Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “Financial reports,” he answers.

  “Oh.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Do you know how old I am?”

  Not caring, I never asked. I agreed to Abby’s plans out of hurt and betrayal and loneliness.

  “You don’t, do you?”

  Flushing, I squirm in my seat. “I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I’ve never been on a date,” I confess. “Nor have I ever had an actual boyfriend, so I don’t know what to do or what to say. The financial stuff you were talking about? I don’t understand it. If you want to talk about my daughter, or how many lines I’m capable of doing, or places I’d like to visit, or how much I adore Sloane, then let’s go for it.” I’m on the verge of crying again. Everything I’ve said is pathetically true.

  For the first time in months, the urge to do coke slams into me. When Kiln offered it to me and I thought about it, it was more the power of suggestion. Now, it’s just plain need.

  Away from Bryn and without Sloane, I feel so lost. Sloane does know me and his idea of a new pregnancy is good. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life having babies to stay clean. Doing it for Bryn is responsible, but it’s only when I do it for myself will I succeed.

  The day Sloane took me out in the rain marches through my mind. He implored me to continue fighting. I wasn’t ready to listen then. Now, I am. I’m ready to fight for my future.

  “I hear you’re a fan of action movies.”

  His words startle me. “What?”

  “Action movies,” he repeats.

  “I mean…I mean I heard you. But where would you hear such bullshit?”

  “You’re all over the place,” he explains.

  Oh my God. The facts of my life are being as erroneously plastered all over the media as Sloane’s.

  “I like horror movies,” I say grouchily.

  He nods. “I enjoy both horror and action movies. Have you ever seen the original version of The Exorcist?”

  “Oh, God, yes! I didn’t sleep for a week after I saw it.”

  “Wimp,” he teases.

  I giggle. “You never did tell me your age.”

  “Thirty,” he says. “In all fairness, I didn’t realize your age or who you were until I got to the house.”

  “That’s Abby for you. She means well.” She does, too. I know that, but she loves to piss Sloane off. He’s never told me she makes him mad. However, her never ending shopping on his dime is bound to infuriate him. “Which action movies do you like?”

  Another flash glares through the window and I roll my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why Abby would make reservations for this fucking table when so many dickholes are lurking.”

  Emory laughs and stares at me for a moment. “I think the reason will reveal itself very soon. Now, are you ready to order?”

  Fuck, but my head is pounding as I sit up after Maitland barges into my room.

  “What?” I growl, hanging my head and holding it between my hands.

  “Your wife, fucker.”

  He shoves a tablet in front of me. The other time he used a phone. Now, Georgie’s photos are staring at me on an electronic tablet that’s almost ten fucking inches. I get to see more of her as she sits at a small fucking table with Emory Lawson, Abby’s male counterpart in terms of fucking. He fucks anything that moves. Fuck, if Helen gave him the time of day, he’d fuck her.

  “What the fuck is Georgie doing with him?”

  “What do you think, asshole?” Maitland scoffs. “She’s obviously out on a date.”

  “Out on what?” As far as I know, Georgie hasn’t ever been on a fucking date. That’s right, dickhead. She’s just been an afterthought to almost everyone.

  Wide fucking awake now, I shove the covers aside and ignore my hard cock.

  “You look like shit.”

  I grunt. I feel like shit, too. I never quite gave up drinking, but I had stopped binge drinking. Walking around Maitland, I head to the living room. Kiln is standing near a window and a girl is on her knees sucking his dick. There are two naked girls asleep on the couch, another is curled up in a chair, an upside down bottle of champagne clutched to her. Quint’s eating a bowl of cereal, and Adam is focusing on a sheet of music. I’ve awakened to similar scenes every fucking day for the past weeks, with minor variations.

  “Kiln!” I call. The loudness of my voice stirs the girl with the champagne bottle. She rubs her eyes and sits up. Immediately, she looks at my hard dick.

  Maitland brushes past me and heads to the sideboard, grabbing an orange.

  Kiln ignores me until after he comes in the girl’s face, then he lifts a brow.

