Brogan watched as that divine spark called life left her beautiful gray eyes until they were like those of a china doll: empty, dead, lifeless. Her breathing slowed and hitched in perceptible stops.
Her hand dropped like a sack of wet cement to the cobbles.
"She's done for, lad," the soldier stated.
Brogan was covered in her blood, his lap soaked. He reached with trembling fingers and closed her sightless eyes. He leaned down and gently kissed her lips. He could do nothing to save her. She'd given up her life—for him. How could he live with the knowledge? To know he could do nothing to protect the woman he loved? As the soldiers pulled him roughly to his feet, his body turned to stone and his heart to solid rock.
Feck it all.
Chapter One
1974, a hotel in Baltimore
Someone was sucking his cock. Brogan opened an eye and gazed down the length of his naked body. She had blonde hair, whoever this bird was. He heard soft snoring intermixed with a slight wheeze. A naked black chick slept at his feet on the king-size bed.
The lipstick-smeared mouth eagerly sucked and licked, and his hips rose off the bed in raw, lustful gratification.
Jaysus, she was good.
He closed his eyes, and the memories of the last few hours played in his head like an eight mm porn film. He'd fucked the black chick from behind, pounding into her sweet, hot pussy while the white bird lay under the black one and sucked on her tits and fingered her clit. Another memory flash had him flat on his back, the blonde riding his cock hard with him eagerly licking the black girl as she writhed and groaned above his face. Her knees clamped his head tight while he stroked her pussy deep with his talented tongue. His prick twitched in response to his flashbacks and grew harder. Brogan had been doing this a lot lately, two at a time.
Brogan opened his filmy eyes again and tried to focus. He was close to shooting his wad. He gripped the back of the head of the unknown woman and held her in place as he began to thrust. He was not getting true enjoyment out of this. All he wanted was release. He groaned aloud as his hot cum spurted down her throat. She backed away and wiped her mouth, leaving a streak of blood-red lipstick and semen on her cheek.
Brogan pushed her aside in indifference. He sniffed the air. Sex, sweat, and Christ knew what else lingered and permeated the atmosphere. His stomach roiled and lurched in protest.
What had he taken last night?
He never shot up since he usually appeared shirtless on stage. He couldn't puncture himself full of holes. So he usually took pills, or on occasion snorted coke. Booze, however, was his main stimulant.
He had no sooner stumbled out of bed than he collapsed to his knees on the cold tile floor and promptly puked his guts out.
He tried to stand, and then heard a deep voice call out to him. "Again, Brogan? Bloody hell, you need a keeper."
He hadn't even heard his brother enter the room. Brogan coughed up some green phlegm and spat on the tile. "Want the job?"
His younger brother, Nevan, strolled over to where he knelt on the floor, dry heaving like some sick hound dog. Nevan helped him to his feet. "Tell me you at least used protection before you stuffed your cock into those whores."
Brogan paused. "I can't remember. I don't think I did."
"Stupid bastard. Do I have to go out and buy a box of rubber johnnies for you? I will. What did you take this time?"
"Ah—coke. I think. Not sure. Over there, in the sugar bowl."
Nevan yelled to the women, "Oi! Get dressed and get the hell out of here, now!"
The women grumbled, stumbled about, and picked up their clothes. They were mercifully gone within minutes.
"Brogan, you look like shite, mate. You can't keep this pace. The women, the drugs, and the booze. You're losing weight. I can feel your damned ribs."
Nevan slung Brogan's arm around his shoulders and propped him up.
Brogan slumped against his younger brother, grateful for the support. "I can handle it," he croaked, not very convincingly.
"When is your next concert? How can you even stand in front of a crowd? You should see a doctor, my brother. You are not well. Let me take you."
Brogan could hear the affection in Nevan's voice. His brother hardly ever showed concern or warmth, so he couldn't dismiss this overture. "Okay, Nev, sure. Doctor."
Nevan led him back toward the bed, kicking empty beer and scotch bottles out of the way. He stripped off the smelly sheets and threw them on the floor. He laid Brogan back on the pillows.
"Big feckin' rock star with your own bloody band, Byrne 'N' Flame. You've got two gold records and more money than you can count. And more often than not, this is how I find you," Nevan muttered. He walked to the closet, pulled out a blanket, and covered Brogan.
"I'll get the maid up here to clean up the puke and other body fluids. Sleep now, my brother."
