Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Positive.”

  Though I believe her, I check her over again, encouraged by her smile.

  “Sloane, son—”

  “Don’t ever fucking call me son again. You sent that motherfucker over here to kill Georgie.”

  “He did what?” Helen gasps.

  Dad ignores me. “Now, Helen, I can explain.”

  “As you can explain every fucking thing,” I sneer, walking away to call Outlaw Caldwell. If I stay for Dad sucking up to Helen, I’ll fucking kill him. Instead, I set everything in motion for the release and head outside.

  The evening breeze cools me as I walk toward the battalion of media trucks with massive satellites, cameramen jockeying for position, and reporters swarming, throwing me a million questions.

  I clear my throat, the sound picked up by a dozen different mics pointed toward me. Cameras are flashing and my heart is hammering.

  “My father has evidence, manufactured evidence,” I amend sharply, “claiming I murdered my sister, Stefanie.”

  The buzzing in my head might be from insects or the static of wiring. Or it might be the sharp relief and the feeling of freedom.

  “Everyone believes my sister drowned. Afraid of repercussions I allowed my father to hold my dreams hostage. My entire life has been dictated by…fear and grief and rage.” I think of Steffie and ball my hands into fists. The lights and crush of people are hot, but it’s the subject matter nauseating me. “Before I was Sloane Mason, front man of Phoenix Rising, I was a son and a brother. Ordinary in that regard. My Phoenicians can identify with those roles.” My gaze falls on the reporters closest to me. “You can. I idolized my big sister. She nurtured my love of music. Without her, I wouldn’t have become me.” My voice thickens. I wonder if they understand what I mean, that without my sister I wouldn’t be a worldwide idol. I can go on for hours extolling her, but this press conference seems surreal. I never expected to ever be in the position to open up about her. I bow my head, vulnerable before the world, aching deep inside. I’ve never gotten over her death and I don’t know that I ever will. This minute, two competing images of her vie for space in my head, all from the last day of her life. One is when I first saw her that morning as she ran to me, all her lovely hair flying in the breeze. The other one is her lifeless body bobbing in the water.

  “Coming through!” Jason barks.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see him shoving through the crowd, holding onto Georgie’s elbow. Pres is on her other side. When she reaches me, she touches my arm, her teary eyes filled with sweet encouragement. Her injured face reminds me my father has so much to pay for. I should’ve released the recording the day I arrived at the MC when Outlaw offered. I made excuse after excuse. Like my mother, I hated letting go of my perfect family. I still had the dreams of a broken boy locked inside of me. It took finding my wife abused for me to let it go and grow up.

  Georgie stands on her tiptoes and hugs me. No matter what I do she never holds it against me. I wanted to save her, but it’s she who rescued me. Burying my nose in the silkiness of her hair, I return her embrace, my pain and tumult calming. She knows I need her at my side.

  I keep my arm around her waist and continue. “I didn’t kill my sister and I refuse to let our father, my sister’s killer, dictate another minute of my life. I have my own evidence that will shortly be released proving who the real culprit is.”

  “That someone is me.” Dad’s voice rises from behind me.

  Georgie and I exchange looks, unable to believe he’s actually said the words. Glancing over my shoulder, he’s there and his eyes are glistening. Just behind him stands Helen, and she nods to me.

  He reaches my side and my life rolls through my head at a furious rate. This moment, though, is slow, as if it’s not real.

  “I killed her,” he confesses and his voice cracks. He bows his head. “I love my son and if I allow him to take the blame my life…my life would never be the same.” His sidled glance to Helen gives away the real reason he’s doing this. “I intend to turn myself in tonight. Thank you. There’ll be no further comment.”

  We ignore the uproar of questions flying our way and the jostling going on. Pres leads us inside. Georgie goes to the sofa and hugs her dad as Maitland holds up his phone. I hate it when he does this lately. It’s always something about Georgie.

  This breaking news is different. My dad confessing his role in Steffie’s murder headlines.

