Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  My hair is messy, the curling strands hanging every way possible, despite my constant finger combing. My lips are a reddish pink as if I’ve applied lipstick, and my cheeks are flushed, but my eyes draw my attention. They’re dull and sad, smudged with black circles. I was released from the hospital a little over forty-eight hours ago with a good bill of health, but not completely clean.

  Not knowing what to do anymore, I bow my head. I want to do better. Spending my life using blow and weed and alcohol, and sucking Crowell’s dick so he won’t leave me, isn’t a life. I know, too, that Sloane is trying to help me, so my disappointment that he won’t bring me to orgasm feels silly.

  But this is what I know. This is how Crowell trained me…I scowl. I’m not a little lapdog. I just have no better way to describe my relationship with my brother’s best friend. Looking after me began as a favor to Josh. Then, slowly, he offered to make the pain go away, assuring me coke wouldn’t hurt. He swore using was better than committing suicide. As long as I didn’t become addicted.

  I am. I know. He knows it. And, apparently, Sloane knows it, too. What I’m addicted to, I’m not quite sure. The blow? After the first few times, Crowell said I’d have to pay for a hit. I thought he meant money, which I have more than enough of.

  He meant sex. Oral sex. My first orgasm hit me hard and I knew I’d do anything in the world to get more. Orgasms, to me, are always best strung out. He’s never given me one when we were sober. Now, he’s promising that he will if I let him visit me. The catch is it must be tonight. I’m here, though. With Sloane.

  It surprises me how much I don’t want to leave. I should, though. I should slink away. Every time I open my mouth and tell Sloane his favorites, I discover how little I know about him.

  Glancing down, I hold out my hands to study my wrists. Tears rush to my eyes again. I feel so lost and so alone and I wonder…I wonder, if, perhaps, death is the answer.

  I don’t know. I just don’t.

  I could leave the hotel. Get home. Bring a knife to my room, since I have no idea where a straight razor might be, and slit my wrists. I’ve thought a lot about various methods to end my life, going so far as to plan a place to do it where I’d create the least mess in the aftermath.

  Would I find blessed peace? Would my mom and dad? They tell me I’m all but grown up. Yet, the man I want to be with would ruin his life if he has sex with me.

  Where’s the fairness in that? Sex is sex is sex. Just because Sloane’s nine years older than me doesn’t mean he’s coerced me. I know what I’m doing and who I want just as much as I would if Sloane was only two or three years older than me. Or, if I was eighteen.

  My phone rings again and I lift it out of my bag with a sigh. Crowell. I shove it away. He’s boggling my already confused mind. One minute he’s pushing me away and throwing his girlfriend in my face, and the next he’s reeling me in, dangling escapism in front of me. The fucker is doing it on purpose because he knows me so well.

  Ignoring Crowell empowers me, but I’m so worried I’ll jeopardize what we have for a few hours with a man who’ll leave in a few days. A little bit of Crowell is better than a whole lot of loneliness.

  I’m tempted to tell Josh. Or, better yet, call Cash and let him and his MC people come for Crowell.

  Maybe, then, I’d have peace…?

  Or is death truly the answer? Do I want to die?

  If I don’t, just what do I want? Besides Sloane, I mean. Whatever else it is, I have to figure it out on my own if I don’t go with Crowell.

  On cue, the phone rings again and I growl in frustration. Persistent fuck. What’s his problem? He has Lana. That decides me. He’ll have to wait, so I can have my time with Sloane. Either Crowell will get over it and still want me tomorrow. Or he won’t.

  The thought frightens me, but I push my fear aside and peel off my clothes, heading to the shower. I’m not sure what I’ll wear. I thought Sloane and I would spend the night in bed, so I brought a few nighties. I’d intended to put on each one before making a final decision. There’s my hair stuff and my makeup. My iPad stuffed to the side and in its case. My wallet. I didn’t even bring a change of clothes, intending to wear the ones I just took off back home.

  Turning the water on, I wait a moment until the steam rises. The wet heat feels so good against my skin and a tiny bit of pleasure bursts inside of me. I began to hum one of Phoenix Rising’s biggest hits, a melody about a boy who had everything, but allowed it to slip through his fingers.

