Caged Collection (Sixth Street Bands #1-5) Read online

  CAGED COLLECTION

  Sixth Street Bands Box Set (BOOKS 1-5)

  Jayne Frost

  SIXTH STREET PRESS

  CAGED

  SIXTH STREET BAND BOX SET (BOOKS 1-5)

  BOOK 1

  GONE FOR YOU

  BOOK 2

  FALL WITH ME

  BOOK 3

  MISSING FROM ME

  BOOK 4

  LOST FOR YOU

  BOOK 5

  DOWN TO YOU

  Copyright © 2018 by Jayne Frost

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by: Patricia D. Eddy — The Novel Fixer

  Proofreading: Proofing With Style

  Cover Design: Maria — Steamy Designs

  For Jeff, the love of my life … all of my life.

  If I’m the words, you’re the music.

  Sixth Street Bands Backstory

  The premise for this series began with a group of bands from Austin Texas, who rose to fame when Damaged, the original Sixth Street band, lost two members in a terrible accident. Through this tragedy, a new group of bands emerged to carry on the Damaged legacy. These are their stories. While each of the books in my series can be read as a standalone, you will see recurring characters woven into each novel.

  List of recurring characters and future characters on the next page.

  Welcome to my band family!

  The Sixth Street Bands Line Up

  THE MANAGERS

  Twin Souls Management

  Taryn Ayers (w/Chase Noble #4 Lost For You)

  Tori Grayson (w/Logan Cage #5 Down To You)

  THE BANDS

  Damaged

  Rhenn Grayson —Vocals/Bass (Deceased)

  Paige Dawson— Lead Guitar (Deceased)

  Tori Grayson—Vocals/Keyboard (Rhenn’s widow)

  Miles Cooper—Drums

  Caged

  Cameron Knight— Guitar ( #1 Gone For You w/Lily Tennison)

  Christian Seers—Bass (#2 Fall With Me w/Melody Sullivan)

  Sean Hudson— Drums (#3 Missing From Me w/Anna Dresden)

  Chase Noble— (#4 Lost For You w/Taryn Ayers

  Logan Cage —Vocals (#5 Down To You w/Tori Grayson)

  Leveraged

  Dylan Boothe—Vocals

  Beckett Brennin—Guitar

  Zane Martin—Bass

  Conner Hart—Drums

  Revenged Theory

  Line-Up To Be Determined

  Drafthouse

  Line-Up To Be Determined

  Contents

  GONE FOR YOU

  FALL WITH ME

  MISSING FROM ME

  LOST FOR YOU

  DOWN TO YOU

  PREVIEW — ANOTHER SKY

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  GONE FOR YOU

  SIXTH STREET BANDS | BOOK ONE

  Copyright © 2015 by Jayne Frost

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by: Patricia D. Eddy — The Novel Fixer

  Proofreading: Fresh I’s Editing and Proofreading

  Cover Design: Maria at Steamy Designs

  1

  CAMERON

  My knee bounced up and down as the cab inched along in the heavy afternoon traffic on I-35. Pulling out my cell phone, I hit redial.

  “Yeah?” Logan answered, sounding as frazzled as I felt.

  “Have you heard anything?” Biting off a piece of my nail, I spit it onto the floorboard.

  The cab driver glared at me in the rearview mirror, and I gave him an apologetic smile.

  “Not in the last five minutes,” Logan said. “I told you I’d call if I heard anything. Where are you?”

  Dragging a hand through my hair, I looked around for anything remotely familiar. But it was no use. I was from Austin, for Christ’s sake. And the only time I ventured the two-hundred miles north to Dallas was for a gig.

  “Fuck, dude. I have no clue.”

  “Just get here as fast as you can. Christian’s phone is still off.”

  Logan’s voice held an edge of fear. The same undercurrent fluttering in my belly.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just call if…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I will. Fuck. Lindsey’s here. I gotta go.”

  He hung up before I could reply. Normally, I was a buffer between Logan and our half-witted manager, Lindsey. The insensitive bitch could work him up in a hot minute under the best of circumstances. Today? I’d be lucky if he didn’t kill her before I arrived to stop him.

  Meeting the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror, I asked, “Hey, man, how much farther?”

  Shrugging, he shifted his focus back to the road. “About twenty minutes in this traffic.”

  He turned the music up to avoid further conversation, so I took off my glasses and rubbed my tired eyes. When I got the call that Christian had been in an accident, I jumped in the first cab I could find, not bothering to wait for the car service our record label had on standby. At the moment, I regretted that particular decision. The cab looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a year, and the driver reeked like he hadn’t bathed in just as long. His funk permeated the entire space.

  I hit the button to crack the window. Nothing. Another failed attempt and I barked over the sound system, “Hey, can you open the window back here?”

  “No can do. Too many fumes out there.”

  Unfuckingbelievable. It smelled like a dog’s ass in here, and the dude was oblivious. Dropping my head against the back of the seat, I stared at the stains on the ceiling.

