Gutter - Part 1: The Rise Read online

  GUTTER

  The Rise

  Written by Tiana Laveen

  Edited by Natalie G. Owens

  Cover layout by Travis Pennington

  Gutter is a 2-part series, a double novel. Both books in the series have been released on the exact same day, to ensure the best reading experience for my readers. There is no lingering cliffhanger, and no long delay to complete the story. This is, Part 1 – Gutter – The Rise.

  BLURB

  A gritty urban love story…

  Zake ‘Gutter’ Rayden has beaten the odds. Considered one of the most unique and gifted artists in the entertainment industry, he is a hot commodity and has taken the music world by storm for over a decade with his distinctive musical style and talent. With back-to-back, sold-out tours, cash to burn, number one songs on the billboard charts and Grammy nominations, his wildest dreams have come true tenfold. However, behind all the money, women, and paparazzi is a life full of strife and struggle. Dark secrets, too. His back against the wall, he must return to his roots to unravel the truth. While in his hometown of Red Hook, Brooklyn, Gutter unearths a Pandora’s box of epic proportions. The past, present and future have returned to collect its due, and it all centers around his estranged mother, and himself.

  Promise Bradford is Assistant Funeral Director of Horizons Funeral Home, Mortuary and Chapel. As of late, the families of the deceased aren’t the only ones that feel as if they’ve run out of time. Promise is determined to get her mojo back after a difficult past year full of ups and downs. Starting over is the hardest thing she’s ever had to do, but she is determined to get her life on track. One fateful day, she meets the musical superstar and just like that, an amazing chance encounter turns into something much more. Gutter and Promise are touched by the poignant finger of fate, and chemistry ignites. However, Promise harbors a secret, one that can destroy the newfound love she’s found.

  Can a man consumed by darkness ever find happiness outside of the limelight?

  Read “Gutter” to find out!

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2021 by Tiana Laveen

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are fictitious and products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. PIRACY IS AGAINST THE LAW.

  Please do not skip this section if you have any subject or contextual triggers.

  If it doesn’t apply, let it fly. What may not be offensive or upsetting to you may be so for someone else. This warning is simply to ensure the comfort of all readers involved. Thank you for your understanding.

  This book is intended for mature eyes ONLY. As the author, I never wish for my readers to be blindsided. If any of the below-mentioned topics offend you or may be a trigger, please proceed with caution:

  1. Profanity

  2. Graphic sexual encounters

  3. Discussions and instances of racism, injustice, and prejudice, which include occasional racial slurs

  4. Graphic violence

  5. Discussions of illness, neglect and death

  6. Drug usage, alcohol, and smoking—including marijuana, cigarettes and cigars

  7. Criminal behavior

  8. Loss of loved ones

  Oh, one more thing: For those unfamiliar with my work, I purposefully write ‘goddamn’ as ‘gotdamn.’ It’s an intentional spelling error. Just personal preference.

  Let’s continue…

  DEDICATION

  This book series is dedicated to the laundry I’ve yet to complete, the floors that need swept and mopped, the closets that demand to be purged, and the dishes that need to be washed, all because I am writing, and people are reading. Don’t worry. It’ll be taken care of. Eventually. We didn’t forget to do our chores. We simply remembered our purpose.

  “One glance at a book and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for 1,000 years. To read is to voyage through time.”

  —Carl Sagan

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  About this Book

  Copyright

  Warning

  Dedication

  Love Letter to my Readers

  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

  About the Author

  Love Letter to my Readers

  If you’re reading this book, I first want to say, “Thank you.” There are hundreds, sometimes thousands, of new books being released each week, and I’m honored that you chose mine today. The previous book I published was, “The Viper and his Majesty.” I want to thank everyone who purchased and read that book as well. I have written over 60 books to date, and I am always thrilled when my readers reach out to me, are excited about an upcoming release, and of course, let me know how much they enjoy my work. For those of you new to me, I have been writing stories since I was a child. This is a way of life for me, and I am blessed and grateful that I was able to turn it into a career. This book, “Gutter,” also features a man who was able to turn his childhood talents into a career.

  Zake ‘Gutter’ Rayden, as the blurb stated, is a musician and singer. Like many of my heroes he’s not cookie-cutter, has a degree of self-awareness which helps him in life, and is driven, despite the challenges he faced. Also, as with many of my books, I wouldn’t classify this as an ‘easy’ read. I tend to use symbolism and drop subtle hints all over the place. The subject matter is also potentially emotionally charged at times, drawing on sentiment. There is a fair share of humor in this novel, too, because I enjoy making my readers laugh as much as making them fall in love with the characters.