  No one has to tell me it’s Sloane’s story. The saddest part is he cut the track before he’d almost lost everything, including his life. My heart slams at the thought of how differently the time he overdosed could’ve turned out. He’d just been an untouchable celebrity to me then, but his death would’ve crushed me.

  I pause beneath the spray and twist my body to the melody in my head. This song is filled with pain and the meaning becomes clearer. It’s about the loss of the girl who gave him the guitar.

  The thought snatches away my last enjoyment. I lean my head against the shower wall, hurting for him.

  A moment goes by before I continue cleaning myself. I lather up with the hotel soap, but use Sloane’s shampoo and conditioner for my hair, reveling in the thought that I have his scent on me. Brushing my teeth removed the taste of his cum from my tongue. I wanted to have fresh breath for when he fucked me the first time.

  With a disappointing sigh, I finish up and step out. A scream catches in my throat. Kiln hands me a towel, his blue-green gaze roaming over my body. His shaved head helps to keep the focus on his pretty eyes. He’s pretty, too. Too bad he’s such a dickhead. Tall like Sloane but with thicker, bulgier muscles, as if he’s a professional bodybuilder. Or a ‘roid user.

  He has no fucking business being in here with me. Glaring at him, I cover myself, then bend and retrieve another towel to wrap around my head.

  “What do you want?”

  I have bitchy, bratty, whiny sixteen-year-old down pat. It’s the only way I can get a reaction from my mother. Appropriate behavior is deemed by her moods. When she’s condescending, I’m bitchy. When she’s dismissive, I’m whiny. When she’s expressionless, I’m bratty. But I swear I’m going to try to act like an adult. Behave and express myself in a different way. Maybe, then she’ll at least take me on shopping sprees again. Now isn’t the time to change my behavior, however. Not when Kiln hasn’t left. I roll my eyes.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  Apparently, I’m really amusing because he smiles. “You. Gone. So what’ll it take?”

  “What do you mean gone?” I scoff.

  “Back at your house. Away from Sloane. He’s been to hell and back.” He coughs as if he’s choking on the words. “We want him happy again.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, detecting a well of ugliness hidden beneath his stupid smirks. “So you say,” I hiss. For some reason…”I don’t think you give a fuck if Sloane’s happy or not.”

  He shrugs. “You’ll do nothing for him but ruin him.”

  His arrogance grates on me, but his brutal truth has already been discussed between Sloane and me. I get it now, though. There are people waiting for Sloane to fuckup. He has snakes in the pit and I wonder if he’s aware. I’m sure he is, so he’s using me to thumb his nose at Kiln and the others. Just as I said when I described his bad-boy energy.

  The current question is: did he make his point and now wants to get rid of me?

  My heart slams against my chest, but I refuse to let Kiln see how much my thoughts are exploding through my head. “Loser,” I accuse, lashing out. Not only is he the messenger in my mind, but he’s a documented asshole. “He sent you in here to deliver the news because he’s too chicken-shit to do it himself?”

  “He’s down the hall. Two roadies got into a fight, so the guys went to break it up.” He shrugs his wide shoulders. “I figure Sloane needs to let off some steam, so I encouraged him to go. Break a nose or two. Nine, solid days of fucking hasn’t hel
ped him. Fighting will.”

  I despise Kiln. Each of his words pelt me like stones. Sloane’s a rocker, so I know he has women around all the time and he uses them for his own pleasure. But I just want one night where I’m someone’s favorite and I’m not competing with anyone else.

  Kiln shoves two long fingers into the front pocket of his jeans. He holds out a wad of cash to me.

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  “Little girls are usually in need of money. Take it. It’s a grand. All Benjamins.”

  I start around him. “Shove it up your dick hole.”

  Grabbing my arm, he pulls me back. “Don’t let pride—"

  “My dad has a bank account for me. I get a thousand dollars for each year I’ve been born.”

  His eyes widen and I feel victory at his obvious surprise.

  “Sixteen thousand dollars,” he says, doing quick math. “You get that per year?”

  Asshole. “Stop being so fucking asinine, jerk. It’s per month and you know it.”

