Deliver Me
Authors: Faith Gibson
All
rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the
scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without
the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s
intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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, locations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
The
author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners
of the wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Copyright © 2015 by Faith Gibson
7’s Mistress logos and Lyrics ©
2015 by Faith Gibson
Published by: Faith Gibson
Editor: Jagged Rose Wordsmithing
First e-book edition: October
2015
First print edition: October 2015
Cover design by: Simply Defined
Art
Photography:
Depositphotos
ISBN:
978-0996366427
This
book is intended for mature audiences only.
Dedication
Love is love, and there
is not enough love in the world. This book is for everyone who follows your
heart and finds love, regardless of what others think.
Acknowledgements
I want to thank my
writing posse for not batting an eye when I switched lanes with no turn signal.
I stepped out of my paranormal series into this rock and roll love story, and
they went right along with me – Alex, Jen, Kendall, Nikki – I love you all.
I have absolutely too
many beta readers to list here. Stepping out of my usual genre, I asked for a
lot of feedback before I put the book out into the world. I appreciate every
single one of you who took the time to read the book and offer up feedback.
Thank you for helping Tag and Erik get their story out there.
A
big thank you to all the bloggers who put Deliver Me out into the world. To the
ladies at Tasty Wordgasms, your support means everything to me.
Table of Contents
The
twenty thousand fan filled arena was chaotic with everyone chanting
Mistress…
Mistress… Mistress
. The band had already performed most of their hits
including several cover songs. The crowd was waiting to hear their latest hit
Heaven’s
Hell
. Taggart Lee wiped the sweat from his face and downed a bottle of water.
As lead singer of 7’s Mistress, the band waited for his cue to return to center
stage. He handed the empty bottle to one of the roadies and nodded at Cade to
go do his thing.
The
lights dimmed as Kincade Anderson took his seat behind one of the biggest drum
kits to ever grace the stage in the Staples Center. He gave the crowd four
minutes of mind-blowing sticks, skins, and cymbals as Tag got ready to do
his
thing.
Heaven’s Hell,
the title track to the album, might be a slower song,
but it couldn’t be called a ballad. When Tag approached the band with the
lyrics, nobody questioned the meaning behind the words. All four men had lived
the same life for the last fifteen years. They started out as teenagers playing
shitty instruments making no money in corner bars before graduating to opening
for the high profile rockers. Now, they were the head-liners, selling out the
largest arenas in the world. The four of them had been through marriage,
divorce, drugs, booze, and rehab. They had encountered all the highs and lows
being famous brought them. The lifestyle was a cliché. They were a cliché.
When
Cade ran a stick along the chimes, Tag, Les Paulson, and Sloane Vargus walked
onto the dimly lit stage, taking their places. In the dark, Pauly strummed the
opening notes to
Heaven’s Hell
. Sloane, with his back to Pauly, plucked
his bass. Tag didn’t have to see the two of them to know their heads were leaned
back onto each other’s shoulders. When the notes faded, a lone spotlight shone
on Tag. Even though they all felt the words, this was his song. Holding on to
the cold metal of the microphone stand, Tag closed his eyes and softly sang…
You
think you see
What’s
inside
The
wounded veil
I
try to hide
You
think you know
The
real me
The
tarnished soul
That
can’t break free
You
see the smiles
I
put on
The
blackest heart
Already
gone
Before
the chorus began, Pauly and Sloane moved apart, not allowing the world to
invade their private moment. Standing on opposite sides of the stage, the two
of them played as Tag belted out the chorus in his husky voice…
Heaven’s
just a figment
Something
out of reach
Hell
is calling me
Setting
me free
Heaven’s
just a lie
A
lover’s game gone wrong
Hell
is telling me
I
don’t have to be strong
The
notes from the guitars were accompanied by Cade’s hypnotic beats on his drum
kit. When the second verse started, the lights dimmed once again. Tag didn’t
remove the microphone from the stand. He was afraid if he did, he wouldn’t be
able to hold himself up long enough to finish the song. He held on with both
hands, head bowed, and sang from his soul…
You
want to believe
I’m
at the top
The
world at my feet
I
want it to stop
You
see the lights
The
money, the fame
I
sold my soul
Would
I do it again?
You
want me to say
Everything’s
all right
The
truth is dark
I
can’t find the light
As
rehearsed, the lights came up and focused on everyone except Tag. The crowd was
already singing along, and now they would have their moment to shine. Sloane
stroked his bass, the only sound coming from the stage. When the crowd began
chanting again, Tag drew in a deep breath. This was the last show on the first
leg of the tour. One last chorus and he was home free, at least for a month
until they hit the road again.
The
spotlight faded, and the lights came up all around the arena. “Los Angeles!”
Tag yelled into the microphone. The crowd erupted into shouts and whistles.
“Are you motherfuckers ready to sing?” The crowd went wild again. Normally,
Tag would drag this part out, but he was done. Ready to be home. He turned and
nodded at Pauly. The notes for the second chorus sounded, and Tag told the
fans, “I want to hear every fucking one of you bastards singing!” He pushed his
microphone stand toward the front row, and right on cue, twenty thousand voices
sang…
Heaven’s
just a specter
Something
fading fast
Hell
is taunting me
How
long can it last
Heaven’s
just a myth
A
caress in the night
Hell
makes me believe
I
don’t have to fight
Heaven’s
hell on earth
Heaven’s
hell on earth
Pauly
repeated the opening notes to the chorus, and Tag pulled the microphone back.
