing.

Ten people had walked through the door, four men and six women. Gabriel fired nine times, and within moments nine out of ten were lying on the floor. The only body that remained standing was that of five time NBA all-star T.J. Jones.

What the fuck? Jones said as he looked down at the bodies around him and fell back against the wall next to the front door.

Gabriel picked up the two handguns next to him, stepped forward, jumped over the rails of the balcony, flipped once in the air and landed gracefully on his feet. He pointed the guns at Jones, who cowered against the wall. Gabriel didn’t fire; instead, he dropped the guns on the hardwood floor under him and motioned for Jones to come at him.

Jones immediately went from being terrified to pissed off. I don’t know who you are, but I’m going to kick your fucking ass! he said as he jumped over the bodies towards Gabriel.

Under his black mask Gabriel smiled. Jones was known for his temper, and Gabriel had counted on him acting just like this. Jones was on him in a moment, throwing a wild, roundhouse punch that Gabriel easily ducked under as he popped past him and shot his elbow hard into Jones' ribs. Then he kicked his foot into the back of the larger man's knee, sending him sprawling onto the floor, just in time for Gabriel to slam his fist into Jones' kidneys.

Jones deserved this and a lot more. Gabriel let him struggle back to his feet and attempt another punch. This time Gabriel grabbed Jones' arm, pulled him over his shoulder and threw him into the nearest wall. When the big man hit it the plaster behind him cracked, and then rained down around him as he crumpled onto the floor. Jones tried to raise his head again, but this time Gabriel slammed his fist into the side of his jaw and knocked him dead cold out.

Gabriel shook his head. He had been expecting better. Jones was a world-class athlete, but Gabriel had taken him down in under a minute. With the amount of training he had put himself through he should have expected nothing less, but you never know what could happen until it does.

Gabriel walked over to where he had dropped his guns, picked them up, holstered one, and then walked back with the other in his hand, pointed it down at Jones' chest and fired. Then he reached down, grabbed Jones' arm and lifted him up over his shoulder. Jones was nearly a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier but Gabriel carried him easily. It was time to punish Jones for his transgressions. After that it would be time to call an old friend.

Chapter 5

As Bernie Smith woke up, his hands shot to his pounding head. As well as the blinding pain at his temple, his muscles were sore, his bones ached, his stomach was in knots, and on top of everything he had a God-awful taste in his mouth. He tried to open his eyes but they were gummed up – he had to use his fingers to wrench them open. When he did, what he thought was overwhelming pain suddenly became secondary to the horror in front of him.

Blood was everywhere. It was on the fingers of the hands he had just used to pry open his eyes. It was on the stone floor beneath him. It was soaked into the white robe that he wore. For a moment, he thought he was the one who was injured, but a quick, panicked look revealed that he was unhurt. Why was he wearing the white robe? Why was he naked underneath it? Whose blood was he covered in? Where was he? Satisfied for the moment that he was unharmed, he looked around him, which only deepened his growing panic.

Jesus! he said.

Stone walls rose up twenty feet over his head, wrapping him in a huge circle. At the top of the room, a sculpture depicted a snake, twisting around to swallow its own tail. In the center of the circle a chain dropped a chandelier made completely of human bones and topped with black candles that had spilt centuries of wax down and over the bones. Thirteen ribs went from the floor to the snake sculpture in the ceiling. Each rib followed a pattern. It went up six feet to an altar of bones that held another black candle. Above the altar were paintings, each one depicting a gruesome scene: a human head being torn off by a wolf, a sword wielding savage standing on a tower of bodies, a devil staring out from a throne with fire in his eyes, and others just as horrible. On top of the paintings was a sculpted spur on top of which sat a series of stone figures, alternating between demons and snarling animals.

But it was between each of the ribs that the walls held their most horrifying treasure. Four feet up from the floor, shelves were carved in the walls, thirteen shelves high, longer on the bottom, shorter next to the sculpted snake. Each shelf was lined with bright, white, human skulls: single skulls on the top, two on the next one down, three below that, and on and on until there were thirteen on the bottom shelf. Each skull was placed a wooden stand that had a carved name on it.

Nice of you to rejoin us, Mr. Smith. A skull-faced figure pulled away from the wall, dressed in a rough brown robe with a wide hood.

What’s going on? Bernie stammered.

The figure ignored his question and waved a robe-covered arm around the room. Magnificent, isn’t it?

I... I…

The skull-face figure walked around the carved stone