Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

  He growls at me, and I issue a stern, “No. Bad dog.”

  He whines in response, and I take another step towards him when I hear her finally speak. I can’t hear what she says to him, but he turns his head to kiss her on the cheek earnestly, and wags his tail as she scratches behind his ear.

  “You did good my sweet boy,” she says and I can hear her voice crack. “Up,” she commands him and he jumps down.

  She looks straight at me, and my knees almost buckle.

  ***

  Kip

  “I’ll fucking kill him!” Derek shouts and Henley’s father runs through the house.

  Jagger, Memphis, Koi, and I chase him through the house, out the front door, and across the lawn. The Coroner is attempting to zip the body in a bag.

  Derek stops in his tracks, and turns to his sons, “She killed him?”

  Koi takes a step towards his father, “Yeah, pops, she killed him.”

  Derek’s tears stream down his face, “How… How’d she do it?”

  Memphis steps up next to Koi, “If she didn’t beat him to death, she put ten shots into him.”

  “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God,” Derek howls as his knees buckle.

  “My baby had to kill someone. He tried to kill her? I don’t understand. Why?” he says as Koi and Memphis fall to their knees with him.

  “He did that to her! He hurt my baby. She never did anything to him! He hurt my baby! She shouldn’t have to go through this,” he sobs and brings the tears I’ve been holding at bay to the light.

  “Dad, he’s gone. He can’t hurt her anymore,” Memphis says.

  “Let’s pull it together and go take care of her,” Koi says.

  Derek only nods through a few more sobs before Memphis stands. Jagger extends a hand to Derek, and he takes it allowing help from the ground. Jagger wraps him in a big hug, and whispers something softly, unknown to any of us. Derek nods and we take a few moments to compose ourselves before we face her.

  As we enter the house, I notice the faces of the emergency workers who are crowding her house. Looks of genuine sympathy shine back at us. How many times have they seen nightmares like this? Upon reentering the patio area, I see Henley pull her tank over her head and dangle off her right arm, which seems to dangle itself from her body.

  “Just take them here,” she says and looks down.

  I step in front of her and take in the damage that’s been done to her. Her ribs are already bruising, red and swollen. Rings are forming around her neck, and her lip is split, dried blood smeared over the side of her face. The blood does nothing to hide her swollen eye and cheek.

  “Sweetie, are you sure?” a female officer asks, and Henley nods, but her eyes remain on the floor.

  Flashes from a camera erupt in the darkness, documenting in still digital. Monsters really do exist. I wonder if they’ll take photographs of what she did to him. Those are the pictures I would like to see. Once they’re done, the female officer asks her to talk in private, but Henley declines with a shake of her head, her eyes meeting no one’s.

  “Ms. Hendrix, I need to ask some very personal questions, and I think it would be best if we didn’t do this out here,” she says softly.

  “He was going to but, he didn’t.” Henley murmurs.

  “Ma’am?” the female office asks.

  “His intentions were to rape me, I think. He didn’t though.”

  I hear glass shatter and turn around to see glass from something unidentifiable around Jagger’s feet. His eyes are glazed over, and then the moment the Carlyle temper sets in, I see it in his eyes. I watch him fight to control it, the beast inside of him that is begging to come out and wreak havoc on any poor soul who gets in his way of justice, his retribution. I walk over to tell him I’m here to help. He struggles to control his breathing, and I know he is only moments away from detonating around us all.

  I step in so only he can hear, “You have to pull it together. Go to her. Take all that shit that’s boiling over inside your gut right now and put it into taking care of her. That’s all any of us can do right now.”

  He nods and struggles a little longer to pull it together.

  “Go to her. No one knows what to do right now, so control the situation. You can’t control what happened, but you can control all the chaos in this room right now.”

  He nods again, and after a few beats, he steps out from the shadows of her patio, and takes one longing look at her, before he focuses on his new job.

  “What do you need officer?”

  “What relation are you?” the officer asks.

  “I am speaking for the family, and for her professionally. What. Do. You. Need?”

  “We just want to help Ms. Hendrix,” the woman says sincerely.

  “I appreciate that, and I need you to tell me what you need to do that,” Jagger says sternly.

  “I need statements from everyone who was here,” she says intimidated by my friend.

  “That would be Memphis and Koi, but no one here is any shape to give you a statement. If you give me your contact information, her attorney will call and schedule an appointment to make that happen. The tragedy of this situation is still fresh, and I need you take care of what can be done tonight, and the rest can wait. What else do you need?” Jag asks.

  “I believe we are done here. We’ve photographed the room, and Ms. Hendrix. If you can contact me for a statement that would be great. It appears Ms. Hendrix needs medical attention, though,” she says.

  “I’ll take care of that,” Jagger announces.

