Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “I woke up and you were gone,” she says on a sharp intake of breath as I drag my tongue across her nipple. “I was all alone.”

  After torturing her with my teeth, I suck a tit into my mouth and she tugs on my hair. My fingers slip into her shorts and I inhale. She’s soaking wet. How easy it would be to fuck her.

  I expect her to have discipline, so I have to control myself. She makes it so fucking hard to do right.

  She rocks against my hand, arches and pushes her small boob deeper into my mouth. Her hold tightens on me and she gasps, drenching my hand as she comes.

  Breathing hard, I lift up. The sooner I leave her room, the sooner I can jack off. I need to get women in my bed ASAP.

  She grabs my bulge, but I push her hands away.

  “No.” Her reason for her nightmare flies back into my brain and I sigh. “Georgie, sweetheart…” Go ahead. Seal your own fate. It’s what you’ve wanted. An excuse to bring her. “Where I go, you go. At least for now.”

  Relief filters into her eyes and she nods.

  “Stay out of camera range,” I tell her, already searching for an excuse for my decision that’ll be suitable to Helen. “But we’ll get you dolled up with a blonde wig, a big hat, and sunglasses.”

  “Thank you.”

  Before I fuck up completely, I get to my feet. “Rest, Georgie.”

  After leaving her, I go straight to my room and find the relief with my hand, that I would’ve given anything to take inside of her, then I call her grandmother.

  There’s no one I’ve found trustworthy enough to look after Georgie, so she’s coming with me.

  Helen’s easy agreement again shows me just how much she really gives a fuck about her granddaughter.

  Georgie

  “Still no word of Sloane Mason’s whereabouts—"

  The TV blares the announcement and I shift uncomfortably, quickly flipping it off, but a shadow looms against the wall. I turn. Sloane stands in the doorway that leads to his bedroom. Pain blazes in his eyes.

  I pop to my feet and rush to him. “Hey.”

  It’s mid-afternoon and I haven’t seen him at all today, not even at breakfast. Offering me a tight smile, he passes a hand over his erection, quite clear in the blue pajama bottoms he’s wearing.

  My gazes lingers on his hard dick and my breath hitches. Before I touch him, he bumps past me and goes to the kitchen, opening the plain double-door refrigerator.

  “There’s leftovers from the breakfast Kiln bought.”

  He grunts and goes to the microwave, where we keep the day’s purchased food. Although I don’t have the luxury of declining a meal, sometimes Kiln or Sloane or both aren’t around to eat.

  Scratching his chest and yawning, he removes the plate and studies it. Grits and something called grillades. He grunts again when I tell him and I roll my eyes.

  “It’s a New Orleans dish.”

  Nothing.

  “Um, there are cool books in the home library. Mainly, the Classics. There’s one book that isn’t amongst recognized masterpieces, The Odor of Sanctity. It’s kind of hard to get into, but it’s still interesting…do you know what the odor of sanctity is?”

  “Do you?”

  Oh my God. He spoke to me. Relief swells inside of me and I nod. “It’s a sweet odor from uncorrupted bodies.”

  My shoulders straighten at the surprise in his eyes. Before he answers, he gets a glass and fills it with tap water, then drinks deeply from it. “Learn that in school?”

  “I haven’t learned much in school,” I say with an irritated huff. “The way things are explained bores me to tears and usually I’m lost. A lot of it confuses me, but when I do it on my own, things are clearer.”

  “You can’t obtain a diploma unless you go to school.”

  “Mom has a diploma,” I say, ignoring my hurt when I think of her. She’s ill. I know that, so I forgive her. I’ll probably never trust her again, but anything to do with me is the last thing she cares about. “She graduated with honors. She also has a degree of some sort. Has she ever used it? Nope. She’s a society wife. School fucking sucks, so why bother if all I’ll do is…whatever.” I rub my temples and turn away from him. “I never thought about my future. I was too busy…escaping reality.”

  “Now’s the perfect time to think about it.”

  I do, but it isn’t what I’m supposed to consider. “I want to stay with you.”

  He goes silent again. Oh my God, so fucking shocking. I roll my eyes.

