PLAYED - A BRITISH BAD BOY ROMANCE (21 page)

Epilogue

Riley

Six Months Later

As far as proposals go, dragging Gloria Van Lark into court was a pretty
damned good way to get me to agree.

She had been true to her word, going to extreme lengths to sabotage my
career. Gallery after gallery pulled my work. Lex kept me levelheaded through
all of this. We were just gathering the evidence we needed.

The case was still tied up in court, but the world-renowned curator had
lost a tremendous amount of influence in the art community, and her reputation
was irreversibly tarnished as the truth of her escapades came out. Even if her
lawyers were able to wheedle her out of any of the charges against her, despite
her admissions, Gloria Van Lark would never enjoy even half the power she’d
previously wielded.

And things were turning around quickly for my work… As it just so turned
out… the
Spinnoc
museum was owned by
an art collective known as the
Reinholdt
Group
. The founder, Charles Reinholdt, had dedicated his life and his great
fortune to preserving priceless art across the world for many decades. With
Gloria out of the way, the Reinholdt Group reached out to me directly.

My work made it to the
Spinnoc
after all…

Lex helped pulled a few strings and landed me a functional visa so we’d
have time to set up a proper wedding. It beat getting hitched in Vegas…

My friends had taken my move overseas better than I could have expected…
Connor and Reiko started dating not long after I left, and the two of them
still come visit every once in a while.

They make a cute couple. Independent, working hard on their businesses
together…

Connor even has a second location in the works.

On the day that Gloria Van Lark was marched into court, Lex proposed to
me in front of the courthouse with one of the most beautiful rings I had ever
seen. I couldn’t possibly say no to such a stunning declaration, and I agreed
on the spot – under the condition that we take the engagement slow, and truly
come to learn each other.

He didn’t see a problem with that… But he seemed to want to do most of
his
learning
in the bedroom.

I didn’t see a problem with
that
either…

And Lex?

Lex Lambert is still the same smug, confident,
world-class
football player that he was before. He still leads the
English National team, although the team manager saw to it that a
certain
backstabbing rival was dishonorably
removed from the team.

Maybe his face wasn’t on a cereal box, but even that was only a matter
of time. The sponsorship would be coming up again soon, and this time, Lex was
the odds-on favorite.

Not that he cares. There are two things Lex is 100% invested in, me, and
football. Well, I should say
us
,
because after we talked it over… he decided to reverse the vasectomy.

We’re going to try for a baby.

I’m out of my mind happy, and Lex is completely confident that this is
going to be the year that England finally earns back its glory and retakes the
World Cup…

And when he does…

I’ll be in the stands, cheering him on, with my brand-new wedding ring
glistening in the sun. I might even have our beautiful baby in my womb, ready
to meet the world. I’ll watch him lead his team towards victory as a beloved
national icon and the most capable, loving man I’ve ever met.

I like the sound of that.

Maybe I’ll paint that, too.

The End, but you know I’m not
done with you yet! Turn the page and you’ll find I’ve included several
absolutely FREE bonus novels for anyone looking to catch up on my back catalog.
If you already read any of them, be sure to sign up to my mailing list because
my next novel is coming SOON!

Thanks for being so amazing…
I do all of this for you!

PS: Don’t forget, there’s a
super secret bonus novel at the back of this book. No peeking! ;)

-Nikki Wild xoxoxo

–Nikki Wild

Chapter 1

Trent

“Dude! These groupies
are
totally
ready to go!” My
dreadlocked bastard of a bohemian
guitarist
laughed, splashing his bottle of beer in an arc.

The two hot young
girls wrapped around him cooed a chorus of flirtatious giggles. They must have
been just barely eighteen, clad in tight, low-cut shirts that made their silky,
angelic breasts practically burst out of the seams.

Despite my lack of
interest, I wasn’t about to rain on his parade. I lightly raised my own bottle
of music festival beer to him, shaking my head.

“You go on ahead,
man. Not feelin’ it tonight.”