  Zake however is a complicated man, even though he plays an easygoing persona on stage. Therefore, this book sheds light on that complexity. I tend to focus more on the male POV in my writing style, but the heroine, Promise Bradford, is not neglected. Her feelings and personality soak the pages. She has dreams, challenges and a chance at love again. However, not without a fight. Nothing worth having, as the saying goes, comes easy.

  If you’ve ever had a dream that seems sometimes out of grasp and you want to give up, this book is for you. If you’ve ever loved someone but had to love yourself more for your own sanity, this book is for you. If you’ve ever rooted for the underdog, then this book is for you. If you simply enjoy my writing and want to delve into the next adventure with both feet and no parachute, then sweetheart, this book is definitely for you. So, without further ado, get comfortable, get yourself something delicious to drink, and get ready to get down and dirty. Brace yourself, bibliophiles. We’re going to crawl deep down into the dark, dank gutter…

  Zake and Promise await…

  CHAPTER ONE
r />   Who Are You?

  Every time feels like the first damn time…

  That hard-hitting, addictive adrenaline rush that infects the bloodstream and turns your insides to hot lava and shards of ice and slush, when the crushing applause squeezes your chest and you morph into a man who is fit for the stage. You become your alter ego—everything about you changes in an instant, including the way you see the world. You are a puppet and the puppeteer. The master and the slave. The pulsing music shakes you, chokes you, then lets you breathe as you take step after step until you are centerstage, bathed in bright lights and screams of excitement from thousands of people you’ve never met. But they’ve paid to see you, follow you on social media, driven across state lines, and did God knows what to watch you sing the songs they swear have changed their life.

  With microphone in hand and the songs that haunt your dreams, you open your mouth and sing… rap… yell.

  Night after night, I do the same thing. It never gets old. It’s a new city, a new town, a new crowd, a new me. Reborn. I kill myself after every show. Then I reinvent myself each time I perform, and I can’t stop entertaining the masses, drifting away into my nightly world, because it’s my drug of choice. I get high off the music, the fucking groupies, the stardom, fame and money. It’s a beautiful escape. The only place I can’t run from myself is in my dreams. So, I never go to sleep. But Pops said eventually, everyone closes their eyes…

  Gutter touched his Bluetooth earpiece as he started his final song for the evening. Tattooed fingers around the microphone, he stood half naked, sweaty from head to toe, and closed his eyes. The crowd was amped up, shouting and whistling. Some of the people barreled towards the stage, only to be stopped by fast-acting security officers. The musicians behind him played their instruments and the back-up singers belted out lyrics in the sultry tones of life.

  “What if we’re all dead, pretendin’ to be living? Like soulless zombies from the dust, taking life, but never giving…” Many in the audience were collectively losing their minds. “I can’t be your fuckin’ friend because friends tend to care… All I want is dead enemies, dead presidents, and dead air…” He aimed the microphone at the crowd, and the people yelled the lyrics, putting their heart and soul into the hook.

  “’Cause we’re all here pretending! Wish we could be real! Had to kill a dream, for fear of having to feel! ’Cause we’re all here pretending! Wish we could be real! Had to kill a dream, for a scheme and mass appeal!”

  He yanked the microphone back, cradling it close as he worked the stage and the crowd.

  “…All… dead… pretending…” Water and lightning effects lit the auditorium, bringing the song to a dramatic yet fitting end. “SEATTLE!!! You’ve been the fuckin’ best! And don’t forget, keep it gutter!”

  Dropping the mic, he marched off the stage, his mind in a daze, his body hot and wet and his limbs burning. He was immediately surrounded by security when he was ambushed by a mob-like crowd, some of whom were paparazzi, training their phones and cameras on him. He kept sporting a painful smile, playing the part, showing the side of him that wasn’t broken. A large flock of women materialized off to his right and several big men kept them at bay as they screamed his name, tears streaming down their faces like trickles of rain. Gutter glanced in their direction and waved, which only caused more riotous behavior.

  Finally alone in the dressing room, his head throbbing, he grabbed a bottle of chilled water from the mini fridge and held it like it was his best friend. He plopped down in a regal black and gold chair and chugged the cold beverage. Tossing the now empty bottle on the floor, he belched and leaned back, trying to get himself together. The coming down off the high had been particularly difficult as of late for his body kept moving, the muscles jumping long after he sang the last line of the last song.

  I’ve got that party tonight at the hotel. Two radio interviews tomorrow morning. An appearance at the Foundation Nightclub tomorrow night, then I have to head off to Chicago…

  His deliberations were shaken by a hard knock at the door.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  “Gutter,” one of the security guards barked.

  “Yeah?”

  “Guy out here from Muse magazine, said he is cleared for an interview with you.”

