Outlaw Country
Authors: Davida Lynn
Copyright © 2015 by Davida Lynn.
All rights reserved.
Cover design by
Mayhem Cover Creations
, Cover model Connor Smith, Photography by R+M Photography.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Also By Davida Lynn:
The Rising Sons Universe:
The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club
Rising Sons - The Virtues Series:
Book One:
Hope
Book Two:
Faith
Book Three:
Charity
Rising Sons - The Davis Chapter
Book One -
Patience
Book Two -
Temperance
Book Three -
Reverence
Detroit Heat:
Book One:
Kade’s Rescue
Book Two:
Rico’s Recovery
Book Three:
Jonah’s Rescue
Standalone Work:
Acknowledgements
A big shout out to my writing partner
Rayna Bishop
, my faithful companion in telling stories.
She keeps me honest and true. To Donna and Jill, my rocks when I need a foothold! For Sonya and Amanda for telling me I wasn’t crazy! To all of my beautiful advanced readers. Thank you all!
“Great show boys!” Colton’s voice was ragged, but it was always ragged. It was his voice. It was
the
voice. Colton Wade was the new voice of country music.
Roy Boy and Lee raised a red Solo cup, other members of The Guilty Party were already too distracted by the groupies to take notice. After all, they played a great show every night. The Guilty Party were one of the tightest bands in the country, and Colton led them with both pride and power.
He threw back a double shot of SoCo, then abandoned the red cup in favor of the bottle. Looking around the green room, Colton took in his empire. The six men in his band had been slowly getting some name recognition over the last two years. A constant string of shows with albums recorded in between had taken them from bar-band openers to a rising contender for country act of the year.
Colton’s heart was still racing from the screams of the fans. It was mostly women who had pushed and shoved their way against the fence just beyond the front of the stage. That’s how he liked it, too. He and the boys had seen their share of tits flashed throughout the two hour show. It was becoming a tradition among his female fans. The band hadn’t started that tradition, but it was one that everyone in The Guilty Party sure encouraged.
Ain’t this life?
Colton thought, looking around him. His best friends, booze, and beauties.
Ahh, the beauties.
Some blonde with legs for days was coming towards him. The legs seemed to go for days because all that stopped them up top was a pair of Daisy Dukes.
Nah, Even Daisy Duke, herself, wouldn’t wear them tiny things.
Colton had seen underwear that covered more. When the blonde turned around to slap the bass player, Lee Watts, playfully on the shoulder, Colton’s eyes went wide.
He took a pull from the SoCo without taking his eyes off her fine, fine ass. He couldn’t pry his eyes away.
I do believe they call that underbutt or a half moon. God damn, ain’t this the life?
She turned back around and gave Colton a confident and naughty smile. After all, they both knew why she was there, so why bother pretending?
“And what might your name be, little lady?” Colton’s raspy voice only sounded deeper after the swig of booze. He liked her already. He liked parts of her, anyway.
“Brandi.” There was just enough twang in her voice for Colton’s taste.
Alabama or Arkansas
? It wasn’t quite sweet enough for Georgia, meaning she had traveled all the way to Atlanta to see them.
Nice
.
He closed his eyes for a second and took in a deep breath. When Colton opened his eyes, he was staring at her tight stomach, bare beneath the cut-off T. Bare except for the sparkling jewelry dangling from her navel. He could already picture his tongue circling that on its journey south.
“Brandi, I can’t tell you how glad I am to meetcha.” He patted his lap, and her underbutt half-moon was soon pressing against his growing cock.
Roger had one phone to his ear as he pecked out an email on another. “Yeah, everything went one hundred percent. No contract issues. The crew just needs another hour for teardown, and we’ll be ready for loadout. Two days off before Jacksonville.”
“About that, Rog.” Arvin didn’t waste time dumping the bad news on Roger’s lap. “We’ve scheduled a quick studio recording for the boys. Three hours, tops.”
After hearing the response from the other end, Roger stopped hitting the screen on the email. “Two days off and you want to throw Colton in the studio on one of them? Arvin, James Brown is dead, and Colton Wade is now the hardest working man in show business. You realize that, right? The band hasn’t had two days off in nearly two months.”
Arvin Greenburg wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “It’s for charity. Flood victims, I think. It’s a duet. Real PR gold.”
“I don’t care if it’s for charity. Charity would be giving my guys the time off they’ve earned.” Roger Ellery let out a sigh. He could already sense Arvin Greenburg’s counter argument coming.
“Colton could use some good publicity after what happened in Charleston. You don’t get to drunkenly smash up a cop car and not suffer consequences, Roger. This is a business to everyone but Colton.”
In the two years Roger had been Colton’s manager, there had been a dozen some incidents. Some were pregnancy scares with groupies, others were run-ins with the law. Not once did Colton clean up his act. Roger knew he never would. The manager could name fifty artists who
called
themselves outlaw country. Colton didn’t need to call himself anything because fans, critics, and anyone who came in contact with him did it for him. Some called him a true artist. Others just called him an asshole.
“Don’t bring that up, Arvin. Colton issued an apology,”
Which I wrote.
“And he’s donated ten grand to the Charleston PD to make up for it.”
Which he doesn’t know I did in his name.
“You know there’s no such thing as bad publicity, anyway. You guys pay hundreds of thousands for advertising, and my boys go out there and get all kinds of publicity for free.” Minus lawyer fees, minus fines, minus property damage, but that wasn’t important.
Roger Ellery had worked with Moonshine Records long enough to know when the A&R man wouldn’t back down. If he could find a way to sell it to Colton, he’d live to work another day. “Just give me the details.”
Abandoning the email he was writing, Roger pulled up a fresh one, addressed to himself. He wedged the phone against his shoulder, ready to type with both thumbs.
“Muscle Shoals Studio, July 19th. Duet of Jackson with…
Gracie Hart
?” His voice rose in victory when Arvin told him who Colton would be singing with. His heart twisted and turned.
“Will she actually be there, or are we just gluing their vocal tracks together?” Roger had the bait, but only if she’d be there in person. At the mention of Gracie Hart, Roger knew Colton would be on board. He ignored the cymbal crash and laughter that came from the other side of the green room door. He’d worry about whatever that mess was later. He didn’t hear glass shatter or any screams, so it couldn’t have been
that
bad.
“With bells on.” There was a smile in Arvin’s voice. “Produced by T-Bone himself. This will be the highlight of the album, hopefully the lead single. I want you to know that I pushed for Colton. We’re taking a real chance on him here.”
“Yeah, I got it all. Is T-Bone going to be there, or is he just mastering everything?”
“Sorry, Rog. He’s working remote.”
Working with a world-class producer would be the icing on the cake, but it wasn't meant to be. “Okay, too bad, but that’s all right. Shoot me the engineer’s info, and I’ll confirm with him.”
Roger could already see the charity album shooting to the top of the country charts. Hell, with Gracie Hart on board, it had a shot at hitting the pop charts, too. She had blurred the line between country and pop in her meteoric rise to the top, and with the right moves, Colton’s audience could increase tenfold overnight.