Spoiled Rotten [Young, Hot, and Talented 3] (Siren Publishing Allure ManLove) Read online

  Young, Hot, and Talented 3

  Spoiled Rotten

  Jonas Kerry has sworn off guys after his two-year relationship with his ex-boyfriend Sean Johnson ends. Now Jonas just wants to concentrate on his music and wants to break away from pop and concentrate on rhythm and blues.

  While his twenty-year-old younger brother Frankie is happily in love with their manager Adam Montgomery, and their other band mate, twenty-one year old Gerard Tyler, is keeping it hot and heavy with fashion designer Giovanni Bassett, Jonas just wants to write songs and chauffeur his five-year-old brother Kalen to and from elementary school and to photo shoots.

  Although he is trying to change his life and take better care of himself, Jonas realizes that it isn’t easy. His idol, heavy metal band Vizio, returns to town, and its blond-haired lead singer Brenton Tramayne makes it very clear that he wants to make beautiful music with the gorgeous, brown-eyed songwriter.

  Genre: Alternative (M/M, Gay), Contemporary

  Length: 56,370 words

  SPOILED ROTTEN

  Young, Hot, and Talented 3

  Shawn Bailey

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  MANLOVE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ManLove

  SPOILED ROTTEN

  Copyright © 2016 by Shawn Bailey

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-68295-429-4

  First E-book Publication: August 2016

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2016 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Spoiled Rotten by Shawn Bailey from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Shawn Bailey’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Shawn Bailey’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  Dedicated to all my fans: Thanks for loving the series!

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  About the Author

  SPOILED ROTTEN

  Young, Hot, and Talented 3

  SHAWN BAILEY

  Copyright © 2016

  Chapter One

  Brenton Tremayne looked out of the airplane window and spotted familiar scenery as they prepared to land at the Louis Armstrong International Airport in Kenner, Louisiana. He buckled his seatbelt and prepared for landing. The other passengers seated next to him did the same thing. Moments later, he felt the descent, and then the release of the wheels. This was followed by a pretty smooth landing. Brenton removed his belt, anxiously waiting to get his feet on solid ground again.

  “You can relax, mate,” Carson Hughes said from the middle seat. “We’ve landed safely.”

  He and Carson had been friends since junior high back in Manchester, England, and Carson knew him almost as well as he knew himself.

  “If a man was supposed to fly, he would have been given wings,” Brenton replied. But flying was the only way his band could get from country to country to perform.

  “You think you’d be used to this by now,” Randall Newcastle, another member of the band, said as he stood and stretched. “We’ve been doing this for fourteen years.” He pushed some of his long, red hair out of his face and then tucked it securely behind his ears.

  Brenton rose, too. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to flying, but at least I won’t have to do it for a while.”

  His band, Vizio, had just finished a worldwide tour that had taken nearly two years, and they had finally earned a rest.

  The fourth member of the band, Preston Gaspar, sat on the aisle seat next to their manager, Harley Norwich. He got up and stood in the aisle to let Harley out so they could get their carry-ons from the overhead bins.

  “Let’s get off this bloody tin can,” Brenton said after he had his trusty electronic tablet in hand. “My arse hurts from sitting too long.”

  The nearly ten-hour flight from London had taken a toll on his legs, too. He stretched to get the kinks out of them. All he wanted was a decent meal, a nice, long, relaxing soak in his custom-made spa tub, and to sleep in his bed.

  He put on a pair of dark sunglasses to disguise himself. The rest of the group, including Harley, did the same thing. The five friends walked off the plane accompanied by the rest of their entourage who always traveled with them. Harley led the way to the baggage claim area. The roadies commandeered some luggage carts and began loading them with everything from satchels to instruments. This always took a very long time because they traveled with a lot of stuff.

  Brenton grabbed his rolling bag off of the belt. It contained his pers
onal toiletries and everyday clothing. Their stage costumes left London a couple of days ago ahead of them, along with their clothing coordinators, hairdressers, and makeup artists.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Harley said once they had all of their things. They headed out of the busy terminal.

  “Oh shit,” Preston uttered as they entered the lobby.