  “When was the last time you drove?”

  His question is the last thing I expected. “About two months ago. There’s a lot that’s been going on.”

  He snorts.

  “Sit,” he orders and I growl.

  Back to this again?

  “Once I dress, I have a surprise for you.”

  A little thrill shoots through me at his words, so I follow his command without another word. Ten minutes later, he walks into the kitchen, dressed in cargo shorts and running shoes.

  I smirk at him. “You don’t like shirts do you?”

  “Not particularly.”

  He nods toward the door. I jump to my feet, following behind him. Briefly, I pause at the back door, where I left my flip-flops last night after I was allowed a brief walk on the beach.

  Gulf Coast heat wallops me the moment I walk outside. I regret not putting my hair into a ponytail. During the day, it’s my usual style. I’m Texas strong, born and bred in Houston, so, like a good Southern girl, I fan myself dramatically, lift my hair to cover one shoulder and adjust. The slightest breeze slides across my neck and one side of my face.

  Sloane smiles. “Hot?”

  My ears pick up the hint of a drawl. He knows how to make the most impact with a single word. The amount of wickedness in his question should be fucking illegal. “Burning up,” I respond in a tone similar to the one he used, wondering when my panties will melt right off.

  If it wasn’t for the earrings, the messy hair, the tats, and the leather bracelets, he’d look like just another hot guy. But Sloane owns the world and he knows it.

  He digs into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys. “Rented for today, so let’s make the most of it.”

  I bounce up and down, then run to where he stands near the front bumper. Before I can hug him, the Escalade we arrived in guns around the side of the house and swerves to a stop. Kiln jumps out and heads for me.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” Sloane fumes, placing his body in front of me.

  “Get her inside now,” Kiln orders. “Photogs on the beach, heading this way.”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  It might be me who chants that, but I think it’s Sloane. Photographers. I know what that means, so I don’t have to be told what to do. Instead, I turn on my heel and run towards the house. When I reach the cool interior, I slam the door shut and get to my room, huddling in a corner, afraid to even go to my window to close the blind.

  Sloane

  The one time I’ve figured out a way to cheer Georgie up and a motherfucker has to ruin it. I’m so fucking angry I don’t wait for Kiln to lock the door. I rush down the steps that leads to the private beach.

  It looks clear, but I know it isn’t. I’ve been in this fucking game long enough to know when I’m being watched. My every movement is probably being snapped as I stalk around the curve.

  Nothing.

  On one side, the waves are sliding onto the sand and on the other side the rise of trees are rolling into a valley. Something glints and flashes a short distance away. Leaves rustle too much for this still, humid atmosphere.

  “Motherfucker.”

  One moment, I’m studying the terrain and the next I’m there, finding the lair of two assholes, fiddling with long lenses like demons are chasing them. Not rabid newbies, then. Pros who know I’m happy to fuck them up.

  That they’ve disturbed my day with Georgie—disturbed the safety I’ve given her—enrages me. I simultaneously grab a camera and a thro
at, not giving a fuck if they belong to one owner or not.

  A shutter clicks, so I toss the first camera, squeeze the neck my fingers have latched on to and yank away the second camera.

  “Sloane, fuck!”

  Kiln. Asshole is going to ruin my fucking fun. Before he does, I slam my fist against both photogs’ faces, connecting in a 1-2 strike that rivals a boxer. Kiln wraps his arms around me and shoves me away.

  “Get the fuck out of here.”

  Money-grubbing fucker. Ignoring him, I offer the interlopers a nasty look. “How the fuck did you find me?”

  Not that they will answer me. One of their noses is bleeding like hell while the mouth of the other one is coated with blood and saliva.

  “Sloane, get out of here,” Kiln orders again.

  It hits me. They found me through him. He’s been going all over the fucking place. My bodyguard. “Stupid motherfucker.”

  When I lose my temper, I’m not known for wise decisions. Knocking Kiln on his ass is ridiculous while the fucking photographers are still around. Their cameras might be shattered but they have cell phones.

  I’ll fucking deal with them in a minute.