  “Get these girls out of here and get a crew to clean this place up.” We don’t have staff because we’re hardly ever in residence. One reason I didn’t give a fuck when Jaeger let it slip Dad got this place for us. My trips to Denver allowed me to miss him coming and going, too. He’s back in Houston, aware that I don’t want him around me. “I can’t wait any longer to get Georgie’s team in place. Call in whoever we’ve already hired. I want weapons at the ready when she’s being escorted anywhere.”

  “Georgie’s flying out?” Quint asks around a belch.

  “Yes.” I ignore Kiln’s scowl and wait for other questions. When none are forthcoming, I head to my room, slam my door shut, then get my phone to call my wife and my pilot.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  My arrival at LAX is a nightmarish madhouse. Sweet baby Jesus, if Kiln and Pres and the other security guys didn’t barrel us through the photographers, we’d be mauled. I’d like to believe they’re here because of Sloane, but he isn’t anywhere in sight. The minute I get off the escalator and descend into the public area of the airport, the cameras go wild.

  Abby tucks me close to her. Bryn is in her sling and bounces against me in contentment, but I still wrap my arms around her. Kiln keeps a firm grip on my elbow while Pres and five additional bodyguards create a human wall for us.

  “Get in, Georgie,” Abby says, when we reach the SUV, although her words aren’t necessary since Kiln shoves me in.

  An hour later, we arrive at the house Sloane is staying at. In the grand scheme of Sloane’s life, it’s a plain, yellow stucco place with white trimmings and tall palm trees.

  I unhook Bryn and wait for Kiln to adjust the seat so I can get from the third row.

  “Get Abby in,” Kiln instructs from outside, pulling his weapon and signaling to a cute bodyguard named Jason, before speaking into his headpiece. “Trouble1 on site. Confirm security. Subject will be moved as soon as Shopper is safely inside.”

  Five minutes pass before Kiln holds out his hand and assists me out. Once I’m steady with Bryn, he keeps his gun poised and leads me toward the front door.

  “I’m Trouble1 and Abby is Shopper?” I ask, nervous at the plain view of the weapon.

  “Yes,” he grunts.

  “Why’s your gun out?”

  “No leads on whoever went after you. It’s been quiet, but Sloane ordered me to shoot to kill at the first sign of anything amiss.”

  “Oh,” I squeak, relieved when we get inside and he holsters his firearm.

  The outside of the house is misleading. I thought the place would be small and cozy, but the open floor plan is huge with living room, dining room, den and kitchen all exposed. There’s enough room to comfortably fit five hundred people. They don’t concern me, however. Not even all the bodyguards, Adam, Quint, and Maitland are a priority. Only Sloane is.

  He stands across the room, dressed in jeans and a band T-shirt, all of his attention on me.

  “Hey,” he says.

  My pulse flutters at his nearness and the look in his bloodshot eyes…holy fuck.

  “Sloane, are you using again?”

  He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “No. I have been drinking like fuck, though.”

  His words conjure other activities I believe he’s been engaged in. I narrow my eyes. “You’ve also been fucking like fuck.”

  “I haven’t tou
ched another woman. Unlike you, who went out on a fucking date with Abby’s male counterpart in sleeping around.”

  “I resent that coming from you, asshole,” Abby snaps.

  “Is that why I’m here? Because of my date with Emory? I thought you summoned me to get me pregnant again.”

  “Not this time,” he fumes. “You’re here because I don’t like seeing my fucking wife out on a date with another fucker.”

  I snort a laugh. “Because you took the time from all your dates to give a fuck about mine.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Georgiana.”

  “Kiss my ass, Sloane.”

  He turns his anger to Abby. “I should fire you,” he snarls.

  “Then I’ll become a permanent visitor, instead of hired help.”

  “How dare you set up Georgie with Emory Lawson? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Sloane, I have a mouth,” I argue, going to the sofa and sitting, before unstrapping Bryn from me. “If I didn’t want to go, I would’ve told Abby no.”

  I thought moving would get me out of Sloane’s proximity, but no. He stalks to me. “Where did you go after you left the restaurant?”