  Although he looks skeptical, he saves his useless money and releases my arm. I dash toward the bedroom, not quick enough to slam the door in his face. I need clothes. Yanking the towel from my hair, I sling it over the chair near me, noticing the crack in the door that leads to the living room. I listen for any signs of movement beyond this room and hear nothing but my fast breathing.

  Fingers twirl in my hair and, a moment later, Kiln presses his erection against me. “You want blow?” he whispers, licking the shell of my ear. “I can get some for you.” His hand presses against my belly, and I stand perfectly still.

  I’m afraid if I move, I’ll either encourage him or feel a spark of desire. I don’t want to do either. Still, I’m curious. “If I leave, right? You’ll get it for me?”

  Gripping my arms, he grinds against me and my nipples respond. “That’s it, doll. I’ll even make you come. But you have to leave in the next five minutes and lose Sloane’s number.”

  “I don’t have his number,” I mutter to protect Sloane. “I’m here because he came to me unexpectedly.”

  “I’ll tell him you left. Had a change of heart, since he said he won’t fuck you.”

  Honesty. Maybe, that’s the key with everyone and not only my mother. I need to earn everyone’s trustworthiness. “I don’t want to leave. Please. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

  His hand travels lower and reaches into my towel. “Ever had a threesome? Call your boyfriend, and you and I can meet up with him. I’ll even put coke on your pussy and lick it off.”

  Wetness rushes between my legs and I squeeze them together. His fingers skim the sides of my thighs. I shiver.

  “Sloane won’t even be disappointed. He might be getting his dick sucked right now. Once the fight’s done. Who knows if he’ll even remember you’re here?”

  The moment my towel drops to the floor, he flicks a thumb over my nipple before slipping a hand between my legs. His touch snaps me out of my fog, and I pull away from him.

  “Get out.” Blood is roaring in my ears and the core of me is tight and needy. “I didn’t come here to be a goddamn sex toy. I don’t want to fuck anyone but Sloane. If he doesn’t want me, oh well. I sure the fuck don’t want you.”

  I prepare myself to fight, not that I’ll have much of a chance against Kiln, but I can, at least, do a little damage.

  He shrugs. “I want you, Georgiana. That’s more than you can say for anyone else. Including Sloane.”

  His words wilt me. I sink to the bed, hanging my head in my hands. “You’re cruel.”

  “I’m honest.” He comes closer and crouches down. “I don’t give a fuck what it takes to save Sloane from you. If I have to fuck you to do it, I will. If I have to supply you with coke for the rest of our time here, I’ll do that, too. You’re not my concern or my priority. Just another wet pussy to eat and fuck. Just another pretty mouth to fill with my cock. All girls can be bought. It’s just a matter of discovering the sale price.”

  One thick, long finger swipes at my tear, but I slap his hand away. Soft laughter rumbles from him and I curl up into a little ball.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  The question is snarled from the door, but not from Sloane. I think

  it’s Maitland, but I no longer trust my knowledge of what I know about the band to be certain it’s the drummer. When I lift my head, I discover I’m correct.

  “I’m finding her price to get her away,” Kiln answers calmly.

  “She should leave,” Maitland agrees, “but we’re here.”

  “Sloane can’t control his own cock and it’s attached to his fucking body. What the fuck makes you think we can do it? If he wants to fuck her, he will.”

  “Sloane left that fucking party after we settled the fight to come back to her. If he finds you in here—"

  “I’ll tell him the reason I’m in here.”

  “Because you’re a ruthless, unfeeling motherfucker,” I snap, unable to control myself.

  Maitland shoves Kiln aside and reaches a hand down, smiling when I place my own in his. “Food should be arriving soon. Get dressed and meet us out there.”

  “I need to find a T-shirt of Sloane’s,” I mutter, the heat of a blush sweeping through me.

  He nods. Although he showed hostility to me before, his eyes are kind and gentle. “He won’t mind.” He pins Kiln with a hard stare. The asshole smirks and shrugs, but precedes Maitland out of the bedroom, leaving me alone to dress and get over the mindfuck that just happened.