Brogan's eyes fluttered. He fought the urge to sleep. For in slumber, the nightmares came. His destructive behavior was the only thing keeping the demon at bay. His conduct disgusted even himself, which said plenty. Nonetheless, he continued to indulge, putting his meteoric rise in the rock world in jeopardy.
He coughed, and then rolled over to try to get comfortable. He had an upcoming concert in Philadelphia, although Brogan dreaded the gig. Not so much the music—performing on stage was one of the few times he felt at peace. The feeling of tranquility was far too fleeting.
A veil of darkness covered him, and he was transported back to the damp, musky alleyway in Belfast.
Cue up the nightmare.
* * * *
Two days later, Philadelphia
Reese Byrne, younger brother of Nevan and Brogan, had a tight hold of Abbie Ryan's hand. Brogan's current girlfriend also happened to be the woman Reese was secretly in love with. He and Nevan had come to the States nearly two years ago, when Brogan hit the big time with his first record,
Within the Flames
. They were both on Brogan's payroll as assistants. Basically, they were around to keep Brogan company and occasionally herd his groupies and clean up his puke. Frankly, Reese was tired of the whole thing. There wasn't much glamour in being with a rock star. Going home to Dublin looked better all the time.
Reese glanced at Abbie: long blonde hair, killer figure, sky blue eyes, and sensual lips. Despite the outer sex kitten package, Abbie really was a nice girl and far too good for Brogan. Reese and Abbie navigated the labyrinth of underground tunnels at the Spectrum, flashing their backstage passes as they went. They were trying to find Brogan's dressing room. Reese had brought Abbie to the concert as a surprise. Brogan didn't know she was here. Months had gone by since the couple had seen each other, thanks to his brutal touring schedule. Reese recognized one of Brogan's bully bodyguards standing outside a door. This must be the room.
"Reese Byrne, Brogan's brother, and this is his girlfriend. We have passes—"
Reese pushed his way past the guy. It wasn't hard. All the Byrne brothers were well over six feet in height and solidly built.
"Whoa, man, hold up. Brogan is not to be disturbed. His orders—no exceptions. Wait!"
Reese opened the door anyhow, and they soon saw the reason for the order. A skinny, naked girl hung off Brogan's bare back like a cape, her hands caressing his shoulders and chest. Another naked girl knelt in front of him, giving him a world-class blow job. The bodyguard held up his hands in surrender and quietly backed out of the room.
Abbie cried out in shock. She sputtered, unable to form words.
"Brogan, you feckin' pig!" Reese roared.
* * * *
Brogan's drug-fogged mind tried to identify the voice. Reese? Here? Had he invited him? He couldn't remember. The sucking motion on his cock stopped, and the girl pulled his erection out of her mouth with a decided pop. What was the name of the girl on her knees with the cherry red hair? He couldn't remember that, either. The girls backed away from him. The one on her knees wiped her mouth and suddenly looked ashamed. He reached down and tucked his still-rampant arousal haphazardly back into his leather trousers.
He blinked twice, turned, and stared at Reese standing by the door—with Abbie
.
The girl hugged him again from behind as if seeking protection. He reached down and pulled the chick in front of him to her feet.
"Welcome. Don't know how you got in. Seems I better beef up security. But now you're here we can all party," he slurred.
Brogan fixed his gaze on a shocked Abbie. If he bothered to look hard enough, he could see the hurt and betrayal on her face. He chose to ignore her reactions. It had been a while since he'd had her.
Bloody hell, she's gorgeous.
How many times had he fantasized about him and Abbie and another woman? His prick hardened even more just thinking about the possibility.
"Reese, mate, take your pick of those two. They're up for anything. There's any type of booze, dope, or pills. Help yourself."
"Like hell I will!" Reese growled.
Brogan noticed Reese was trying to lead Abbie away, but she seemed stunned and frozen in place. Her eyes were glassy and filled with unshed tears.
Why not have a wild party?
His brother was handsome enough. All the Byrnes had rich, coffee-colored hair, though his own shoulder-length tresses were dyed white with three-inch ebony ends—all part of the rock persona. The atmosphere in the room grew awkward as the naked groupies struggled with their clothes. Flashing multi-colored lights cast an eerie green and red otherworldly glow over the proceedings. A nearby turntable played the Stones' "It's Only Rock and Roll." How feckin' true.