  “Before we get back to our super set, we’ve got some news,” the DJ on the local rock station began in a somber voice. “I’ve just gotten word that Christian Sears, bassist for the band Caged, has been involved in an accident this afternoon in Dallas.”

  I jerked upright. “Turn that up!”

  Startled, the driver did as I asked.

  “We haven’t got any official word yet on his condition,” the commentator continued. “Caged is scheduled to perform this Saturday at the AT&T Stadium for the Rock Texas Music Festival. We’ll keep y’all advised. Our thoughts are with you, Christian.” And just like that, the DJ’s voice morphed into his cheery radio persona. “And now back to our Monday super set. Here’s the latest from Caged, ’Above Me,’ on 97.1 The Eagle.”

  Cursing the traffic, my headache, and the God-awful smell, I hit the cracked, vinyl seat with a balled fist.

  “I knew you looked familiar,” the cabbie said, when he coasted to a stop at yet another snarl in traffic. “You’re Colin, right? The guitarist from Caged?”

  “Cameron.” My attempt at a smile failed miserably. “Cameron Knight.”

  “Man, I love your music.” Gunning the engine, he cut across two lanes of traffic and maneuvered the cab onto the shoulder. “I’ll get you there as soon as I can. Hold on.”

  My shoulders sagged in relief. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  As the taxi barreled past the four lanes of gridlock, I curled my fingers around the edge of the seat so I wouldn’t slide into the door. The dread coating my stomach slithered north, a ball of cement in my throat. Closing my eyes, I swallowed hard against the bitter taste. And for the first time in a long time, I p
rayed.

  Scanning the waiting room of the emergency ward at Parkland Memorial, I spotted Logan seated in the corner, doing his best to look inconspicuous. As inconspicuous as a six-foot-four-inch rock star with long, blond hair in a three-hundred-dollar, custom fitted shirt could look. At his side, Lindsey tapped on her iPhone.

  Jerking her gaze to mine when I walked up, she said, “Cameron, it’s about time you got here.”

  Her annoying voice faded as I focused on Logan. He wasn’t easy to read, but the lines on his brow and the serious set of his jaw gave him away. He was worried. “Heard anything?” I managed to choke out.

  “They’re taking him back for a CAT scan or an MRI,” he said quietly, his gaze darting to the people sneaking glances at us. “Something like that. Checking for internal injuries. I haven’t seen him yet. The doc says it doesn’t look serious.”

  “Thank God.” I sank onto the chair beside him with a thud. “Where’s Sean?” Looking around for the missing member of our band, I noticed a couple of camera phones pointed in our direction.

  “Cafeteria,” Logan grumbled. “He left as soon as he heard Christian was in the clear. Fucker is a bottomless pit.”

  Chuckling, I took a couple deep breaths, and the tension ebbed from my body. “So now we just wait, huh?” When Logan nodded, I stretched my legs, crossing them at the ankle. Out of habit, I dropped my gaze to the floor. Caged wasn’t newsworthy enough to garner the attention of the mainstream press, but our celebrity made us ripe for tabloid fodder. I didn’t want this little meeting to end up on TMZ. Or worse.

  Lindsey heaved a sigh. “You guys should head back to the hotel and get some rest.”

  If she was genuinely concerned for our wellbeing, that would be one thing. But that wasn’t it. We had a show coming up. Media commitments. Rehearsals. Lindsey was only protecting her investment.

  Shrinking in her seat when Logan and I scowled at her, she went back to fidgeting with her phone. But Logan was done. I could see it in his eyes.

  “You know what, Lindsey?” he snapped, failing to hide his disdain. “Why don’t you get the fuck out of here? And do…whatever it is you do.”

  She blinked at him. But before she could reply, her phone rang, snagging her attention. “I have to take this.” Hopping to her feet, she headed for the automatic doors.

  Jaw clenched, Logan tracked her movements. “I’m about to strangle her, bro. Her phone has been going off every five minutes. She actually had the nerve to ask if I could do a phone interview while we waited.”

  I glared at Lindsey through the dirty windows. Pacing in a tight circle, she puffed on a cigarette, her arms flapping as she spoke. I couldn’t stand the woman. Hiring a company from L.A. to manage us was the biggest mistake we ever made. At the time, we didn’t know any better, but every day it got harder to deal with her shit.

  A petite redhead in blue scrubs sidled into the room. Logan and I sat up when she headed straight for us. She appeared to be our age, mid-twenties, and she was seriously cute, with flaming red hair and big green eyes. And from the way her gaze lingered on our faces, she knew exactly who we were.

  “Are y’all waiting for news on Mr. Sears?” We nodded in unison and she glanced down at her clipboard. “Um…Christian…Mr. Sears, has been admitted for observation.” When Logan’s face fell, she added quickly, “He’s going to be fine. It’s just a precaution. He’s asking for you.” Her gaze volleyed to me. “Both of you.”

  We were on our feet, our sights set on the double doors marked “trauma,” before she’d even finished.

  “No, wait—you can’t go through there,” she called, rushing after us. “He’s on the fourth floor. Room 402.”