  “Our house,” I answer with a frown. “Where’d you think I’d go?”

  He shrugs, but some of his anger slips away.

  “Oh my God, dickhead, don’t judge me by what the fuck you’ve been doing.”

  Crouching down, he shoves his face into mine. We’re almost nose-to-nose. “I fucking told you I haven’t stuck my dick in another woman.”

  “Fuck you. You have a tongue and ten fucking fingers, so get the fuck away from me.”

  Of course, he doesn’t move. “Let’s get to the real damn problem.”

  “Fucking asshole.” I shoot daggers at him, and his face darkens. “You hid me away until you were fucked out, then brought me to LA with you. So you see? Your roaming dick is my problem,” I snarl, around a sob, despite myself.

  Abby shoves Sloane aside and scoops Bryn out of my arms.

  Instead of returning to his crouch, Sloane sits on the floor, hands resting on his knees in a casual pose. “What can I do for you to believe that I haven’t slept with anyone since before my arrest?”

  “Georgiana?”

  “Shut. Up,” I snarl to Kiln, the last person I want to hear from right now.

  “For what it’s worth,” he continues in spite of my words and Sloane’s warning glare, “he hasn’t slept with anyone else. Has he been tempted? Yes. With all the willing pussy around, he can’t help it. Let me tell you why it’s riskier having you with him now. Because you’re his fucking wife and still under eighteen. The world is watching. The cops are watching. I’ve taken you for a lot of things, but never fucking stupid. You’re a dense little cunt if you can’t understand how different the dynamics are.”

  Until Kiln’s last line, Sloane looked slightly relieved and entirely surprised at the words. I’m shocked, too. He isn’t defending Sloane. He’s just stating truths.

  Sloane jumps to his feet and I jump to mine, grabbing his arm to stop him from rushing Kiln. “You know what?” I say softly. “Kiln’s words have more weight to them because he’s the one person who’d never cover for you.” Lowering my lashes, I wonder what I’m looking for. What I want. “What does that say about our relationship?”

  Am I blinded with jealousy and creating problems? It shouldn’t matter how I discovered the truth, as long as I have it. Instead of answering, Sloane grabs my hand.

  “Abby, one of the guys will show you to your room. Bryn’s nursery is nearby. Georgie, we’ll finish this conversation in private, in our bedroom.”

  “I’m not sleeping in your room,” I counter. “And Bryn isn’t sleeping away from me.”

  He lifts a brow. “All the rooms are in the same wing. The nursery is in the middle of ours and Abby’s. Cameras are everywhere and feed into our phones. She’ll be fine. As for you, you’re sleeping in our room. That’s not up for negotiation.”

  I don’t want to share a bed with him, knowing what’ll happen. We’ll make love. No, I’ll make love. He’ll fuck. But none of my protests stop our forward motion.

  In the room, he slams and locks the door, then releases me and removes his shirt.

  I take a step back. “I’m tired from the flight,” I protest. “I want to sleep.”

  He doesn’t answer me but stalks closer, the lion closing upon his prey. Before I wedge myself between him and the bed, I halt, intending to scoot around him. He’s too fast, catching me before I’ve moved an inch.

  His mouth swoops over mine and my resistance crumbles immediately. Growling in frustration, I shove against his shoulders, but he deepens our kiss.

  “Georgie, I’ve missed you,” he whispers, cradling my face between his hands.

  My body melts into his. I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck, lost in his clean smell and minty taste. He lifts me off my feet.

  “Let’s finish talking,” I murmur, doubts and insecurities plaguing me.

  “No. After we fuck,” he amends when I stiffen.

  “Sloane—” His name is lost against his lips.

  He releases me and I land on the bed, where he quickly follows, covering me with his body. The weight of him presses against mine and I open my legs, tilting my hips up, logic and desire warring with each other.

  Lifting my skirt, he slides his hand into my panties, teases my hairless mound before finding my clit and caressing it with the lightest touch. Goose bumps travel along my skin, and I shudder. His cock is big and hard, rising between us.