  “Father.” Jaeger addressing our father in any manner but formal shocks me. The pink flush of his skin clashes with his ginger-colored hair. Bleakness dulls his eyes. “Joe Groveston is inflight.”

  Groveston, the overbearing prick. News of my dad’s confession will disappoint him. Not because of misplaced trust in my father, but because of his misguided mistrust of me. Dad and I each projected certain personas and Groveston bought into it. Now he has to face the fact that I’m not as bad as he believes and Dad isn’t the upstanding man he’s always pitied because he had me for a son.

  Jaeger slides an uneasy gaze to me, as clueless as everyone else at Dad’s astounding confession.

  “Sloane?” Georgie’s sweet voice pulls me away from my brother and I turn immediately. Teary sadness shines in her eyes. She has Bryn in her arms and our daughter’s baby coos is the only happiness around us. Before my thoughts are pulled together, she places Bryn in my arms, then stands on her tiptoes and hugs me, offering me more comfort.

  I engage with Bryn for a moment, before handing her back to Georgie. She glances at the baby, then at me and walks to Abby, who takes Bryn.

  The many times I’ve forced her to release Bryn to Abby’s care because I thought Georgie was hiding behind the baby comes to mind. She was just being her mother, a conclusion I’m drawing as she reaches me, knowing that I need my wife. Tomorrow, she’ll belong to us again. Tonight, she’s mine.

  Lifting her off her feet, I wrap her in my arms and bury my head in the crook of her neck.

  “I love you,” she whispers.

  Her father and grandmother are watching us as are my relatives and security detail. That doesn’t matter to me. I need her. I need to feel her and lose myself in her softness. Only then will my heart settle from what I walked into.

  Crowell could’ve hurt, or killed, my Georgie. I hope he survives. With everything else that’s happened to her, she doesn’t need his death on her conscience.

  If he lives, I intend to make sure that Georgie knows it. Because when he ends up dead, she’ll have no stain on her soul.

  Me? I won’t be able to claim such innocence.

  I cling to Sloane as he carries me to our bedroom. My face is sore and swollen and I’m scared that I’ve killed Crowell. Why I have to assume guilt for the doings of others is beyond me, a character flaw I want to fix. But I’m human and if I can’t completely overcome my flaws, I can recognize them and adjust as best as possible.

  Sloane sits on the bed, leans against the headboard, and cradles me in his lap. He’s big and strong and controlling. Right now, he’s hurting and angry, even with the vindication he received with his father’s confession.

  “Are you okay?” I whisper, his arms around me the best comfort in the world.

  “I almost lost you. Again,” he adds quietly.

  “You didn’t. I’m here.”

  He caresses my jaw and anger darkens his eyes. “Crowell better hope he dies now.”

  Tears rush to my eyes and I feel sick. “I didn’t want to kill him.”

  “You were defending yourself. If that meant slitting his fucking throat, you did what you had to do.”

  “I don’t want him to die.”

  His smile isn’t nice. “Neither do I,” he responds with soft menace.

  “Sloane—”

  “Georgiana, if he doesn’t survive…suppose he’d overdosed you? He’s damn near fucking dead and he’s almost twice your size. He intended to kill you. If he’d shot you up, you wouldn’t have gone to a hospital
. You’d be at a morgue.”

  The thought chills me. I have a lot of living left to do. A lot to learn, a daughter to raise, a husband to look after. People finally care about me. More than anything, I finally mean something to myself.

  “If Kiln had been here, Crowell wouldn’t have been able to get to you at all.” Sloane scowls at the words.

  “Kiln’s a dickhead, but he’s good at what he does.”

  “Because he’s a dickhead,” Sloane says with a smile.

  I giggle and trace my thumb over his lips. He puckers against my skin and plants a soft kiss. “Isn’t it confusing to harbor such dislike and resentment for someone, but still mourn the part of them you admire?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. It can be. But my relationship with Kiln is completely different than what you had with your mother.”