  There were hundreds of people outside holding up signs bearing their group’s name.

  “Fans!”

  Vizio had tried to sneak back into town unnoticed, but apparently, someone had leaked the band’s flight information.

  “I’ll handle this,” their lead bodyguard said.

  They never went anywhere without security.

  “There’s no other way out,” Harley reminded them. “Just smile, wave, and keep walking.”

  Easier said than done.

  “Look, there’s B-Dog,” someone in the crowd shouted as they exited the building. The women in the crowd screamed. Brenton waved, and camera phones appeared as if by magic. Once upon a time, he got off on this type of shit, but after fourteen years, he couldn’t stand posing for a picture or signing an autograph. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t. He and the others went through the motion of charming their fans. The fans continued to call out their names and cheer. A few of them were even singing one of Vizio’s songs.

  An hour later, they were finally inside one of their vans and headed toward New Orleans.

  “I’m starving,” Carson said. “Do you think we can stop for a bite first?”

  “I think that can be arranged,” Harley said. He took out his cell phone and punched in a few numbers. “Hello, this is Harley Norwich, manager of the heavy metal band Vizio. I’d like to make a reservation for six. That would be fine. We’re on our way.” He disconnected the call and signaled for the driver. “Take us to the Toulouse Restaurant on Baronne Street.”

  “Yes, Mr. Norwich,” Alan said. He continued driving along the interstate. As usual, the driver, Alan, would be joining them for dinner.

  Brenton sat back in his seat. It had been a long time since he feasted on real southern food. He wanted some smothered pork chops, gravy, rice, and some turnip greens. He closed his eyes and tried to get a nap in before they got there.

  * * * *

  “I’m so hungry I can eat a horse,” twenty-year-old Frankie Kerry said as he, his older brother, Jonas, and their best friend, Gerard Tyler, got out of the van and walked around to the front entry of the Toulouse Restaurant. Normally, he did all the cooking at home, but they had been in the recording studio all day, and he needed a break.

  “Me, too,” Gerard said from the seat next to him. “But not exactly a horse. I’m in the mood for some fried trout and potato salad.”

  “Hillbilly,” Frankie teased.

  Gerard grew up in Arcadia in Lafayette, Louisiana, and every now and then Frankie picked up a bit of his Cajun French accent when he spoke.

  “Bite me, Frankie,” Gerard said.

  Jonas chuckled from the backseat.

  Frankie found a parking spot, and the three of them got out into the unseasonably cold March air. They got in line behind some other people waiting to enter the popular restaurant.

  Jonas wrapped his arms around himself to try to keep warm. He had on a fake fur coat, and that should have done the trick. But on top of having asthma, diabetes, and vanity, Jonas also had anemia. He coughed after a cold breeze from the Mississippi bore down on them.

  He and Gerard wore knit hats to keep their head and ears warm. Every year in New Orleans the winters were getting colder and the summers hotter. He could also recall being in shorts in October a few years ago. The line began to move, and finally, they made it inside the door.

  “We have reservations for three under the name Kerry,” Jonas said when they reached the headwaiter.

  The man looked down at the list. “Yes sir, Mr. Kerry.” He called another waiter to seat them.

  “Right this way, gentlemen.”

  Jonas led the way, following behind the waiter into the main dining room. Zydeco music played throughout the crowded restaurant. Jonas stopped walking midway through the journey.

  Frankie nearly ran into the back of him.

  “Why are you stopping?”

  Something had Jonas’s attention. Frankie looked in the direction.

  “Oh, my God!” He clasped his hand over his mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” Gerard asked. “Why are we stopping?” He looked, too. “Oh, no!”

  Jonas walked over to a booth where his current boyfriend, Sean, sat kissing and hugging another guy. The young man opened his eyes and noticed Jonas staring at them. He tapped Sean on the arm and pointed. Sean looked around. His eyes widened in disbelief. Jonas ran out of the dining room in tears. It had all happened so fast that Frankie doubted anyone around them knew what was going on.

  Sean tried to get up and go behind Jonas, but the other guy stopped him.

  “So what if he knows. It’s about time he found out.”

