Push Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Epilogue

  More from BLMorticia

  About the Author

  By BLMorticia

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Push

  By BLMorticia

  Music In Motion: Book One

  Malakei Oakley, aka rapper M. Prophet, is at the top of his game—but deep in the closet. Handsome, wealthy, and successful as the head of 315East Entertainment, Malakei should be on cloud nine. Despite his awards and a Midas touch that has every musician clamoring to work with him, something is missing.

  Seth “Reaper” Davies is ready for stardom. His band High Stakes plays to small, packed houses all over Birmingham and London but has yet to get their big break. But Seth isn’t giving up on his dream—no matter what it takes.

  A viral video prompts a message from a person he doesn’t expect—the talented M. Prophet. Their musical styles are worlds apart, and Seth has no desire to change his style to sell records. But his curiosity—and his attraction to Malakei—wins out.

  Malakei can’t get Seth out of his mind. He also can’t come out without ruining his reputation. No matter how much he wants the sexy singer, his only option is to push Seth away.

  But he’s about to find out Seth isn’t one to give up on what he wants—and he might be just what Malakei needs.

  Always for Mack and Scottie.

  Chapter One

  “MALAKEI? I swear you need to get your head out the clouds, bruh!”

  Malakei looked up at his friend, Greg, who he’d been helping to mix his own single to be released in two months. He shrugged. “Sorry. Are you done yet?”

  “Yeah, fam. Thanks for letting me use your studio. It’s dope!”

  “No problem. You know I’ll do just about anything for a friend.”

  “Yeah, I know, that’s why you good people. Not like that lowlife, Darryl. What you think that fool is up to?”

  “I heard he started his own studio, but honestly, I don’t care.” Malakei sat up straight in his chair. “Darryl went his own way. I wish him nothing but the best.”

  “No, you don’t! C’mon, man. I think being gay done made you soft!”

  Malakei sighed inwardly and shook his head. Greg had been his best friend for over twenty years and one of the few people who knew the truth. “For the last time, Greg, soft and gay have nothing to do with each other. Just because I want to wish a brother well?”

  “Dude. I don’t mean no offense. It’s just… well, dang. Back in the day, he wanted to rough you up. You never retaliated.”

  “Because getting caught up in unnecessary fights isn’t a good idea. Besides, it’s not worth it. I’ve got a good life and I don’t like prison.”

  “Why not? They got lots of gays up in there.” He laughed.

  Malakei twisted his lips. “Enough with the jokes, okay?”

  “Hey, chill, man! I’m just messin’ with ya. Anyway, like I said, Darryl had it in for you, and I think you should show him who’s boss. You’re rollin’ in dough, man. Anyone would do a job for you for the right price.”

  “No. No, no, no.” Malakei got up from his chair and turned his back on Greg. Malakei cared for him, but the talk he’d spew disgusted the hell out of him. He was no thug. Malakei fought that stigma all the time, no matter how much money he had or the Black Card he carried. Dark skin set off bells in people’s minds, regardless of who he was.

  Greg sighed. “All right, man, it’s just a thought. Watch your back with that fool. You know I got you, but Darryl still got homies in the hood.”

  “I’m not afraid. If he comes after me, I’ll have him arrested.”

  “Yeah, I know. But, if word gets out about your secret….”

  Malakei exhaled, tightly gripping the table in front of him. Malakei knew any word about his sexual identity would destroy his reputation with other hip-hop artists. Sure, Frank Ocean was popular, but was he as big as Malakei Oakley?

  As they said with the game Jenga, the bigger the stack, the harder they fell. Malakei’s time at the top had been lengthy. If people found out about him, his credibility, along with the empire he’d worked so hard to build, could be in jeopardy.

  ONCE MALAKEI said goodbye to Greg, he jumped in his Porsche Panamera and headed home to his condominium on Park Avenue. Malakei purchased it only a year ago, after moving out of the duplex he’d given to his parents. Malakei’s mother tried to get him to stay with them, even enticing him with her home cooking, but Malakei declined, saying he needed his own space. Surely, his mom would find even more ways to get him to date a lady if they lived together. More than that, Malakei enjoyed staying up late, and because both of his parents were early risers, he would disturb their sleeping patterns. At times, Malakei was out until the early hours, or back at his home studio working.

  Within fifteen minutes, he arrived. He gave his keys to the valet and made his way inside to the lobby.

  “Good evening, Mr. Oakley.” The doorman tipped his cap, holding the door open.

  “Thanks, Bill. How is your mom, by the way?”

  “She’s great, sir. I can’t thank you enough for the help you gave us. The insurance ran out and….”

  Malakei held up his hand, then patted Bill’s shoulder. “It’s no problem. I told you, anything I could do to help, I would.”

  The elder man smiled. “You’re wonderful, sir. I wish I could repay you.”

  “I told you don’t worry about that, okay? I don’t need it back. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Sure thing. Have a good night, sir.”

