Savaged Dreams: Savaged Illusions Trilogy Book 1 Read online

  Savaged Dreams

  Savaged Illusions Trilogy

  Book One

  Jennifer Lyon

  How much will she risk for love?

  Going away to college gives Liza Glasner a chance to escape her painful and dangerous past…or so she thinks. At fourteen years old, she survived an attack by a famous musician. After that, the media, groupies and crazies hounded her with a merciless cruelty that ruined her life. But now she’s thriving—until an internship brings her face to face with the sizzling hot lead singer of a rock band, and she finds herself drawn to the very thing that once destroyed her. Justice is a temptation she can’t resist…and one that could get her killed.

  How far will he go for fame?

  Sexy rock star Justice Cade is determined to take his band, Savaged Illusions, to the top by winning the Court of Rock T.V. show. Tortured by guilt for failing his family, he believes fame is his only path to redemption. But when the fiery college-intern hiding her beauty beneath baggy sweaters and a snarky attitude bursts into his life, Justice is forced to choose between the woman he loves and the stardom he craves. The wrong choice will cost him more than he can bear.

  Savaged Dreams is book 1 in the Savaged Illusions Trilogy and ends on a cliffhanger. Be sure to read all three books for Liza and Justice’s complete story.

  Savaged Dreams

  Copyright © 2017 Jennifer Apodaca

  Excerpt from Savaged Vows © 2017 Jennifer Apodaca

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design: Jaycee DeLorenzo of Sweet ‘N Spicy Designs

  Savaged Illusions Logo Design: Jaycee DeLorenzo of Sweet ‘N Spicy Designs

  Editor: Sashaknighteditor.com

  Copy Editor: www.kimberlycannoneditor.com/

  Formatted by: www.authorems.com

  Published by JenniferLyonBooks

  www.jenniferlyonbooks.com

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

  All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  Electronic ISBN: 978-0-9984595-0-9

  Table of Contents

  About SAVAGED DREAMS

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Dear Readers

  Excerpt from SAVAGED VOWS

  Other Books by Jennifer Lyon

  About the Author

  For all those who ever dreamed of becoming a rock star.

  Or falling in love with one.

  This story is for you.

  Chapter 1

  Justice Cade squinted in the vicious sunlight of San Diego, California, as he parked his car. He’d had hangovers that hurt less than the sleep-deprived headache pounding in his skull.

  Your own fault, dumbass.

  Yet the pain, frustration and fatigue didn’t do a thing to diminish a streak of triumph when he spotted the marquee blazing over the front of the auditorium.

  Coming Soon: Court of Rock

  Featuring the Bands:

  Fury Run, Jagged Sin & Savaged Illusions

  Savaged Illusions. His band. His dream. The one single thing in life he didn’t fail at—music. He and his band had made it this far in the eliminations. Two more shows and they could win, capturing the one-year contract with a top record label.

  Winning was everything. The only thing. Justice had nothing else but his band and music. He wouldn’t let anything stop them now. Which meant it was time to quit admiring the sign and get his ass into practice.

  After getting out of the car, he grabbed his guitar case from the backseat and juggled to carry two coffees across the parking lot. At the steel door of the theater, he handed one of the drinks to Colin, the security guard for the Court of Rock reality TV show.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “No prob.” He winced at the rough sound of his voice. His singing was going to be shit today. He really should have gotten some sleep. Nothing he could do now but power through. Once inside, he got halfway across the lower level of backstage when he heard the shouting.

  “You son of a bitch!”

  What the fuck? That was Simon’s voice. The lead guitarist of their band rarely lost his temper. Justice ditched his guitar case, set his coffee on a table and launched into a run. Hanging a hard right into the greenroom, he skidded to a halt and took in the scene. Two camera guys were filming as the Savaged Illusions drummer and bassist held Simon back, the man’s face a murderous shade of red.

  Ace, the obvious troublemaker from their rival band, Jagged Sin, bellowed back, “You either replace my guitar, or I’ll tell the whole world you’re such an asshole, your own wife killed herself to get away from you.” He glanced at the cameras then back to Simon and smirked. “Oh wait, I just did.”

  Simon roared, breaking loose from the two men holding him, and lunged.

  Holy shit. If Simon hit the other man—on camera—they’d be fucked. Thrown off the Court of Rock. With zero choice, Justice dove, getting his arms around Simon, spun and slammed him down to the couch.

  Caught by surprise, Simon sat dazed for a second.

  Taking advantage of his shock, Justice slapped one hand on the sofa arm, the other on the back, using his body to block the cameras and trap Simon at the same time. He had to talk his lead guitarist down. “Cameras are rolling, dude. Get your shit together.”

  The other man’s eyes scorched with fury. “I’ll kill him.”