  I don’t deny his assumption that I was comparing the two relationships. It would be pointless since he has me pegged. “My mother was a very strong woman.” That’s the image she always projected. “We used to bump fists. Our motto was girl power. She taught me that, but she didn’t remember it. In a weak and dark moment, she succumbed. And, now, she’s gone.”

  More tension seeps into his muscles. They’re so taut, they vibrate beneath his skin.

  “You don’t care that she’s dead, do you?”

  “Not in the least, Georgiana,” he admits.

  When I remove myself from his lap and settle next to him, he heaves in a breath.

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t understand your grief. I will comfort you and listen to you for hours, days,” he emphasizes. “If that’s what it takes to help you through this. Cassandra’s dead because she was too fucking mean to live. Was she sick? Yes. I honestly believe that she was. But she felt Helen deserted her. She didn’t have enough motherly instincts to know that your grandmother wanted the best for you and her. If Helen protected you, to Cassandra that translated to Helen not loving her.”

  His explanation makes total sense, though that doesn’t make her death any easier. “My mother shouldn’t have hurt herself. She had a lot of people who loved her.”

  “Besides you and Helen, name the others.”

  “Josh. Dad,” I add, unsure if I speak the truth.

  He tugs me to him and my meager resistance is laughable. His stance on my mother’s death is so callous, I should push him away.

  “Who else, Georgiana?”

  Unable to come up with another name, I shrug.

  “I’m sorry she’s gone. For your sake and your grandmother’s. Josh and Parnell, too. Whether she accepted it or not, you all loved her. She was a supreme bitch to you. Yet in your head, you remember the mother she was once upon a time. Cherish those memories, sweetheart. Cling to them. If it helps to blot out the bad and allows you to understand your feelings, do it.”

  “What about you and Rand?”

  “What about us?”

  From the irritation in his voice, he knows exactly what I mean.

  “I accepted my father for the motherfucker he was—”

  “A long time ago,” I finish for him.

  “My sister will finally have justice,” he says simply.

  He doesn’t want to talk about it. He will if I press the issue, but I don’t think he’s fully come to terms with what’s happened. Rand’s arrest will make headlines. As Sloane’s father and as a well-known businessman in his own right. But, then, the details of Steffie’s life will be eventually discovered.

  “What did Helen say to my father for him to confess?”

  “I wish I knew,” I admit. “Watching you live on TV distracted me from their heated conversation.”

  He nods and caresses my back.

  Lifting up, I kiss him and caress his cheek, the stubble scraping against my fingertips. He responds but doesn’t take the lead, allowing me to set our pace. I sense he needs fast and hard.

  When my hand goes to his belt, he unfastens it for me, tearing his mouth away from mine long enough to remove his jeans and my panties and shorts. We don’t bother removing my top or his shirt. He threads his hands through my hair and I straddle him, his touch and kisses heating me up and making me wet. That part of me is slowly returning to normal and I enjoy lovemaking again.

  I rub my clit against his cock head, empowered when he sucks in a breath and croons his approval. Guiding his thick length to my entrance, I ease him partially inside of me, but Sloane doesn’t allow me to stop and buries himself completely. At my whimper, he pauses, allowing me to adjust. The moment I move, he grabs my waist, encouraging me to take him deep and ride him fast.

  Bouncing against him stimulates my clit. My pussy soaks his dick, pulses around him. I’m alive, the sensations coursing through me and the very male sounds escaping him invigorates me. Release builds inside of me.

  “Sloane!” I gasp out, so very close to falling apart.

  He rolls us over and I spread my legs wide.

  “Fuck, yeah,” he growls, fingering my clit and thrusting into me, balanced on one arm.

  “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I scream, unable to form any other words, the chant expressing the pleasure exploding through me. I tremble and lift my hips up in search of more of his strokes, wanting him to continue playing my clit as he does his strings. My blood hums and I think I lose my mind for a moment, hearing my voice, my cries, but not knowing if I’m babbling or not.

  Arching my back, I throw my head back, squeezing his biceps. He bites my neck, propelling me into another orgasm. It’s stronger than the first one, pulling me out of my body. I float. I shake. I scream.