  “You do the same.” Malakei nodded and turned on his heel to head to the elevators leading to the second penthouse. He pushed the button and it didn’t take long for it to get there. When the doors opened, he stepped in and leaned against the back paneling. He plucked his phone from his pocket to check his calls because he didn’t believe in pulling it out while driving.

  Between time in the studio and the ride home, Malakei had missed six texts. Two from his other best friend, Sheena, asking when they’d do lunch. Then his mother with possibly another woman she wanted him to meet, and his broker, Arnold, who kept tabs on his financials.

  The last one was from a record executive at his former label. Malakei wondered if he’d beg him to re-sign with them. Malakei had declined several times before, but the man didn’t get the message.

  After a minute or so, the elevator was on his floor. Malakei stepped off and fished for his keys while taking the short walk to his apartment. The lights turned on when he ambled inside. He shifted on his heel to disab
le the alarm system, then continued through the main living area into his kitchen.

  On the way, Malakei gave the exec a call. Though they no longer worked together, Les Mustang was still on Malakei’s speed dial. He fully believed in not burning bridges, which was why Malakei departed Mustang Records on amicable terms.

  “Malakei? My man. So good to hear from you.”

  “Peter? Since when are you answering the old man’s phone?”

  “Since he decided to leave me at work while he entertains some young twenty-year-old bimbo in his private quarters.”

  Malakei grimaced at the thought. “Ooohkay, after that horrible image you’ve put in my head I should hang up on you. But I won’t. What’s up?” Malakei loosened his tie, then opened the white cabinet door that hid his fridge.

  “I’m working on this project to help YouTube sensations out with their albums. I wanted to know if you’d be interested.”

  “Oh? And why are you calling me? Les doesn’t want to?”

  Peter cleared his throat. “Yeah, exactly. To be honest, I’ll be glad when the old coot kicks the bucket. He doesn’t get that people don’t want the same tired shit they’ve been listening to for the past twenty years.”

  “Actually, they do. They just want a better form of it. Les wants to cater to the middle-aged listeners, and that’s fine. However, in this industry of selling actual albums and music downloads being equally important, you’ve got to be creative.”

  “Yeah, and I keep telling him we need to hit some of these up-and-coming bands trying to do it DIY. There’s another Macklemore out there. I can just taste it.”

  Malakei snorted and opened his cola. “Yeah, but don’t you think one of him is enough?”

  “Not a big fan, huh?”

  “Oh, I like him. I’m saying finding ‘the next whatever’ isn’t the way to go, either. You want something new and fresh. Actually, I’m thinking the tides are turning to harder music like it did when I was a kid. Hip-hop still rules, but I believe we’ll see another fusion of rap and metal on the horizon.”

  “You think so? I mean, I loved all the acts involved.”

  “Yeah, I did too, but not copies. I want something I’ll be able to resonate with and remember, you know?” Malakei put down his can and sat on the stool nearest the counter. “This is a defining time in music. These artists are doing creative things to make themselves heard. Only the strongest survive. It’s quite a dogfight out there.”

  “Which is why you’re focusing on producing these days?”

  “Yeah. My best friend’s single is dropping soon. He wanted to do the DIY thing too, so I told him he could use my studio anytime he wanted.”

  “You sure you don’t wanna pass him my way?”

  “Peter, if I could convince him to join a label, you know I would, but Greg is stubborn. And he thinks he’ll be an overnight success, almost like Macklemore, or me. That doesn’t happen often. I keep telling him that, but I don’t want to burst his bubble. The guy’s got a huge amount of confidence.”

  “Are you sure he’ll make it?”

  “I am, but what he’s doing is no different from any other rapper out there. If he wasn’t my buddy, I wouldn’t bother trying to produce or push his music. I’m looking for a different sound. Something that knocks me on my butt and grips me with everything it’s got.”

  “You’ve been thinking about this long and hard, huh?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been scouring YouTube, checking out heavy music and hip-hop channels. Nothing has jumped out at me yet.”

  “I hear ya. Okay, then. So, can I count you in for this project?”

  “I mean, how? I don’t work for Mustang. And if I find someone I like, I will keep him, her, or them under my wings.”

  Silence.

  Malakei leaned back in his chair and waited for Peter to respond to his question. Not that he was greedy, but why would he give someone to his former employer, when he could mold the musician or act himself?

  “You have a point, but maybe we can strike up some kind of deal. You produce, mold the artist, and we’ll distribute. Remember you said you didn’t want to be a record label mogul, anyway.”

  “Nope, I don’t want all that headache. I make a nice living, and I’ve kept my gray hairs to a minimum.”

  Peter laughed. “So, we got a deal, then?”

  Malakei sighed. “Let me sleep on it, and I’ll get back to you in the morning. How’s that?”

  “All right, I’ll take what I can get, then. Let me know.”

  “I will. You have a good night, Peter.”

  “You too.”