  It was all Justice could do to keep from killing that weasel Ace himself. But first he had to keep Simon out of jail. What the hell had he walked into? The feud between Simon and Ace was mounting every damned day, making this competition a powder keg.

  “Listen up, man. It’s a setup. We’re being played. Why else would there be cameras here?” There were no shoots scheduled for today. The bands had a day or two to practice without being recorded. Another question occurred to him. “How did Ace know about Julie?” Very few people knew about Simon’s deceased wife.

  Simon stiffened, his entire body vibrating. “I never told him.”

  “Shit. This is bad.” He glanced over his shoulder. Their three other band members, River, Gray and Lynx, had spread out, forming a wall to block the cameras.

  Returning his attention to Simon, he said, “Someone did.” Hot anger jacked his pulse and made his muscles twitch to kick some ass. “The ratings whores strike again.”

  Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Bastards.”

  The show execs were always looking for ways to create more tension between the bands. Especially now that the show was heading into the final two episodes. They’d done extensive backgrounds on all the band members, so they’d know about Simon’s wife. It’d been a few years since Julie died, but for Simon it was an open wound. “You need to hold it together. Or leave. Let me handle this.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m staying.”

  Yeah, he figured. Simon d
idn’t talk about Julie much, but he was fiercely protective of her memory. “You hit Ace and we’ll be tossed off the show. They’ll have you dragged out of here in handcuffs and put it on the air. You hear what I’m saying?” The show played hardball. The group had known it going in, but the payoff if they won was worth it—a contract with the record label, Tangent.

  Their ticket to the big time.

  “Got it,” Simon said, back in control.

  After pushing off the couch, Justice crossed the room to the show’s producer, Frank. “What’s going on? It’s our practice time. Ace isn’t supposed to be here.” His band practiced after Savaged Illusions was finished. All this was usually tightly scheduled.

  “He trashed my guitar.” Ace’s thin face contorted as he waved around the two pieces of his Gibson Les Paul Standard electric guitar.

  “Didn’t ask you.” Justice’s hands twitched with the need to punch the lies out of Ace’s mouth. Fucktard. He’d disliked the guy before, but now after baiting Simon with his wife’s death? What kind of scumbag did that? Hatred brewed in his belly.

  “Give it a rest, Ace, you made your point,” Frank said, resignation riding every word. The last eleven weeks of traveling around the country, dealing with rock bands and drama, had left the man looking like a candidate for a massive heart attack. He faced Justice. “Ace’s story is that he’d put his guitar in his car yesterday, and he found it broken in the greenroom this morning. He’s sure that since he and Simon were at the same club last night, Simon stole it out of his car and trashed it, then left it for him to find today.”

  Justice rolled his eyes. “Bullshit.” One look at the instrument’s broken neck told him exactly what happened. He glared at Ace. “You got drunk or stoned and did it yourself. Showing off for some chick, or were you raging? Woke up this morning and realized you’re out almost a thousand bucks.”

  Ace’s cheeks mottled. “You savages are going down.” He stormed out, dragging his busted guitar with him.

  Jesus. One problem down, but they had more to deal with. Spinning to the producer, he snarled, “Don’t use that footage.”

  “Not your call.”

  His head pounded. Violence gripped his muscles. They were fucked. They’d signed the contract, giving Court of Rock the rights to all their footage, including editing it. They wanted to make Jagged Sin the underdogs to manufacture a fiercer competition. He glanced over at Simon, who was flanked by their other bandmates.

  That was the one thing all five of them could count on—they had one another’s backs. Always.

  But there was a publicity shitstorm brewing. Justice could accuse the show of telling Ace about Simon’s wife’s suicide, but they’d edit it out. Frustration added to his fury. “Let’s go practice. No cameras.” Not that he could enforce it, but—

  “One more thing,” Frank said.

  “What now?”

  “Your publicist will be here to meet you during practice.”

  If ever they could use a publicist, it was now. Ace’s accusation that Simon’s wife had killed herself to escape Simon was a time bomb that could explode in their faces. Women were a huge chunk of their fan base, and that lie could easily turn them against Simon, and by extension, the band. They needed every single fan vote to win Court of Rock. So yeah, a publicist was a godsend. “Who is it?”

  “Liza. She’s a student at UC San Diego.”

  “What?” He barely held on to the last brittle strand of his temper. “A college student? Our contract says if we made it to week eleven, we’d get a publicist, not a college kid.” The show and the record label were jacking them around mercilessly.

  “This is what Tangent Records wants, and they’re the sponsor. They ran some contest. Our biggest demographic is college-aged—”

  “Screw the bullshit. It was in our contract.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Cade. You were promised a publicist, and they consider her qualified enough.” The producer scowled. “Either suck it up or quit the show.”