  “Where the fuck have you been going?” He promised he’d be careful whenever he went out to purchase our food for the day. The reason we’re here is because of the supposed privacy.

  He clips my jaw. I lose my grip, blocking the punch he tries to throw at me, but I cold-clock him. He staggers back, so I refocus on the other two. Sure enough, their phones are going. While I wrestle one away, the other man takes off running. I began to give chase, but Kiln grips my shoulders.

  “Go back to the house,” he snarls before mouthing, “Georgie.”

  Georgie. She needs me.

  Picking up the cameras, I hurry back to the house. I throw the equipment on the sofa, then rush to her room, throwing open the door. She’s in the corner, face covered by drawn knees.

  Without speaking, I head to her window and shut the blind. It’s only then that she lifts her face to me. Her eyes widen. I got a small glimpse of the sweaty, wild-eyed motherfucker in the mirror over the sofa. My cheek is bruising from Kiln’s hits. Evidence of my roll in the bushes clings to my hair and is shown through the scratches on my arms and chest. My knuckles are also throbbing, out of practice after being put on a fight moratorium.

  “Did they see me?”

  They would’ve been taunting me with questions, so I don’t think so. “No.”

  She rushes into my arms and burrows into me. For long moments, I thread my fingers through her hair and whisper to her. She’s scared, more for me than for herself.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  Kiln growls behind me between puffs of air, just the wake-up I need before I do something stupid, like drag Georgie into the shower with me.

  Pushing her away, I round on him. He throws another cell phone at me. It bounces off my stomach and crashes to the ground. I don’t give a fuck about the photographer’s phone beyond knowing that it’s here. “What were you thinking?”

  He’s bruised and banged up, leaves and twigs clinging to his clothes. “You’re fucking stupid if you think you can hide anywhere.”

  “And you’re a fucking dickhead who’s looking for a way to fuck me over.”

  The hatred between us is palpable, flowing between us like shit from a sewer. He storms away, leaving me to gather Georgie in my arms again and sit quietly with her on the bed.

  When he returns, half an hour later, he’s cleaned up. My main concern is Georgie, so I didn’t think to excuse myself to change clothes and see to my minor injuries.

  Despite the turmoil of the past hour, there’s serenity and peace between she and I. Her presence calms me, as I know my nearness does the same for her.

  “The girl at the drive-through recognized me yesterday,” Kiln begins.

  Sighing, I sit Georgie beside me and get to my feet, ignoring her protest.

  Kiln scratches his bald head. “I thought I’d given her enough incentive to keep fucking quiet.”

  I glare at him. I know his fucking form of incentive with women. “So you thought allowing her to suck your dick would shut her the fuck up?”

  “It’s worked before.”

  That explains why he was an hour late returning with dinner last night. “You didn’t think I needed to know this?” No, of course not. He thought he’d handled it.

  Simultaneously, our cell phones ring. Kiln walks away to answer his. I snatch mine out of my pocket. “What Jaeger?”

  “Turn on the fucking television,” he tells me and hangs up.

  I need to see the extent of what they know, so I follow his orders, ignoring Kiln’s dark look. I know he’s talking to our father and I bare my teeth in gloating. Better him than me.

  Although I didn’t tell Georgie she could follow me, she does anyway, so by the time I sit, the TV is already on. Surprise, surprise, there I am.

  “A statement from Mr. Mason’s representative says he can confirm he is in Ocean Springs, on the outskirts of Biloxi. No word yet on the reasons why he’s there. Unconfirmed reports say that he’s hiding out, while Maitland Carrington’s younger sister recovers from a suicide attempt at an area hospital. No statement yet from Mr. Carrington, who is currently in Miami.”

  I glower at the screen and Georgie turns it off, without my bidding. She stares at the now-dark TV, utter shock on her face.

  I don’t know if I should apologize to her or not. It seems so unfair to thrust her into this, after all she’s been through, and I’m about to subject her to more by bringing her with me on tour.

  “Are you through with the Ferrari?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  Meaning, now that my location is known, the guys who pick up the car will also get my exact address. It’s going to be a fucking madhouse, sooner rather than later.