  Sloane

  We’ve eaten and we’ve drank and we’ve laughed more than we have in a very long time. Now, it’s midnight. Georgie is sitting on the floor, her back leaning against my leg as I splay them and rest my arm on the back of the sofa where I’m lounging.

  She’s playing a game on her iPad and is now grumbling. “Fuck the pets. Fuck the blocks. Fuck all of it,” she screeches to her tablet. “I’m fucking done!”

  Abruptly, the music that’s been hurting my ears for almost an hour dies off. I thank a higher being for small blessings.

  Adam grins at her and drags on his cigarette. “Those cute little pets you showed me got the best of you?”

  “I’m stuck on one fucking level and I can’t get off of it. It’s been days. As far as I’m concerned, those little fuckers never have to be rescued.”

  Quint grunts, stands, and takes her iPad in hand. The music starts again. “You really should have a passcode,” he says, distracted. Crashes and oinks, along with the odd bark, resound around us.

  “What for? Who the fuck’s around for me to have to worry about someone looking at my shit?”

  Maitland winces, but Kiln’s considering look is raising my bullshit alert. He’s up to something or has already done something. Maitland has been keeping close tabs on him the entire fucking evening. When I walked back in from playing mediator and punisher, both Kiln and Maitland looked strange. Guilty, even. They’d been very close to my door, too, but with a quick investigation, I found nothing out of place. Georgie’s shadow bounced from the half opened bathroom door, and I heard her moving around.

  I can’t prove fuck, but I fucking know Kiln. Ruthless, conscienceless fucker.

  Georgie jumps to her feet and I avert my eyes, not dwelling on how she looks in my T-shirt. Her legs are exposed, and I resist the urge to order her to put her leather pants back on. I haven’t questioned her reasons for not having them on in the first place. Besides, I like her in my clothes, her hair in a ponytail.

  If I could overlook my need to offer her direction, then I could ignore my desire to discipline her.

  She leans over Quint’s shoulder and they whisper amongst themselves. A smiling Quint is something I don’t see often, but Georgie’s amusing in her inappropriateness.

  “Fuck no!” she squeals and I scrub my fingers through my hair.

  “Stop with the bad fucking language,” I snap, irritated. “You’re a young lady. Act like you have manners and respect for yours
elf.”

  The very air around us slams to a halt. The guys stare at me, but Georgie is so still, so silent, I wonder if she’s crystallized.

  Finally, she speaks and she’s bristling. “You’re not my father.”

  “Thank fuck.”

  She stiffens, affronted on the asshole’s behalf. If she only knew.

  “The point is, you can’t tell me what to do. You found me fucking cussing, so shove it up your ass and take me that way.”

  “So much for being in love with me.”

  My words fluster her. She straightens, reverting to lowering her lashes and studying the floor. This is the pose with her that gets me more than anything else. Ever since I decided she was walking through life, unfettered, and without anyone to navigate her course.

  “Remember you told me that?” I press, to see how she responds.

  “I am. I m-mean I’m in love with the rock star. Not you,” she whispers. “I don’t know you. I thought I did, but I don’t. You can’t love someone you don’t know.” She’s talking to the floor, squirming, and chewing the nail of her pinky.

  “Why do you act like…?” A submissive, my head finishes. I rearrange my position on the sofa and place my elbows on my knees, searching for the right words to express myself.

  Really? Moi?

  Maitland fills them in for me. “When you talk to Sloane at certain times, your mannerisms automatically bestow power upon him.”

  She lifts her stunning gaze to me. Undefinable purple layered with a deep shade of blue. “I don’t know why I do that.”

  Her wavering look reveals the lie. Still, I understand why she does it and my temper rises at the knowledge. Shifting, I strive for a calm tone. “Crowell again, right?”

  Her eyes flicker to me, then she nods.

  “What did he want with you earlier?”

  “To see me.”

  “And?” I know there’s more.

  “We were going to have sex before I got high. I’ve never had an orgasm sober.”

  My dick hardens and I draw in a breath to control my lust. Most of all, though, I count to ten, twenty, fifty, to keep from grabbing her phone and fucking dealing with Crowell now.