  Sloane groans and stiffens, bathing my pussy with his cum and bringing me out of my ecstasy. I squeeze his ass as his shudders subside and he collapses against me, breathing hard.

  He slides to my side and throws his arm across my chest. “I love you, Georgiana.”

  “I love you too, Sloane.”

  We need say nothing else because we’ve said it all with our declarations. For the next half hour, we lay in bed, just…being. Afterward, we shower together. He lathers me with soap and uses his hands to spread the suds over my body. When he rinses me off, he kneels down and throws one of my legs over his shoulder, licking my clit until I come.

  Then, he stands and grabs me, swooping his mouth over mine. His tongue dances around me. His deep, open-mouthed kiss qualifies as pornographic. It dazes me. He pushes down on my shoulder and I know what he wants, even before he says the words.

  “Suck my dick.”

  I kiss my way down his body and take him into my mouth, tasting soap and pre-cum. He pushes deep, his cock head touching the back of my throat. Relaxing my muscles, I take him and suck him and revel in the velvet hardness riding my tongue. I fondle his balls and push a finger into his ass, massaging inside of him. I’ve done this to him before, so I know he likes it.

  “Fuuuccckkk,” he yells, his cock jerking and cum shooting down my throat.

  The moment he finishes, he pulls me to my feet. I frown at the anger on his face.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask, bewildered.

  “How many times did you finger that motherfucker’s ass?”

  Crowell. “Umm…”

  “He taught you that dirty technique.”

  That’s true, but I won’t feed his fury by admitting it. “I wanted you to feel good.”

  “I hate that you learned that from him.”

  I stand on my tiptoes. “I love you and only you. No one can ever take me away from you.”

  His jealousy abates and he nods.

  Argument averted, we make love again, then go together to see to Bryn and face my grandmother.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dastardly Dad!

  Paid In Blood. Superstar’s Sister Killed For Sexual Proclivities.

  Rand Mason Holds Son’s, Rock Superstar Sloane Mason, Future Hostage for over a Decade!

  MURDERER!

  These are just a few of the headlines plastered on newspapers and nightly broadcasts. Photos of Da
d and Steffie cycle everywhere. As the link that makes this lurid tale international headlines, my pictures are never left out.

  Amidst the breaking news, two days later, I discover Crowell will survive. Pres is driving Georgie and I to the photo shoot with Sedona. After all that’s happened, I want Georgie’s mind on something happy. I also want the world to focus on something positive where she’s concerned. Since our relationship has gone public, one fuck-up after another has occurred. Worse, the press always slants it against her.

  After my statutory rape charges, the media made an admirable attempt to bring me down. Their smear campaign didn’t work, thanks to my loyal following. Therefore the easier story—the juicier one—became Georgiana.

  I hand my phone to her, so she can read Jaeger’s simple, three word text. She stares at the screen so long, I wonder if I missed something.

  “I didn’t kill him,” she whispers in a trembling voice.

  “No, sweetheart.”

  She hands me my phone back. “I’m glad.”

  I add nothing else, allowing her to work through her relief.

  When we arrive at the studio, I guide Georgie in, greeting the full team brought in for wardrobe, hair, makeup, and set designers. As I demanded, Sedona has spared no expense.

  “Georgie!” Sedona gushes, air kissing both Georgie’s cheeks, before doing the same with me.

  “Hi,” Georgie responds, offering little waves to the crew. “How long will we be here?”

  “Bryn’s just fine.” I know why she’s concerned about the time. She wanted Abby and Bryn to accompany us. I refused. Our daughter will only distract her.

  Sedona takes Georgie’s elbow and guides her to each person. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

  “Aren’t you coming?” Georgie calls over her shoulder.

  “We won’t let anything happen to you,” one of the two men present assures her.

  “Behave, Paul,” Sedona titters.

  “I have a phone call to make, Georgiana,” I grit out, glaring at Paul. His interested once-over of my wife makes me stop in the foyer of the studio to dial Cash’s phone number and give him the news about Crowell. He’s been waiting patiently for an update on his condition.