  “Go to your room, Georgiana. Keep the blinds closed and don’t fucking come out unless you’re invited.”

  She doesn’t object. Instead, she scampers away, head down.

  I vow to find a way to make this up to her.

  I pull out my cell phone and scroll through numbers. “Get rid of these cameras. Through them in the Bay.” Burn the motherfuckers, for all I care.

  “Jaeger’s on it.”

  “As usual.”

  “You could be out.”

  My finger lingers over the number I need. “And?”

  “Don’t you give a fuck?”

  I feel washed up and dried out, when I know I’m anything but. Where’s the fire inside of me for my music? The passion? I agreed to their terms, I fought for another chance, because it felt like a lifeline. Now, it’s just meaningless. A responsibility instead of a thirst. I’m quenching the beast out of necessity.

  If they kick me out, I can take Georgie to Nevada, to Europe, and care for her as she should be. I can make her mine and be hers.

  “They understand.”

  “What?”

  “Maitland. Quint. Adam. They know you needed to protect her.”

  It seems as if the fight was discovered before I got in the doors good.

  “Story’s going to break if those two don’t agree to Dad’s offer. It’ll be our word against theirs. They were accidentally caught in our brawl. We were fighting one another because I tipped everyone off. You’ll add brownie points to your image.”

  Jaeger and Dad’s deep pockets. I don’t respond, although I grit my teeth at how low we’ve been reduced.

  What the fuck happened to the good old days of a barroom clash just because someone looked at us wrong? We’re reduced to scuffles in fucking trees on the Back Bay of Biloxi.

  “Before you bring the car back, I need to order a few things for Georgie’s disguise. Call and extend the rental. Buy it outright. I don’t care. Just keep this place clear, so I can get the shit I need for her.”

  “You need to hire a secretary,” he mutters, stomping off.

  �
��Why, asshole? You’re so proficient at it.”

  No response. Once I make the call, I get up and head to my room to finally take a shower and see to all my cuts and bruises.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Georgie

  Kiln is hustling me through a massive crowd. The screaming is beyond insane and, frankly, I’m unnerved, but the guys are taking it in stride, even stopping to sign autographs.

  After ten days of cancellations, Phoenix Rising is finally making a public appearance again. The paparazzi, or the paps as Sloane refers to them, are as rabid as the fans. There’s been all types of rumors swirling about the band’s sudden cancellations, even with all the drama of those stories. I’m not sure what happened with the photographers that Sloane caught up to, but, just based on the anger blowing from him and his cold eyes, it wasn’t anything good.

  Another story breaks about a fight between Sloane and Kiln, but there’s minimal fallout. Most fingers point at Sloane, still claiming he has fallen off the wagon again and had to return to rehab.

  He takes it in stride, but I see the pain in his eyes whenever he reads a headline that comes in from around the world. Half of the foreign languages I don’t recognize and I understand none of them.

  For the remaining days in Ocean Springs, he continued to deny me access to my phone or my iPad. Going near anything other than a stupid, old radio earned me a harsh, “No, ma’am,” and a nod to Kiln, who ushered me back to my room.

  They never locked me in, though, and for that I was grateful. I still didn’t see the necessity of Sloane’s nasty behavior towards me and I decided Kiln was a sadistic motherfucker, who got off on my discomfort and depression. The days crept by, until I was told the band had a concert in Raleigh. The entire Midwestern leg of their tour had been cancelled. They’d lost a shitload of money and the press was eating them alive. I knew they wouldn’t stay locked here forever, but, then I panicked.

  So, here I am. Sloane has bodyguards swarming around us, me especially. Kiln, in a suit and tie with dark glasses, looking like a million dollars instead of a fucking dickhole, is keeping a firm grasp on me. Barricades in place assist the security team in controlling the crowds of mostly women. Cameras are flashing and I shrink further behind Kiln. I’m wearing a blonde wig and sunglasses, just like Sloane suggested, along with a hat and heavy makeup. I have to look older and I can’t look like who I am because, yes, apparently I am known. The one article that appeared in the Houston newspaper has gone viral.