  Logan powered to the bank of elevators while I paused to offer her a smile. “Thanks, darlin’. Our friend Sean went to the cafeteria. He’s about six two and—”

  “I know what Sean looks like.” She fluttered her long lashes. “I’ll tell the duty nurse to send him up as soon as he comes back.”

  “Thanks again…” I dropped my gaze to her name tag. “Sophia.”

  “You’re welcome…Cameron.”

  When her smile turned from shy to downright seductive, I glanced at her left hand for a ring. Force of habit. Finding no band, I inched a little closer.

  “Cameron!” Logan bellowed. “Come on!”

  Shrugging my apology, I tossed the cute little nurse a wink and then sauntered toward him.

  “You’re a fucking dog,” he muttered, hitting the button for the fourth floor when I stepped onto the elevator.

  “Woof,” I growled, as the doors whooshed closed on Sophia and her pretty green eyes, still glued on me from across the room.

  “Dude, it’s not funny.” Christian winced, clutching his side. “My ribs are killing me.”

  Perched at the foot of the bed, I frowned at him. “That’s what you fucking get. Why would you go for a bike ride in the middle of the city when you don’t even know where you’re going?”

  The band usually stayed in Irving when we were here, close to the old stadium. We knew that area. But this time the promotor had booked us at the Omni Hotel in the middle of downtown Dallas. No bike lanes, and nothing but four lane highways and busy side streets as far as the eye could see.

  Christian shrugged sheepishly. “I needed the exercise.”

  That proved my theory that the cure was worse than the disease. Of the four of us, only Christian would have a bike delivered so he could get in his ten miles instead of going to the gym at the hotel like a normal person.

  “When are they letting you out of here?” Logan asked, pushing off the wall where he’d been standing.

  “Tomorrow.” Christian stifled a yawn, his eyes drifting closed for a second as he spoke. “They’re keeping me here in case I have an aneurysm or something.”

  The worry lines etched on Logan’s brow deepened.

  According to the doctor, Christian had a slight concussion and a hairline fracture on two of his ribs. Other than the pain meds that were making him drowsy, he didn’t appear any worse for the wear. The door swung open, and Sean Hudson, our drummer, stepped inside.

  “Took you long enough, dickhead,” Christian said, a lopsided smile creeping over his face. “I could have been dying while you were wolfing down a burrito.”

  Ignoring the comment, Sean crossed the room, laying a hand on Christian’s shoulder. “You ever pull something like this again, I’ll kick your ass. You’ll be playing that bass from a wheelchair.”

  Christian smiled up at Sean, patting the hand that was pressed to his shoulder. “I’m good, bro. Just a few bumps and bruises.”

  “Jesus,” Logan groaned. “I need to get the fuck out of here. Before I grow a vagina.”

  Logan wasn’t comfortable with this type of emotion. Never had been. I was surprised it took him this long to reach his limit.

  “Don’t…shit…don’t make me laugh,” Christian snorted, wincing as his hand flew to his side. His shoulders quaked, and he tried to choke back his laugh.

  Lindsey’s high-pitched squeal drifted from the hallway, sucking the air out of the room. “I’m Mr. Sears’ manager,” she huffed. “Of course, he wants to see me.”

  Barging into the room a second later with a nurse on her tail, Lindsey’s five-inch heels clicked on the worn linoleum.

  “Christian,” she cooed in a saccharine-sweet voice. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Christian nodded at the nurse who looked ready to snatch our manager’s Chanel purse and strangle her with the gold chain. “It’s fine,” he said in an apologetic tone. “She can stay.”

  With a final glare at Lindsey’s back, the nurse spun on her heel and retreated from the room, her ponytail swinging behind her.

  “Spreading sunshine wherever you go, eh, Lindsey?” Christian asked wearily, throwing an arm over his forehead.

  Dismissing his comment, Lindsey glanced at her watch. “I hate to break this up. But I need all of you back at the hotel for a radio interview. Th
ere’s a limo waiting outside.”

  “Don’t even start, Lindsey,” Logan spat. “I’m not doing a fucking interview. Issue a statement or whatever. I’m not going to talk about the show, or the single, or anything else.”

  Logan pushed Sean out of the way, then leaned in to whisper something in Christian’s ear. I followed suit, grabbing Christian’s hand and squeezing it.

  “Get some rest,” I said. “And let me know if you need anything.”

  Christian smiled, his unfocused eyes at half-mast. “I’ll be fine.”

  And though I was sure he was right, I couldn’t help but wince inwardly when I noticed the purple bruise on his forehead.

  Logan tugged the sleeve of my t-shirt to get my attention, then stepped around Lindsey and headed for the door with Sean on his heels. But I lingered for a moment, surveying our manager in her monochromatic suit with the flat smile frozen on her lips.

  “Damn, Lindsey, do you have anything resembling a heart in there?” I matched her cold stare. “If I were you, I wouldn’t push it.”

  She rolled her eyes, then shifted her focus to Christian. “I’ll arrange for the Dallas Tribune to come interview you tomorrow.”

  “Lindsey. Outside. Now,” I snapped. Punctuating my demand with an arched brow and a pointed finger.