  “…Shit.” He’d forgotten all about that. It had been scheduled months ago. Gutter’s manager typically reminded him of such things, but Will had been putting out fires, one of which had been ensuring he had a capable team of musicians for Chicago since his usual drummer had to head to Europe for a family crisis, and one of his background vocalists had surgery. “Let him in.”

  Gutter cleared his throat and sat up straighter as the door opened. In walked a tall, lanky White guy with a serious businesslike expression, sporting a pair of dark Armani shades atop his salt and pepper hair. The man strode confidently towards him. Gutter got to his feet and they shook hands.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Gutter,” the journalist stated enthusiastically. The guy had an Australian accent. “Thanks for agreeing to talk to me. I’m John Smith. An unremarkable name for a very nosy person.” They both had a good chuckle at that.

  Gutter pointed to a chair across from him.

  “Grab that seat and bring it closer. Not trying to be rude, John, but how long is this going to take? I have to head out soon.”

  John quickly sat down and got situated with his recorder, notepad, pen and camera. “Not too long. I’ll move fast.” He offered a tilted grin. “Okay, first of all, let’s get Captain Obvious out of the way so he can sail out to sea… Amazing show tonight!”

  “Thanks.” Gutter cocked his head to the side and scratched his jaw through his thick black beard. The dense hairs could use a trim, he noted when he caught his reflection in a vanity mirror framed with lights. He hoped to get that taken care of before flying out the next day.

  “So, let me start by saying, your diehard fans know all about you, but for new listeners who’ve just been introduced to the world of Gutter, please tell everyone where you were born and when you were bit by the music bug.”

  “I was born in Red Hook, New York. That’s in Brooklyn.” He felt like a broken record at this point. Every interview began the same. He got up and grabbed another bottle of water, then tossed a bottle at the reporter who almost missed it, potentially getting clonked in the head.

  “Gotta have fast hands around you,” John laughed nervously. “I almost got it good.”

  “Some would’ve taken that as an opportunity to get some money out of me.” John’s brows rose, almost as if he’d wished he hadn’t of caught that damn bottle after all.

  Gutter slumped back down in the chair, took a gulp, and continued his answer to the original question. “Being from Brooklyn, music was all around me. I grew up hearing heavy metal, pop, jazz, Hip hop, rap, country, electronica, you name it. My father said I picked up a stick outside, a tree branch, when I was 8 months old and started banging it against a kitchen cabinet, making a song.” He took another swig of water. “So, it was always in me.”

  “Was your mother or father musically inclined? Any siblings with the same interests?”

  “Nah. As far as siblings go, my brother Zachery was more like a whiz kid, a computer guy. He lives in California now, works for Google. My sister never showed interest in music, either. She’s a teacher. She lives on the Eastside now. My father also wasn’t into that sort of thing. I know they say music runs in families, but it definitely didn’t come from my dad. He enjoys music, but he’s not a musician.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what was your father’s profession? Perhaps it had some sort of effect on you, just in a different way?”

  “He’s a retired firefighter. There’s no music there… just flames. As for my mother’s side, not really sure about that.” He shrugged. “She and I don’t have a relationship, so I don’t know much about that.”

  “Okay, understood.”

  He was pleased that John steered the conversation
in a different direction. Some journalists kept probing into shit that was none of their business. There were two things Gutter never discussed in interviews: His mother and his money. “How’d your father take it when he realized you wanted to be a musician and singer?”

  “At first, he wasn’t sure it was a good idea for me to go in this direction. It was the whole stereotypical, ‘You can’t make money singing and dancing,’ sort of rhetoric that many musicians hear growing up. But when he saw how passionate I was about it during my teenage years, and it wasn’t some whim, he started payin’ more attention. He saw how I’d stay up and write my own songs, and hear me practicing them. He found out I could really sing. He watched how I saved money for studio time while working a job I hated, taught myself a lot of things, shopped my demo and did local gigs for money that I’d put right back into my goals. Since I’ve always loved to sing, I even found a singing coach to perfect my natural talent, tighten the loose screws and show me how to control my voice. That was one of the best decisions I ever made. It really honed my skills.”

  “So you invested in yourself from the very beginning?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He nodded. “Definitely. If you don’t invest in yourself first, nobody else will believe in you. Believing in yourself is a necessary first step.” The reporter smiled and nodded in agreement.

  “Did anyone else invest in you early on?”

  “I had a friend, Dougie, who knew a lot of party promoters, things like that. One of them slipped my demo to a well-known local DJ, and he accidentally played it instead of another song. At least, that’s how the story was told to me.” He shrugged. “The crowd went crazy they say, asking, ‘Who the fuck is that?’ Some of the underground stations started playing me, and then my breakthrough song was leaked online somehow too. The—”