Hard Rock Roots - La série

Turner Campbell is an asshole. I f*cking hate him. But I can't get enough either. He sings like an angel and f*cks like a devil. If I could, I'd run away and never look back because to tell you the truth, I think this man might be the death of me. *** Naomi Knox is a bitch. I can't f*cking stand her. But I can't stop thinking about her either. She looks like an angel and plays like a devil. If I could, I'd f*ck her good and forget all about her, but to tell you the truth, I think this woman might be my last saving grace.

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Ronnie McGuire is my target. But I wish he wasn't. I didn't sign up for this destruction, this pain. In his music, I hear his soul crying out for me. If I could, I'd run away from here and never look back because to tell you the truth, I'm terrified. There are forces weighing in on me that even I don't understand. I'm scared. Things are dangerous. This could get real ugly, real fast. * * * * * * * * * * * * * Lola Saints is a godsend. But I wish she wasn't. I don't know sh*t about her, but already, I'm hooked. When she plays, I can almost imagine the ghosts of the dead are calling out to me. If I could, I'd shed my soul and leave the pain of the past behind me. But I can't. I have to figure out if there's a way to fall in love anew and respect the old. But something else is going on, something weird. Something that tells me my tough luck might just run out real fast.

Turner Motherf*cking Campbell. I'm into him, yeah, and I think I love him. But the sh*t has just hit the fan. Time for the angels and devils to crash. Because if we don't, then this all falls apart, and we lose everything. The fans, the music, the relationships that are just beginning to blossom. This is it. Let's kick as*, take names, and let the world know who's boss. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Naomi Isabelle Knox, she's everything to me. And I know I love her. But I can't ignore the sh*t storm that's taken over this tour, my tour. Time to get serious; time to dig deep; time to take back the music. Because if we don't, then I could lose her. She could die; we all could. Or worse. Time to show the world what we're made of, that we're here to stay. Say hello to your idols, baby. Your new gods. Say hello to Indecency and Amatory Riot. Your latest obsessions, your greatest desires.

When you're born wrong, sometimes you get bent and you get f*cked. Sometimes your life takes you places you don't want to go. Sometimes, it does. Dax McCann is as cold as ice. I'm intrigued by him. But I can't get close to him either. His music strokes my soul, butchers my broken heart. I wish he'd see me, but he only sees her. It's been so long since I've had to care that I'm not sure I can do it anymore. Now, tell me, why is there a gun to my head? * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Sydney Charell is … interesting. I want to touch her, kiss her, posses her. But I don't understand her. She dances on poles and can't carry a tune to save her life. I feel like an outsider on the in, but I have too many secrets to hide. Naomi Knox has my heart, but I think I might need it back. I want a chance to use it before it breaks. Or splatters. Blood will be spilled; I just hope it isn't mine.

"You ever see one of those old western movies where the sheriff and the outlaw face each other in a dusty street? Revolvers at the ready? Good versus evil and all. Well, this is kind of like that. Only more f***ed." Naomi Knox is on her way to becoming the world's most worshipped Rock Goddess. I'm so in love with this chick that I could be the King to her Queen, the Devil to her Angel. But a wise soul once told me that your past is your foundation, and if it's crumbling, then you've got nothing left to build on. I'll fight the f*cking world to see her safe, risk my life just to hear her sing one more time. And then I'm going to marry her, put Turner babies in her belly, and live happily f*cking ever after. Or at least that's the plan. But you know what they say: the best laid schemes of mice and men … * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Turner Campbell is a douche bag. No, seriously. He's a f*cking train wreck. But a precious train wreck. And I can't help myself: I love the sh*t out of him, even though I hate him. Even though I don't. Don't ask. It's complicated. But he's also a rock star and now, so am I. The Goddess of Guitar, I guess. All I really want is to make music and see how hard it is to fall in love with a man who's a devil at heart but sings like an angel. If I'm going to lay my heart on the line again though, I deserve a real chance. I won't be a pawn in this f*cking game any longer. I don't care how dangerous the stakes are anymore. I'm taking charge of my own destiny, like I should've all along. I won't have the wool pulled over my eyes and I won't bend over for fate. Get ready, b*tches, because Naomi Knox is coming for you.

"After every tough climb to the top, there's a descent. Sometimes, it's real easy, just a matter of sliding down feet first. Other times, it's like a tumble off a steep cliff – with a hell of a lot of rocks. Nobody ever promised downhill would be a piece of cake. Have fun with that." Lola Saints is my redemption. She's the second chance I never thought I'd have. But can we really make a life together, after all we've been through? Two drummers, too many rock stars, one house. If I could, I'd run away and take Lola with me, but that's not how life works. Running's too easy, and I have too many reasons to fight. It's time to put on the big boy panties and kick some ass – if I have to take my shirt off, so be it. Let's do this, Indecency style. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Ronnie McGuire is an enigma. I won't pretend I understand him, but I want to. But can he really love me after all the horrible things I've done? He can hit a kit like nobody else, and the sound of his music mimics the beat of my own heart. If I could, I'd say yes to the fairy-tale life and ride off into the sunset. Not saying it's never going to happen, but sometimes the ride's a bumpy one. And shit. Speaking of bumps, did I mention I was dating a fertile rock god?

"Damn it. I want to save him from himself so bad it hurts." Sydney Charell confuses the f*ck out of me. She's a stripper, she likes eighties music, and she's the sister of Indecency's douche bag guitarist. But I really f*cking like her. Love her. Maybe. She shouldn't be wrapped up in our bullsh*t, our drama. If I could, I'd send her away, protect her from all of this, but I can't. She's a target now, just like me. If we're going to get through this alive, we're going to have to do it together. Dead bodies, reality TV shows, and … a new tour. Bring it on. Dax McCann is a dark drumming god. Thing is, I don't date musicians. I don't really date at all. But we've got chemistry for days. And I want to fall in love. Maybe. He thinks too much, and he feels too hard, but he's got body and heart both, baby. If I could, I'd walk away from all of this, focus on my career as a model and forget all about the man with the gray eyes and the penetrating stare. But I'm already screwed, blued, and tattooed. Might as well embrace those lemons and make some damn lemonade. Or little drummer-rocker babies. That works, too.

Complete and absolute utter f*cking chaos. The posters might call it "Hard Rock Roots", but that's the real name of our tour. Ten cities. Twenty nights. A million ways to die. But the music, we're all slaves to it; we couldn't fight it if we tried. Sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll. It's all here, baby. But so is the blood, the death, the heroes, the villains, the FBI, the weddings, the end…and a new beginning. Gritty, dark, dirty, f*cked-the-h*ll-up. That's who we are. But we're also lovers, fighters, and survivors. We are Amatory Riot and Indecency. We...are rockstars.

Treyjan Charell is such a douche. The last sort of guy I would EVER date. But he saved me from the awful hands of a wicked rock 'n' roll crowd. And the way he strokes his guitar gives me bats instead of butterflies. If I could, I'd have just a taste, just one little lick, and get the hell out of there before he ruins me. Then again, maybe I want to be ruined. Netty Forester is such a shithead. Seriously, I wouldn't date her in a million years. But her tearstained face and the soft warmth of her body wrapped in my arms is burned in my memory. She thinks she can look at me all wide-eyed and innocent like that and walk away unscathed? If I could, I'd hide her away from it all—the sex, the drugs, the rock 'n' roll—keep her shining soul away from my tarnish, but those things … they're a part of who I am. The question is: do I introduce her to my world or let her go?