  “You bastard,” Frankie said to Sean. Then he and Gerard went after Jonas.

  The restaurant door opened, and Jonas ran straight into one of the tallest, most muscular guys Frankie had ever seen. Frankie recognized the man instantly. Jonas ended up on his butt, fake fur and all, and in tears.

  The dude bent at the waist. Long, curly, blond hair spilled in front of his face. He offered his hand to Jonas. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  He helped Jonas to his feet. It wasn’t much of a feat because Jonas was barely five feet eight and seriously slender.

  Jonas hit the man on the arm. “I’m a guy,” he said between sobs. Then he ran past five other equally tall men.

  Frankie recognized most of them, too.

  “Ouch. That hurts,” B-Dog Tremayne said. “What’s his problem?”

  “He just saw his lover kissing another guy,” Frankie answered. Then he and Gerard ran out of the restaurant in search of Jonas before he did something foolish, like slice all of Sean’s tires or smash out his windshield. He was glad Jonas hadn’t made a scene in the restaurant. Their boss would have a fit if this got leaked to the media.

  They caught up with him in the graveled parking lot next to their van. His tears were flowing pretty freely, staining his cheeks. They also glistened in his big, brown eyes.

  “Why?” he asked.

  Frankie shrugged. “That’s something only Sean can answer.”

  “I don’t want to talk to him,” Jonas said, unlocking the van with the key and climbing into the backseat.

  Frankie and Gerard got into the front. Frankie took the key from Jonas. They would’ve been in deep shit if they had to depend on Jonas to drive them him after this. Frankie started up the engine and headed toward the Garden District, where they lived.

  As soon as they arrived, Jonas got out of the van. Frankie got out, too. At least Jonas had stopped crying. Gerard eventually climbed out.

  “Go check on Kalen,” Jonas said to Frankie. “I want to be alone.”

  Kalen, their five-year-old brother, was at the photography studio, and with his manager Adam Montgomery. Jonas must have forgotten that Kalen was spending the night with a friend later.

  “We can’t leave you alone in this condition,” Gerard said.

  Jonas’s mascara was smudged, and he looked like a raccoon.

  “I’ll be okay. I just want to regroup. It just surprised me. I’ve never had anyone stomp on my heart before.”

  “I have,” Gerard mumbled.

  Frankie sighed. Jonas sounded okay, but Frankie knew it wouldn’t be long before the bomb dropped. Gerard didn’t know this, but Jonas had a very bad temper. When they were kids, he used to throw tantrums when he couldn’t get his way. His brother had loved Sean deeply from the beginning, and they had invited him to move into their home and had treated him like family. If Adam ever did something like this to him, he didn’t know what he would do. Yes, he did. He would have a nervous breakdown. When the Kellys fell in love, they f
ell hard.

  “Do you think you and Kalen can stay over with Adam tonight?” Jonas asked. “I just need time to think.”

  “Kalen is staying with a friend tonight, remember?” Frankie didn’t want to leave his depressed brother alone. He kind of liked their home and didn’t want to see it burned to the ground. “I’ll call you later. Come on, Gerard.”

  Jonas opened the gate and entered. Frankie waited until Jonas had gotten safely inside and turned on a light before climbing back into the van.

  Gerard got back in, too. “Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Frankie answered.

  “Are you going to leave him alone overnight?”

  “No,” Frankie answered as they left the neighborhood. “I’ll give him a couple of hours to cool down. Let’s go get something to eat.”

  * * * *

  “Are you really going to eat all of that?” Brenton asked Randall after the waitress finally brought their food. His friend had ordered a fried seafood platter and a side order of coleslaw.

  “Hell yeah,” Randall answered. “This is all I dreamed about for the last few weeks.”

  Brenton smiled. Most New Orleanians loved seafood. It was a given. Now he had been looking forward to catching up on his favorite reality show Rock and Roll Diva Wives. He’d been reduced to watching them on his laptop since it wasn’t shown in England yet. Going back to his hometown was nice, but it wasn’t the Big Easy. Since moving here, he’d gotten used to Mardi Gras, eating beignets, and all the local customs. He’d lost most of his accent, too.