He was high and drunk. What had started out as an interesting three-way could now become an orgy. Why the hell not?
* * * *
Abbie was locked in place by Brogan's mesmerizing gaze. He walked toward her like a predatory jungle cat—a sexy jungle cat, six foot three inches tall, wearing low-slung, unzipped black leather pants. She could see his erection halfway exposed. The muscles of his torso moved with a fluid grace. His body was hard, honed, and beyond stunning. As disgusted and as angry as she felt, she could not look away from him. These rock star trappings just added to his aura. Brogan Byrne had always had charisma to spare. No wonder women were at his feet, literally. She'd believed him when he said he'd stayed faithful. How naive of her to trust him. Now her worst fears had come to pass. He was gorgeous, debauched, and sickening. Yet, God help her, she still wanted him.
"Abbie, come join me and one of the girls. I will introduce you to pleasures you've never had before. Hell, Reese can join in too. I think he fancies you a little. I know the girls will like Reese. All of us Byrne men are—what is the polite way to put it—'well endowed'." Brogan grabbed his crotch briefly. "But you know that already, don't you, love?" He chuckled and stumbled a few times as he walked closer.
Abbie was in shock. She did not know this man. What had happened to the Brogan she knew and imagined herself in love with? Brogan pushed Abbie against the door, boxing her in with his bare, muscular arms. She turned her head away in disgust. He stank of rancid, musky sweat. He no doubt hadn't showered after the concert. He smelled of booze, dope, and some cheap perfume that made her nose hairs twitch. His breath was foul like a sewer. No, this was not the Brogan she knew.
"Come on, love. Let's have a little fun. I know you like it when I stick my…"
"Say another word, brother, and I'll slit your throat where you stand," Reese snarled, menace in his voice.
"Little brother is jealous. He wants to lick you where only I've been. So sweet, so wet—"
Abbie gasped and glanced away. She was going to be sick.
Reese grabbed Brogan's arm. "You are going to pay for that, brother or no."
Finally Abbie willed herself to move. She pushed Brogan away and grabbed a hold of Reese's arm.
"No, don't. No fighting, please. Let's just get out of here."
She could feel the anger emanating from Reese, but he allowed her to lead him away. She didn't dare glance back. Abbie knew Brogan was glaring at her. She was turned on, and that churned her stomach worse.
Chapter Two
Here we go again.
Nevan glared at his naked brother who was snoring loudly, face-down on the bed. Reese had called him last night and told him everything that transpired. Reese was livid. He had never heard the boyo so angry. He couldn't blame him. A few hours' drive and here he was in Philadelphia. He talked to the guy outside the dressing room door. Apparently Brogan's manager had enough and quit yesterday. His band couldn't stand Brogan either; they had already left in the tour bus to head to their next date. So Brogan was alone. The Spectrum guys wanted him out. No doubt to fumigate the bloody room.
Jaysus, what a stench.
According to the bloke outside the door, two women had left before dawn. He searched them, and they had robbed Brogan of money and drugs. He took the stuff back and let them go. No cops. No fuss. No scandal.
Nevan really didn't want to deal with this. Reese was near the end of his rope, and so was he. Following his older brother on tour seemed like it might be a feckin' adventure. So he and Reese had flown over on BOAC to join the rock voyage. Brogan was going down a self-destructive road, and he was not in a frame of mind to be a support. Nevan had enough going on in his own life. Thankfully, the guy outside had put in a call to Cascade Records, and the boss, Nigel Winwood, was sending down people to deal with Brogan. Let them handle this shite mess.
So why would he come here?
He had asked himself the same question all the way up the interstate. Deny it he might, but he cared what happened to Brogan.
* * * *
Carly Montgomery walked down the long tunnel below the Spectrum with her assistant, Giovanni Enaudi. She'd received the call from Nigel, the owner and president of Cascade Records, and cringed inwardly when she heard she would be looking after Brogan Byrne, the Irish scumbag. He had a reputation already throughout Cascade and the rock world itself. She was as ambitious as the next person, and she wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to handle Cascade's top rock star. At the moment, Brogan Byrne was the top concert act in North America. Too bad the year-long tour was nearly over. Regardless, she was determined to make an impression. She glanced up at her huge assistant. Gio would be perfect for kicking Irish ass when Byrne stepped out of line. Gio stood six foot five inches tall and was built like a brick wall.