Thursday, July 30, 2015
Stevie J. Cole on what it would be like to interview Pandemic Sorrow
“They’ll be in a few minutes, Tiff. You ready?”
I nod and smile. “Yeah.” Shit. I’m nervous.
Todd opens the door to the conference room but stops to look back at me. “They’re a lot to handle.
Just don’t….provoke them or anything.”
“Provoke them, what are they freaking rabid animals?” I laugh.
His gaze trails down to my chest, and his lips lay flat across his face. “No, that’s enough to provoke them. Might want to pull that up a little.”
I huff, and Todd walks out the door. Muffled voices filter through the other side of the door, laughter.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I’ve interviewed countless rockers since starting at this magazine company, and I have never been this anxious. I mean, hell, it’s Pandemic Sorrow. Jag Steele, Stone Steele, Rush…and that drummer whose name I can’t ever remember. Jack, Travis…Pax!
The door swings open and my breathing ceases for a second. Jag struts in. I have never in my life seen a man with so much swagger. He’s dressed in a tight black v-neck, jewelry draped all over him, and his jeans—my eyes instinctually fall to his crotch—holy shit, those pants are tight.
I‘m so focused on how tight Jag’s pants are that I completely miss the other guys trail in and take their seats.
“It’s real, wanna touch it?” Jag chuckles and I feel my entire face redden.
“Ah, no. Nice gesture and all.”
He shrugs and yanks out his chair, turning it around as he adjusts his junk before straddling it.
I sit, staring around the room. I realize I must look like a complete idiot, and I clear my throat. “So, let’s start with a simple question for each of you. What was the driving force behind your pursuit to fame?
Jag’s lips curve in to a delicious smile. “Pussy. Lots of pussy.”
Rush laughs as he leans over the table toward me. “For me,” his eyes skim down to my low cut top, “the promise of nightly orgies.”
Oh, fuck. I am in for it. I need to divert my attention away from these two whores. Where’s that drummer? I eye Pax, who’s not even looking in my direction. His chin is slumped to his chest, and all I can see is his spikey blonde hair. I think he’s asleep.
“Uh, Pax?” He slowly raises his head. “What drove you to fame?”
“I dunno, money?
“I actually have a worthwhile answer, unlike these shitheads.” Stone taps his fingers on the table. “I wanted to do something everyone told me I couldn’t.
I can’t stop the ridiculous smile making its way over my lips. Damn, Stone is hot. Those brown eyes, those cheekbones, that hair. I’m swooning, not going to lie. “Okay, next question is for Rush. Rush, if you had to be something besides a rock star, what would it be?
“Oh, that’s easy.” He stands up, grabs the edge of the table and pelvic thrusts against it so hard it scoots an inch across the floor. “Hands down, a porn star. James Deen can go fuck himself because his measly nine inches don’t have shit on my man-cock.” He laughs as he collapses back down in his chair.
I giggle, and his face goes all serious.
“No, really. A porn star.”
Jag shoves him so hard he knocks him out of his chair. “Rush, you couldn’t be a porn star. You don’t have any fucking stamina.”
“I’ve got loads of stamina.”
“Like shit you do—”
“Hey!” I shout. They both turn to look at me, and for a moment, I’m afraid I just really pissed them off. I timidly clear my throat. “Next question. Stone, what’s it like working with your brother?”
He smirks. “I mean, when I’m not babysitting his ass, it’s tolerable.”
Jag is too busy making lewd hand motions at Rush to be offended by that, so I go on to the next question on my list. “So, guys, what’s it like to be Pandemic Sorrow? It must be incredible to be so famous?
Pax shrugs as he mumbles, “It’s cool.”
Rush tosses his hands in the air. “Fucking amazing! Are you kidding me?” He shakes his head as he grins. “I can’t even explain to you how amazing this shit is. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and find out I’ve been in a coma or something, and that I’m still just fucking up drive-thru orders at Burger Boy.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty awesome.” Stone nods. “Surreal. That may be the best word. It’s surreal. It’s weird to be flipping through the radio and hear your song on there. Sometimes, I don’t even feel like I am that dude.”
I smile politely. I love all of his down to earth comments. Unlike the other perverts in this room, he seems so adorably sweet. I glance over at Jag. It seems like he has checked out momentarily. He’s staring down at his hands as he fidgets with one of the rings on his finger. “Jag, what about you. What’s it like to be so famous?”
He glances up at me, his face completely void of any emotion. “Oh, uh. It’s great. Really.” Pausing, he wipes his hands down the legs of his jeans. “You know, paparazzi following you around, so you can’t even shake your dick without it making a headline. Always a party, always a show, always fans screaming at you. Yep. Couldn’t be better.”
That didn’t seem authentic in the least. Honestly, he looks miserable. What do I say to that? Nodding, I say, “I can’t imagine. It must be tiring.”
There’s an awkward silence. I flip through my tablet and find the next question. “So, we had some fans write in with questions they wanted you guys to answer. One fan asked that each of you describe your perfect mate.” I look over at Rush. “Why don’t you go first since you want to be the porn star and all?”
His lips curl, his eyes twinkle, and then he smirks. “A girl that likes company in the bed. Kinda like—” He narrows his gaze on me as he arches a brow. “You gonna publish all the stuff I say, right?”
“Yeah, unless you ask me not to.”