He groaned through the words, his eyes prickling, his heart heavy. When the
last note sounded, he yelled, “Thank you. Goodnight.” The lighting crew knew
that was their cue to blacken the stage.
Tag
stood in the dark, hanging on to his mike stand. Strong arms wrapped around him,
offering him strength. He leaned his body against Cade, allowing his best
friend to hold him. “You were phenomenal out there,” Cade whispered against his
ear.
Tag
let go of the microphone and turned to face Cade, sliding his arms around the
taller man’s waist. When he laid his head on his friend’s chest, he was
assaulted with the scent of sweat and sandalwood, a combination Tag was
intimately familiar with. Caught up in the moment, he allowed his lips to ghost
over Cade’s neck before he leaned back. Together, they walked off the stage
where Pauly and Sloane were waiting on them, along with their manager, Echo.
The petite woman may be small and have an unusual name, but she was a fucking
powerhouse.
Echo
was their biggest fan, but her usual smile was missing. Something was wrong. She
held her hand out to Tag. He didn’t hesitate to take it. “What’s wrong?”
“Tag,
you need to get home. It’s Delilah. She went into premature labor, and it
doesn’t look good. I’ve got the jet on standby.”
Tag
stood unmoving. Other than his band, his baby sister was the only person he had
left in this sordid world. There was no fucking way he could lose her without
losing himself, too. He felt his bandmates behind him, and he stopped. Turning
to them, he said, “No, y’all stay and greet the fans. If none of us show up
it’ll look bad, and they’ll figure out something’s wrong. I don’t want them
getting wind of my personal shit.” He slipped into his southern drawl when he
was stressed.
Cade
stepped closer and placed his hand on Taggart’s neck, pulling their foreheads
together. It was a move he’d made a thousand times over the years. This time,
it was filled with so much more love. “I know, Cade. I know.” Tag and Cade had
been lovers many years ago, but they eventually figured out they were better
friends. When Cade released him, Sloane and Pauly stepped up and hugged him
tight. “We’ll be there tomorrow, man,” Sloane whispered against his hair. Tag
released them and turned to Echo. He leaned down and kissed his manager on the
cheek. “Thank you, for everything,” he told her as he wiped the tear rolling
down her face.
His
heart had been heavy on stage. Now, his whole body felt like it was filled with
lead. He needed to hurry the fuck up and get back to Tennessee. Echo hadn’t
mentioned whether or not the baby was okay. He’d find out when he got to the
hospital.
It
was almost midnight when Tag arrived at LAX. His manager was a miracle worker.
Somehow she kept his leaving a secret from the paparazzi, allowing him an iota
of peace getting to the airport. The flight crew had signed non-disclosure
agreements way back when they’d been hired. Now, they were all part of the
family. Whatever they saw and heard between the band members stayed private.
When Tag climbed the steps into the cabin, Stewart, the pilot, hugged him tight
without saying a word. Tag took his seat and buckled up. Once they were in the
air, he would clean up and change into street clothes. He didn’t want to shock
the doctors and nurses with his appearance. His jet black hair was currently
standing on end, pointing in all directions. His t-shirt showed the sleeves of
ink on both arms. Leather pants were sexy on stage, but they wouldn’t be
comfortable to sit in for several hours.
Four
hours later, the plane landed at Nashville International where Tag grabbed a
taxi and headed to the hospital. Not knowing where else to go, he had the
driver drop him off at the Emergency Room door. Tag threw several twenties at
him and ran inside. He didn’t stop until he was standing at the desk. “Delilah
Holloway. She’s my sister. Where is she?” Tag begged.
The
nurse behind the desk typed into her computer. Her face changed from annoyance
to something Tag couldn’t decipher. “She’s in Surgical Intensive Care, fourth
floor. Go through these double doors and take the second elevator on the left.”
It
was a little after four in the morning, and the hospital was eerily quiet. The
doors buzzed, and Tag pushed them open, running down the empty hall. He had to
see his sister. Even though Delilah was five years younger, they had always
been close. He called and talked to her at least two or three times a week
while on the road. He talked to her just a few days ago, and she had been fine.
He punched the button in the elevator, cursing it to hurry the hell up. When he
exited onto the fourth floor, he looked around for any indication of which way
to go. He saw the nurse’s station and jogged that way. “Delilah Holloway?” he
asked an older woman behind the desk.
“You
must be Lee. Come with me.” Instead of leading him to one of the glassed-in patient
rooms, Tag was shown into a private waiting room. “Please wait here, and I’ll
get the doctor.” She gave him a sad smile before closing the door.
Tag
paced the confined room, his hands running through his previously tamed hair.
After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened, and a grim-faced man
walked in. The doctor reached back and squeezed his own neck, the tension
evident in his eyes. “Mr. Holloway, I’m Dr. Kilpatrick. Would you like to sit
down?”
“Fuck
no, I don’t want to sit. I’ve sat for the last four hours on a goddamn
airplane. I want to know how my sister is. How her baby is.” He felt his skin
flush and his blood pressure rise. It was all he could do not to wrap his hands
around the doctor’s neck and squeeze.
“Mr.
Holloway, I’m so sorry.”