ISBN: 0975436686
Price: US$16.99
Pages: 180
Summary
The heavy metal band, Warlord, is in need of a new guitarist. Only one applicant stands out - a jewel in the very rough - Torrin Smith. She has the ability to make her guitar sing her soul - a sinister and shattered cry.
Sonny Middlestead, little sister to a member of the band, is making her way through high school in accelerated learning classes. Her days are filled with education, her nights with rock and roll. An aspiring journalist, she spends a good deal of her free time writing in her diary.
The two meet - dark and light, anger and love - with both disastrous and remarkable potential. Will Torrin be swept away by her substance abuse, unable to release her fury or accept the brightness of another’s heart? Can Sonny find a way to heal a broken childhood, to make up for a lifetime of injustice and hate?
Only time will tell.
Excerpt
Sonny’s journal - Jan. 3, 2001
Well, tomorrow we leave Medford, Oregon, and head into California. It’s been snowing in the mountains nearby, so it’ll be rough going at this time of year. But so far, so good. Both the Honda and Max’s van are still plugging away - no mechanical problems. (Knock on wood!)
We spent the week through Christmas at home. It was pretty nice. I got to see Shelly and Lamont and some other friends. Tinker was pretty happy to see us, too. Well, after she spent a day and a half being standoffish and ‘punishing’ me for being gone so long! Cats can be so fickle! I am glad that Shelly has been keeping an eye on her, though.
I checked in at school. I also got a lot of my chem lab out of the way. Mr. Elliott was good enough to come in on a Saturday so we could work on it for a few hours. So, now I’m officially caught up on that aspect of my education! The rest is pretty much all finished - I’ve done most of the assignments and turned them in. I took a few tests that were backed up while I was there, too.
The band is doing fantastic. Things are starting to pick up, and they’re actually getting people returning to their shows rather than coming to see the band they’re opening for. It’s pretty exciting! I know that Tom is really happy, too. This is what he’s dreamed of for so long. I’m glad I was able to work things out.
Torrin’s being… Torrin, I guess. About the only time she’s in the motel room is when we’re going to leave the following morning. Or to take a nap before shows. She’s hardly ever here. It’s worse than when we’re living in Portland! I can count on a couple of girls a week at home - not every freaking night!
There’ve been a couple of times that she and Lando have taken over the other motel room for their orgies. Those are the nights Tom stays in my room. I don’t know what Max and Lisa do. Probably sleep in his van.
I don’t know what she’s trying to prove. I don’t know what she’s searching for. I wish I did. I see some of the ‘babes’ she seduces, and frankly, I don’t think they’re all that great. They don’t have what she needs. She needs a woman with intelligence, for one thing. And someone who’ll give her a kick in the seat of the pants when she needs it. Someone to hold her at night. Spoil her.
Torrin drowsed in the back of the van, the sound of the road lulling her. Normally, she’d be lounging in one of the passenger seats, but in all the activity to be on their way, Sonny had ended up in the van with her.
Whatever was going on, the redhead wasn’t pleased. It seemed that whenever the teenager was in close proximity, Torrin couldn’t think straight. On the nights she’d stay in the motel room, she got no sleep, preferring to stay up all hours and watch Sonny’s face as she slumbered. Her fantasies were more and more consumed with imagined visions of dark hair and blue eyes.
It was a rotten feeling. Rather than be near Sonny and exasperate her emotional disarray, Torrin had feigned a need to work on a tune. She’d used her duffel to make a backrest against all the gear and twiddled with her guitar for a time.
The woman was glad the band was heading south. It’s too damned cold at night here! she groused. When she could find someone to crash with, she did. When she couldn’t, she spent most of the night walking around. Doesn’t make any difference, does it, Torry? You wouldn’t get any sleep in the motel, either, if you had your wish!
All in all, it was a very unsettling feeling. The more the redhead put distance between them, the more Sonny found reasons to be near. Like climbing into the van at the absolute very last minute. Not to mention the flirting - there were constant touches and innuendoes by the teenager anymore, whenever she was within reach.
So, fuck her and get it over with! You know she wants it…. What’s the problem?
Torrin grumbled and jammed an elbow into her duffel in an attempt to get more comfortable. The problem is she’s too close. I don’t want to hurt her. I like her!
Cracking her eyes open a bit, she could see the elegant profile as Sonny animatedly discussed something with Hampton in the driver’s seat. She was using the brush in her hand to underscore a point in her conversation. Her voice was only a murmur mixed with the sound of the road under the wheels. A quiet little voice piped up clearly in the rare stillness of the redhead’s mind. You don’t have to hurt her….
Torrin drifted off to sleep, feeling warm arms envelope her and hold her, smelling the scent that was Sonny’s own, feeling another heartbeat pulse in time with hers.
Read Reviews
“. . . D. Jordan Redhawk paints a vivid, sometimes stark portrait of the world of heavy metal music and a very troubled guitar player & songwriter, Torrin Smith. When Torrin joins the band Warlord she is introduced to Sonny Middlestead, the earnest teenage sister of a band member. Their lives will never be the same . . .”
Blayne Cooper
author of Cobb Island
“. . . In this story, we watch Sonny grow from good-hearted, naive innocent to a woman who has maturity and a belief in herself and love. While Torrin is street-wise and filled with self-hatred. Her past is an enigmatic mystery . . .”
“. . . As we watch them grow from the first page to the last, we see far different characters than in the early pages . . . Neither Sonny nor Torrin is ever stagnant; the reader goes from wanting to hug or shake each of them in turn . . .”
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