Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection Read online

  Wicked Serenade

  a Lost in Oblivion Collection

  Cari Quinn

  Taryn Elliott

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Wicked Serenade

  © 2019 Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott

  Rainbow Rage Publishing

  Cover by LateNite Designs

  Photo by Deposit Photos

  All Rights Are Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First ebook edition: April 2019

  Sign up for our NEWSLETTER for special updates.

  The first super hot 6 books - plus bonus full-length prequel novel! - in the USA Today bestselling rockstar series, Lost in Oblivion, in a limited, exclusive run collection.

  The five members of the rock band Oblivion—Deacon, Gray, Jazz, Simon, and Nick—are climbing from rags to riches…and the journey is bumpy and thrilling and oh so steamy.

  Love.

  Drama.

  Destruction.

  Heartbreak.

  Oblivion has it all.

  Rocked & Rock, Rattle and Roll: Deacon’s the wild rockstar with the heart of gold. Harper’s the tour chef determined to protect her job and to not be just another groupie. The tour lasts only six weeks. And there’s no shortcut to forever…

  Twisted & Untwisted: Jazz is his off-limits foster sister. Gray is her protector, her best friend, and her bandmate. Their love is on a collision course, and now Gray is on the verge of losing everything. Including Jazz.

  Destroyed & Consumed: Simon is the playboy lead singer who never gives a damn, until violinist Margo Reece joined the band—and broke his heart. Now she’s back. And this time, he’s determined to come out on top, until an unexpected crisis brings him to his knees. Love heals everything…except maybe not this.

  Special extra…

  Seduced (prequel): The wild ride for these 5 musicians is just beginning, thanks to a YouTube video gone viral. But broken hearts and gold records don't mix as Oblivion is on the brink of superstardom…

  Contents

  Seduced

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Rocked

  Burn

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Rock, Rattle & Roll

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Twisted

  “Sugar Kiss”

  1. Then

  2. Now

  3. Then

  4. Now

  5. Then

  6. Now

  7. Then

  8. Now

  9. Then

  10. Now

  11. Then

  12. Now

  13. Then

  14. Now

  15. Then

  16. Now

  17. Then

  18. Now

  19. Then

  20. Now

  21. Then

  22. Now

  23. Then

  24. Now

  25. Then

  26. Now

  27. Then

  28. Now

  29. Then

  30. Now

  31. Then

  32. Now

  33. Then

  34. Now

  35. Then

  36. Now

  37. Then

  38. Now

  39. Then

  40. Now

  Untwisted

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Destroyed

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Consumed

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Committed

  Oblivion World Character Chart

  Quinn and Elliott

  Follow Us

  About the Authors

  Seduced

  Lost in Oblivion Prequel

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Seduced

  © 2013 Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott

  Rainbow Rage Publishing
r />   Cover by LateNite Designs

  All Rights Are Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First ebook edition: July 2013

  Sign up for our NEWSLETTER for special updates.

  One

  Nick: Losing It

  She’s my last hope,

  when hope can’t be found.

  “Holy shit, Lita Ford had some nice tits.”

  Nick Crandall set his guitar on the plaid monstrosity behind him and yanked the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. No wonder he couldn’t get in the right headspace. He’d been working on this song for days—okay, weeks—and the few lines of chicken scratch he’d come up with wouldn’t win any awards, that was for damn sure. “Seriously, Simon?”

  “That’s not Lita Ford. Hot, but definitely not Lita.” Deacon manipulated his tuning keys instinctively, his eyes focused on the television.

  “You sure?” Simon continued staring at the plasma TV, happily oblivious.

  Nick scowled. So much for actually writing some freaking songs. Flash a pair of silicone boobs in some Day-Glo netting and the guys were gone.

  There was only one thing that would get them in the right frame of mind.

  He stalked over to the flat screen and yanked the cord out of the wall. The platinum-haired woman in the video onscreen with her legs spread like a damn wishbone wailed into silence as the screen went black.

  Groans sounded behind him. “Jesus fuck, really?” Simon pushed a hand through his dark hair and flopped on the couch beside Nick’s guitar. He shoved it aside harder than Nick preferred, but hey, a guy denied eye candy couldn’t be expected to be gentle with their goddamn equipment, right?

  The same equipment that would maybe, just fucking maybe, someday lead to them getting a deal that would get them out of this shithole basement. They lived beneath a frigging laundromat, of all things. He’d woken up with the smell of flowery detergent burning his nostrils more times than he could count. Not that Simon seemed to care about that, since he spent many of his nights elsewhere with his latest woman of the hour.