No matter where we
went, fans were throwing themselves at us – and my band-mates were always eager
to take the free, willing pussy back to the bus for a fresh bang.

In fact, my bassist
and drummer were already back there now, getting their freak on with a few
nameless groupies now.

“Serious?” Waylon
asked drunkenly.

His limber playing
hand slid under a skirt and along a tanned, tender ass, drawing a blush from
the groupie’s cheeks. The sight made my cock almost twitch.

Almost.

“You sure you don’t
want to try a piece of this Alabama ‘tang?” He pressed on. “Plenty to go
around. I’m not greedy.”

The groupie twosome
puffed their chests and wiggled provocatively for me, giving me the deepest
pair of sultry, lustful looks that they could muster.

They looked cute.

Cute, and too young
to be acting like this.

“Think I’m just gonna
relax and ride the vibe,” I reaffirmed. “Go get your dick wet.”

“If you say so!”

“And ladies,” I
continued, turning towards the girls, who settled down and looked at me almost
fearfully. “Don’t keep him up all night. This guy needs to be shredding licks
same time tomorrow.”

They nodded
respectfully, but Waylon jumped up to his feet, his dreads scattering around
his face briefly.

“Ain’t gonna happen.
This train rides ‘til sunrise! Ain’t that right, ladies?”

They chuckled with
big, goofy hero-worshipping grins on their faces. He scooped them up against
his sides, and soon they stumbled off towards the back of the after-party,
heading for our bus.

Joke’s on them,
I thought to myself.
Waylon’s a two-pump chump on a GOOD day.

Truth of the matter
was that I’d been in a funk. For the last few weeks, I had turned down sex
left, right, and center from even the most flexible little minxes.

A constant stream of
the hottest goddamn chicks around went fucking wild for us on the regular.

And why shouldn’t
they?

We weren’t just
anybody.

We were
Trent Masters and the Whiplash,
the
hottest fucking rock band in America.

On national
radiowaves dominated by DJs making music off of laptops, mainstream child stars
glammed up and given backing bands, and egotistical personalities lacking
substance and spitting shit…we brought something better.

Something
harder.

Something
real
.

Something apparently
sorely missed.

Our latest album,
Twelve Machines,
was flying off the
shelves across the country. The last two singles went platinum. Hell, talks of
a Grammy nomination were already in the pipeline.

I was on top of the
fucking world.

Or I should have felt
like I was.

But all I felt was
empty inside, and even the quick fix of endless sex didn’t quell the tension.

It was hard to think
I was taking advantage of these girls when they grinded up against me at
after-parties like this, always seeming so desperate to give my cock the old
spit-shine.

It just didn’t feel
right.

But… I couldn’t tell
what I wanted instead.

What I
needed
.

I drank another swig
from my bottle of beer, watching the other bands delight in the attention. We
were in town for this badass music festival called the
RipFest
, and we’d shared the stage with some serious rock legends
and decent upcoming talent.

They were having fun.
Even the older, crustier guys looked like they were having a blast, likely
filled with enough drugs to bring down a Bull Rhino in its prime.

It’s not like I
wasn’t grateful… I was just… Lost.

The constant
attention was overwhelming – too much of a great fucking thing. I had to be
careful about the shit I said, because rock stars were even
closer
to scandal in this day and age.

Everything constantly
recorded, rumors spread with the speed of a tweet and the snap of a camera on
some girl’s iPhone.

It was all about
being careful and avoiding the wrong kind of spotlight. Blogs are eager for
clicks, and the whole world is ready to tear you down to build an audience.

I’d paid my dues.

No more practicing in
oily garages and filthy bars. No more struggling in hard labor and backbreaking
jobs to make ends meet. I wasn’t going to let some little misstep tear me down.

Despite the bullshit,
the throne on this rising fucking star felt grand.

But as the light grew
brighter…the shadows only grew filthier. Despite all the fame, all the success,
all the money and women and the fancy toys. I knew the truth.

The world is a filthy
place.

And I am the reigning
king of the filth.