  Malakei pressed the disconnect and immediately hit the speed dial one on his phone to call his mother. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Well, hello, son of mine. So good to hear from you. I was at one of the local socials today and met this wonderful woman who has a single daughter….”

  Malakei sighed and turned up his can to finish it. Too bad he didn’t drink liquor on the regular, because this would be a good time to crack open some kind of libation to get through this tiring conversation.

  Chapter Two

  “YOU GAVE me the go-ahead to create the opening riffs for this new tune, and now you don’t care for it? That’s not the way it works, man. Ya either like my playing or ya don’t.”

  Seth grumbled under his breath and twitched his lip. He’d been waiting all day to practice this new song his best friend, Johnno, raved about, and now that he’d heard it, he wasn’t all too happy. “Dude, I’m saying you could do better!”

  “Boys, keep it down, will ya? I’m trying to sleep down here,” Seth’s mother yelled from downstairs in her natural Birmingham accent.

  Seth pursed his lips not to say anything back. She was his mom. The only parent he had left after Dad shacked up with one of his workmates. Damn wanker.

  “Seth? You don’t like the riff?”

  “I fucking hate it. You asked for more time on lead guitar, and I gave you the job for the guitar part. And that’s the absolute best you could do?”

  “Piss off, Seth! I’m a fuck of a lot better than you on the axe and you know it.”

  “Prove it, then.” Seth snarled. “Play the goddamn tune without me!”

  Johnno looked back at the drummer, Gio, and the bass player, Morty, who only shrugged as if to say don’t test Seth any further.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Seth lifted his guitar and placed the strap onto his shoulder. He tightened it, then pushed the pedal on his amp to get warmed up. “Now, if I played around with your sorry-ass riff to make it fucking better, I’d do this.” Seth moved his fingers across the strings and plucked it a couple of times to give it a certain sound.

  Gio and Morty joined in, picking up the beats of their single, “Finders Keepers.”

  “Yeah, man! All right!” Gio beat the drums like they stole something, and Morty followed his lead. Together they grooved like a well-oiled machine, leaving Johnno in the dust.

  Apparently disgusted, Johnno placed his guitar down, folded his arms, and pouted like a kid who didn’t get what he wanted. He wasn’t impressed by Seth’s display.

  “Johnno, you’re gonna have to do better, mate. We’re on our way to superstardom. The YouTube hits keep going higher and higher. We’ve been asked to play with local bands all over Britain. You gotta step up your game,” Seth yelled.

  “I am! Every time I get an idea, you shoot it down!” Johnno screamed over the racket the band was making.

  Seth finished, and Gio as well as Morty did the same for a big ending.

  “You’re not up to par with the rest of us. You’re my mate, but really….”

  “Really, what, Seth? You sayin’ I’m not good enough for this outfit?”

  That was exactly what Seth wanted to say, but he didn’t want to hurt Johnno’s feelings. They’d been neighbors, best friends until they barely passed school. More so than Morty or Gio, Johnno was like family, but Seth had his eye on being rich and famous. Being poor was bollocks, an
d Seth didn’t want to experience it any longer.

  Seth shook his head and reached into his pocket for his pack of Camels. He tapped it, then plucked a cigarette out. He placed it between his lips. “I’m saying, you need to step up. Don’t make me fight with you, Johnno. You’ll fucking lose!”

  Johnno stared daggers at Seth and spun on his heel. He jogged downstairs. “Hey, where are you going? You need to come back up here so I can show you the riff I played!” Seth yelled loud enough for Johnno to hear him.

  “Sod off, you tosser! I’ll go get my own band! I don’t need anyone to get to where I need to be!” Then the door slammed.

  Fuck!

  Seth lit his cigarette and blew smoke rings up in the air. He hated telling Johnno he was subpar, but there was no other way to put it.

  “Seth, I think you’ve brassed him off for the final time, this go-round,” Gio said from behind the drum kit.

  Seth thrummed his axe more, playing a famous riff. “No, he’ll be back. Once he calms down, he’ll crawl back to us, realizing the big mistake he’s made. I mean, you heard his part. Didn’t it sound like shit?”

  “Yeah, mate, but, he is our friend. You could’ve gone easier on him.”

  “Why? So he won’t get better? Listen, guys, we ain’t gonna make it anywhere with these feel-sorry attitudes. You guys are bringing your ‘A,’ why can’t he?”

  “Because he don’t know how?”

  Seth glanced over at Morty. “He knows, but he isn’t skilled enough to bring it out. We need a music mentor or something, you know? I’m good, but it couldn’t hurt me to learn some new tricks too. We need someone who’ll get our asses in gear, and ready for the big time.”

  “And who’s gonna do that? We don’t have money or anything to submit to a label or bring someone in,” Gio said.

  “Leave it to you to state something fucking obvious!” Seth pushed the pedal again and strummed.

  “Hey, I’m just saying.”

  “I know. We’re gonna do this, right? With the right kick in the pants, we’re gonna make this thing happen for us real soon.”