“Oh, no. I want this in there more than anything else I’m gonna say.” He clears his throat, smiling proudly. “A complete freak, kinda like I imagine Jules would be. She’s our assistant manager. We all know she likes being treated like a dirty slut.”
“Uh, Rush, you probably shouldn’t—“
“Oh, no, she expects shit like this. Seriously though, I need a freak.”
Jag groans. “Yeah, sure, Tink looks like a freak. Rush, she looks like she’d be a damn lame lay.” He leans over the table as he thumbs his lip piercing. “I need a girl that would put me in my place every once and a while.”
“That’s a good answer, Jag.” I turn to Stone and my cheeks heat. “What about you?”
“Honestly, I can’t even think about that. I’m so consumed with my career, I know I would be a shitty boyfriend, but I do like short girls.”
Yep, swooning again. “Pax, what about you?”
He shrugs. God, he has no personality whatsoever. “Oh, just give me a girl that hasn’t been rammed by these three fuckers and I would be good.”
Jag flips him the bird. “Fuck off, Paxton.”
“You sick of sloppy seconds, drummer boy?” Rush asks as he shoves him.
Pax swats Rush’s hand away. “Fuck you dick dribbles, don’t get all pissy just because I didn’t want to join in for your orgy last night,” he shouts. “I don’t like slapping dicks with you sick fucks.”
I can feel my jaw hanging open. They are arguing with each other; yelling, cursing.
The next thing I know, Stone is waving his hand in the air to get my attention. “Tiffany?” He whistles.
I glance over at him, and he is sitting there so relaxed like none of this phases him. He smiles sweetly at me. “I assure you, none of them know how to use their dicks the way I do.”
Oh, hell. Compose yourself, boo. I think I’m getting sweat stains under my arms! Oh, crap! I hear a loud bang. Jag just threw Pax on the floor, and Rush is laughing. This is a disaster. Smile, smile…
Stone stands and walks over to me. “They’ll knock each other out eventually. And while they are…” he swats a stray piece of hair from my face. “Why don’t I go knock the fuck outta you?”
I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t, but this is Stone Steele. I take another quick look at the three guys rolling around on the floor, then eye the door.
“Come on, you pretty little thing.” Stone barely touches his warm lips to mine before pulling me toward the door.
I am most likely going to get fired from the magazine now, but I don’t really care. I mean, who in their right mind would turn this guy down?
Jag (Pandemic Sorrow #1)
"My name's Jag Steele. I’m the lead singer and guitarist to the band Pandemic Sorrow, and I have a drug problem. Well, I mean it's not really a problem – unless you count the fact that I almost made my heart explode from all the blow I shoved up my nose a few weeks back..."
That was my introduction during my first stint in rehab. I'm messed up. If you asked anybody who I am there’s a list they will go down: Famous, rock star, legend, drug addict, womanizing man-whore, but if you asked me, I wouldn't have the first idea of what to say, because I don’t know who Jag Steele is. Really, I’m living every other damn person's dream, and all I want is reality.
Roxy Slade, that girl was my reality. My brutally flawed and beautifully broken reality. And she hated everything I stood for. To her I was just one of “those guys”, and she’d rather be buried alive with poisonous snakes than give someone like me a piece of toilet paper to wipe their ass with. Brutal. Life. Is. Brutal. And it is just a giant pain, which is why I chase after anything to make it numb, anything that can fill this void. I just want anything that can make me not feel. I just don't want to feel.
WARNING: This novel contains explicit language, sexual situations, and is the story of an addict. This material is intended for a mature audience.
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1Ko2EWQ
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1BxtOWs
Rush (Pandemic Sorrow #2)
It’s my job to play music, to make girls wet, and then to screw a select few of them. I’m a professional rocker. I’m rich, I’m famous, I’m one lucky son-of-a-bitch. I have everything - except control.
The industry owns me. And the only thing I have a minuscule grain of control with is women, but not that dominate, tie you up and gag you kind of control. No, I want to govern how I make them feel. I need them to feel like a goddess while I’m in them, and I love being able to control the fact that they’ll never really have me. Love is complicated. It is bullshit. And even if I thought I needed it, the rules of being a rocker won’t allow it.
Sex is all I need.
I don’t need love.
But for some reason I want her. For some reason I can’t get her out of my mind. And lately, every time I’m with any girl besides her it feels wrong.
I can practically have any woman I want, but I can’t have her. She’s off limits because she’s part of that industry that owns my ass.
Sex was all I had.
And sometimes I thought maybe love was all I needed…with her
Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1TWqfT0
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1IqHz0t
Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3)
My life had been no fairy tale. Actually, growing up, it had been something more like a nightmare, which is why I ended up so hard. When you don't want to hurt having the ability to be numb is your best defense mechanism. And for a long time all I was doing was existing.
Jag Steele, the lead singer of the international rock band Pandemic Sorrow, was the epitome of everything I despised: arrogant, entitled, but the thing I hated most about him was that he was an addict. Drugs had been the demon that had ruined everything in my life, and anyone who had a love affair with them pretty much made my stomach turn. It brought up memories I wanted to stay buried.
Needless to say, I wasn't exactly a fan of Jag.
Funny thing is, people aren't always who you expect them to be. Never in a million years would I have thought the night I meet Jag would have any significance on the rest of my life, but it did.
I found out that sometimes something that screams utter destruction might actually be your saving grace.
Some people may say our story is too screwed up to be a romance, but for two broken people, we made the pieces fit together perfectly.
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1ImlYUR
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1Ko3hQc
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