  Remember the cameras. But damn, he’d spent his whole fucking life without choices and sucking it up. No way was he quitting the show. They’d eat shit until they won and got that one-year contract with Tangent Records—their ticket to real fame.

  Then no one would fuck with them.

  “We don’t quit. Not now or ever.” He stormed out. Once in the hall, he slapped his hand against the wall. Calm the hell down. He was too fried, the pressure riding him relentlessly. All of them were showing the cracks.

  “You gonna puke or something?” Lynx, their drummer and his longtime friend, leaned next to him, eyebrows raised.

  “Something. Not hungover, just strung tight.” So damned tired and angry. They had too much on the line in the next couple weeks. He pivoted in time to see River and Gray flanking Simon as they walked to the stairs leading up to the stage. Suspicion took shape. “The suits engineered this. They’ve been sitting on the knowledge that Simon was married and his wife…”

  “Creepers.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, but they sprang it now, then tell us we get a kid as our publicist. My guess is they’re creating fires for the publicist in some other game we don’t have the rules to.”

  “For ratings,” Lynx snapped. “But Ace, he’s smacked. Guy’s so messed up he doesn’t know reality.”

  More than likely. “Coke?”

  “Or meth. Don’t know, don’t care. What he did to Simon today, man, that’s twisted.”

  “Yeah.” Justice glanced around the lower floor of the huge auditorium close to the University of California’s campus. It had all the equipment the show required, but at this point in the season, after traveling to so many locations near colleges—their demographic—it all looked the same to him. He closed his eyes, needing a minute to get his head to stop with the drilling.

  “No sleep?”

  He pulled in a breath. Lynx saw too damned much. “Back off.”

  “You went looking for him, didn’t you?”

  “Get off my ass. Had business to take care of.” He opened his eyes and shoved off the wall. “Where’s my coffee?” After storming to the table, he snatched it up and drank the lukewarm brew.

  “Your voice is shit today. You didn’t sleep, and you’re cranky as a crack baby. You spent the night out on a futile search instead of getting the shut-eye you need.”

  His gut burned. They’d just gotten into town last night after weeks of traveling and performing, fighting not to get eliminated every show. He’d barely put his stuff down in his house before he’d been out the door, only returning home in time to grab a shower before heading to practice. And now Lynx was dogging him. “You’re two seconds from my foot up your ass.”

  “Try it.”

  The silky invitation tempted him, but he was too damned tired. Lifting his gaze, he admitted, “Couldn’t find him. He might be dead for all I know.” And Justice would have failed. Again. He’d sworn to his grandmother before she died that he’d take care of his father.

  So far he hadn’t lived up to his deathbed promise.

  The old anger stewed in the mix of everything else. He just needed this day to be over. Done.

  “Your dad doesn’t want to be found, J. That’s reality, and you need to deal. We didn’t get the full house in our family hand, we got the jokers.”

  Justice eyed the drummer, catching the strain around his eyes. They’d both grown up in San Diego, but at least Justice’d had his grandmother until she passed away last year. Lynx had definitely gotten the worse deal. “You have a key to my house, crash there. Take a break from the sterile hotels for a while.” They might not be blood, but Lynx was a brother to him. And they both had the band, their only real family.

  “Nah. I can’t bring chicks to your grandma’s house.”

  Nostalgia swept over Justice. “Still afraid of her, huh? You think her ghost is going to smack you upside the head?” Not that his grandmother had ever smacked Lynx, but the image amused him.

  “Respect, assh
ole. Not fear.” He tapped on the table in time to some beat playing in his head. “She let me live there when I got sprung from juvie.”

  Being back in their hometown made them both edgy, a reminder that they’d been judged and labeled losers. Justice hadn’t even lasted a day before he’d been out on the streets, scraping his childhood wounds open to expose the festering sore. “We’re going to show them when we win Court of Rock.”

  Lynx nodded. “Damn right. I’m going up.” He tilted his head to the stairs leading to the stage.

  “I’ll be there in a sec.” Just one more minute to get this headache under control and get his shit together. He finished off his coffee, tossed the cup, grabbed his guitar and headed up the stairs to the big stage facing the five-hundred-seat auditorium. Gray sat at the piano, while Lynx took a seat at the drum kit. They were both at the back of the stage. Justice took center, with Simon on his right. River, the bassist, fell in behind them. After all the weeks of performing in various locations all over the country, it was a familiar routine. They automatically adjusted positions to make sure the two in the back weren’t blocked during a show.

  After freeing his guitar from its case, he strummed it, the sound helping soothe his head and focus him on what really mattered—their music.

  Simon tuned a few strings on his BilT Revelator guitar. “I’d have killed him if you hadn’t walked in.”