  Nick clambered over Deacon’s outstretched legs, currently propped on the coffee table, and shoved his cigarette back between his lips before he snatched his guitar. He kicked Simon’s leg out of the way, earning a grunt and a kick in return. “What’s your problem, dick?”

  “My problem is you. Both of you,” Nick added. “Can’t you get some focus? And not on that screen. We have a gig this weekend.”

  “What gig? We don’t have a drummer.” Deacon dropped his head on the back of the sofa. His shaggy brown hair fell away to reveal the scruff that drove the ladies wild.

  Assuming they ever got in front of ladies—or anyone else—ever again.

  “So what? We just roll over and play frigging dead? We’ll learn what we need to. And we have songs that don’t rely on—”

  “Ballads.” Simon leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stabbed his fingers into his eyes. His bloodshot eyes. The ass hadn’t stopped drinking since yesterday, which didn’t help that whole attention-span thing. “You want us to sing damn harmonies like we’re some fuck-all choir?”

  Nick bit down on the cigarette clamped between his teeth. He hadn’t smoked for six months and six days, but if he was going to break his streak any night, tonight would be it. “You got a better idea?”

  “I do.” Deacon scrubbed his cheeks with both hands and sat up. “Cancel the gig until we figure this shit out. Maybe Snake will get clean. Or maybe we’ll find someone else.”

  Nick stared at his two best friends as if he’d never seen them before. Right then he didn’t recognize the defeat on their faces, that was for damn sure. “Snake’s not getting out of detox for a while, which you damn well know.”

  Simon unfolded himself from the lumpy sofa and strode across the room. He climbed the wooden step stool shoved against the wall and slammed open the window. The cool March breeze blew into the stuffy basement until Simon pushed his head and half his torso out. His naked stomach scraped the sill but he probably didn’t even feel it. Drunk motherfucker.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Nick asked.

  “Getting some goddamn air. Problem?”

  “You’re letting all the heat out.”

  Simon ducked back inside. “Quit your bitching. You don’t pay for it.”

  “Mrs. Martine does,” Nick muttered. The old lady who owned the Fluff and Fold let them live there for free because they helped look out for things for her. At least he and Deak did. Simon didn’t look out for anything that didn’t begin with ‘S’ and end with ‘n’.

  “It’s hot as hell in here. I swear those dryer vents are aimed right over my bunk.” Deacon crossed the room and dragged Simon off the stool. “Get in here, idiot.”

  As usual, Deacon diffused the tension between him and Simon. Or tried to anyway. Every time Nick looked at Simon lately he wanted to bury his fist into his too-pretty face.

  Simon stumbled down and veered into the chipped crates they used for a coffee table. Only Deacon’s quick reflexes kept him from pitching head first onto the floor.

  “Jesus.” Nick breathed in deep through his nose. “I pay the rest of the bills. I’m sorry if that makes me too responsible for you fuckwits.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whine some more, why don’t you?” Simon dropped onto the purple club chair jammed into the corner, propping his foot on a Marshall amplifier. He pushed his hair out of his face. “You’re the only one who cares about the band. The only one who makes money to pay our bills. Deak and me are just the jerks who’re holding you back. Blah fucking blah. The song is as tired as your lyrics lately.”

  Nick jerked up from the couch. “If you’re so fucking gifted, where are all your new songs then? Looks like you’re about as dry as I am.”

  Simon staggered to his feet. “You got a problem?

  Nick took a step forward and flashed a tight smile when Simon swayed. He’d enjoy giving his best friend a good pounding. It was a nice way to vent some frustration, and hell, it wouldn’t be the first time. “Maybe I do.”

  “So get gone then. See if we give a flying fuck.”

  Despite Nick’s own anger, Simon’s quick, careless response cut him deep. “So that’s how it is? You want me to go?”

  Simon shrugged. “Don’t give a shit.”

  “Want me out? You gotta kick me out.” Nick set his cig on the end table—he wasn’t wasting his last one—and flexed his fists. “Bring it, Pretty Boy.”

  Deacon charged between them and slapped a hand on Simon’s chest. “Ease up. Both of you,” Deak added when Nick stepped into his space. “We’re all just on edge.”

  “He’s being a dick,” Simon whined.

  “Suck it,” Nick suggested, grabbing his crotch before hissing out a breath at Deak’s quelling look. Goddamn mediator. Nick forced himself to take a step back. “You know, if you let us tear each other up once or twice, things might get back to normal ‘round here.”

  Simon flashed a cocky grin. “Plus the babes love scars.”

  Nick sprawled on the sofa and grabbed his cig, flipping it through his fingers like the pick he’d thrown God knows where. “Maybe we should call Cinder.”