  I want him, and he wants me. Fucking each other is inevitable. This is where everything is right between us. I can freely express the passion and love I have for him, with my hands, mouth, and pussy.

  He leans back on his haunches long enough to free his dick and remove my underwear, then hovers over me again, guiding his cock to my entrance.

  Little by little, he inches into me until he’s completely buried inside of me. Having him inside of me now hurts worse than the night he took my virginity.

  “Fuck.” He’s still, and the tension in my body now radiates from his. He knows the reason. “You’ll be fine. You’re sore because of the baby.”

  Shyness hits me hard and I turn my head away, relieved when he pulls out of me and lays beside me.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  He moves and I can’t resist my curiosity, so I look in his direction. He’s sitting up, his head hung.

  “What now?”

  “I don’t know,” he admits with a sigh.

  I search for answers, hating this impasse. I decide to open our communication. It worked before. Even if Sloane, or I, didn’t want to hear a topic we still talked about it.

  “Emory was nice,” I start off hesitantly, and he stiffens. “I was bored and lonely, missing you and so hurt. We went to dinner. At first, I paid little attention to him. All I could think about was you. Then, he asked me my favorite horror movie. Whatever site he read up on me had a bunch of bullshit. Nothing he said about me was true.” I bite my lip, allowing a heartbeat to pass. “Remember how I was with you? When Emory and I were talking, I couldn’t believe the same thing was happening to me.”

  He’s silent for a moment. “You went on your first date with him.” His tone is accusatory and he doesn’t address any of what I shared with him.

  “Yes. If I’d had friends before we met, chances are high I would’ve been on a first date long ago. And Crowell took me lots of places.”

  “To fuck you and to get you high,” he snaps. “Not on a date.”

  “Right. We just went on appointments.”

  He sidles an evil glance to me.

  I stare at the ceiling. “What do you want from me?”

  “Fidelity! Honesty! Not seeing you out with another motherfucker.”

  “You have a lot of nerve,” I snort with resentment.

  “I want understanding.”

  “Those th
ings works both ways, Sloane,” I say quietly.

  He growls but lays next to me and yanks me into his arms, kissing me harshly and leaving me breathless.

  “Has your doctor okayed you for sex?”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine time to ask.”

  Relaxing, he gives me a half-smile, his eyes twinkling, then he nuzzles my neck. “I’ve counted the days,” he admits. “It’s been seven weeks since Bryn’s birth.”

  “Yes.”

  “But is it okay?”

  “It is.”

  “Would you be willing to use something to make it more comfortable for you?”

  “Such as?”

  “For the time being, baby oil. It’s all I have.”

  The thought makes me scrunch my nose, but he kisses me again.

  “I swear it’s safe. If it still hurts, I’ll stop.”

  If I think too long, my answer will be no. “Can I check on Bryn first and take a quick shower?”

  Relief brightens his eyes. “Yeah, sure, sweetheart,” he murmurs, moving aside so I can pass.

  It takes almost two hours to get Georgie alone again. She stalled with nursing Bryn, chatting with the guys, eating a sandwich, showering, and drying her hair. If I allow it, she’ll use another tactic to delay our sex. Instead, when she walks out of the bathroom free of clothes, I head her off. Not with words. There’s a time for everything, including talking. Now isn’t it.

  Already nude, I skim my fingertips over her belly, then roam up to her tits and tweak her nipples. My mouth waters in anticipation of sucking them.

  Her eyes slip closed, and her lips part. My dick is hard and hurting, ready to be inside of her, but she’s like a nervous little colt.

  Slowly, I circle her body, brushing aside her hair and gliding my lips along her neck. I rest my hands possessively at her waist, kissing her soft skin, breathing in her sweet scent. She leans against me, and satisfaction settles into me. Reaching her arm up, she caresses my jaw, the touch of her little fingers firing my blood.

  I don’t break the contact of my lips, don’t move away from her touch, as I fondle her pussy. She’s hot, wetter than earlier. I stroke her clit, relishing her soft moans, which ends with a short scream when she comes and jerks against my fingers, arching her body up.