  Jagger and I escort the police out of the house and thank them for all their help. We dismiss the ambulance, and I set out in a search for her first aid drawer. Jagger calls her primary health provider, Ronda, and asks her to come help us.

  “I will take her to a guest bedroom to use the bathroom and clean her up. Can you try to keep a check on everyone else and get them settled? I don’t imagine anyone is going anywhere tonight,” Jagger asks.

  I follow Jagger to the patio where Henley remains standing just as she did when the officer photographed her.

  ***

  Jagger

  I take a moment to take her in, the girl I’ve loved since the sixth grade. She’s now a woman who can’t see her own strength. She doesn’t see how fucking strong she is, and how we all see her, and need her in our own ways. Life without her would be no life worth living.

  I kneel down in front of her while Cash keeps a close eye on me.

  “Hen, Ronda said for you to take two aspirins to avoid blood clots. She’s on the way.”

  I drop the aspirin in her hand and give her a glass of water which she uses to take the pills. As I take the glass from her, I lightly touch her arm for comfort.

  “Don’t touch me,” she says robotically.

  “Hen, I need to get you into the guest room and get you cleaned,” I explain.

  She’s still standing in the middle of her patio staring right through me. I’m scared to touch her again, but I need to get her clean and bandaged. Her pretty hair is stuck to her face with blood, so I slowly move my hand towards her face to push it back.

  “Don’t fucking touch me.”

  I take a small step back and glance around for help, but no one is out here.

  “I just want to help you, baby.”

  “I’m not your fucking baby.”

  Kip walks onto the patio and I quickly give him an imperceptible nod to warn him. He frowns.

  “Can you at least tell me what hurts?” I ask.

  “Everything hurts. My entire fucking body hurts,” she seethes.

  “Tell me how to help you, please.”

  Kip approaches and touches her arm just as I did moments ago.

  “Don’t fucking touch me.”

  Kip startles at her response.

  “How can we help you?” he asks her.

  She closes her eyes, her bottom lip trembles, and I watch her fight her tear
s. She fights them valiantly, but they run down her cheeks, streaking the blood. She swallows hard as she continues to fight the hysteria I’m sure she’s feeling. Kip and I stand in front of her completely helpless. She won’t let us touch her, so I’m not sure how we are supposed to help her. I want to help her so badly. I want to take it all away. I never want to see her hurt again.

  “Please let me help you, Henley. I won’t hurt you,” I beg.

  Our families and friends crowd around quietly, assessing the situation as carefully as possible. Her eyes remain closed, tears still pour from underneath her lids. Sniffles sound out from around us as the people who love her most attempt to hide their own fear and pain from her. It seems like an eternity passes in silence.

  “I killed him,” she whispers.

  “It’s okay,” I say softly.

  Her bottom lip continues to tremble.

  “Shut up,” she whispers again.

  She opens her eyes and searches the surrounding faces until her eyes land on her father.

  “Dad,” she whispers.

  He steps forward as she crumbles to the ground. He holds her as she screams and cries.

  “I’m so sorry. I killed him. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to die. I’m sorry,” she cries.

  Derek tries his best to soothe her. When Ronda arrives, she silently asks us to leave, only allowing her parents to stay.

  Her cries are muffled through the walls, but we sit in silence and continue to listen to her.

  Chapter 15

  Henley

  Bruises, lacerations, two broken ribs, a broken orbital bone, a dislocated shoulder, a busted lip, a fractured cheekbone, and a stiff trigger finger is the damage left by Randall Johnson. His brother, Christopher Johnson, killed my best friend. Christopher was the driver of the car that hit Caleb and I all those years ago. Apparently, Randall became infatuated with me once his brother went to jail, and he believed we were meant to be together romantically. He was delusional to say the least, and now he’s dead.

  The night of the attack, Ronda gave me no choice but to visit the emergency room. She kept me comfortable with pain medication and ran every test known to man. I guess she was concerned I could bleed internally, but that turned out not to be the case. While I spent the night in the ER, I was comfortable on Demerol. I refused pain medications when I was released, not wanting to go down that road again.

  As soon as I arrived home from the ER, two detectives were waiting on my front porch to take my statement. Koi and Memphis also gave their accounts. Luckily, Cory and Joe had prepped us prior to my release from the hospital. We didn’t give an accurate account of the attack since I killed him while he was unarmed and half-conscious. I will not go to jail for killing him. His brother killed Caleb, and Randall shot Cory and then tried to rape and kill me. Recounting the whole truth would not bring him back. Koi and Memphis altered their stories to say they didn’t get into the room until after I shot him. I said I fought and then shot him as soon as I got my hand on the gun. It’s not a lie, and the facts I didn’t make them privy to doesn’t change a damn thing. He’s dead, and he deserves much worse.

  My family and friends tiptoed around my house for a week. I wanted to rest and heal, and they wanted to fix everything for me. While their love was very much appreciated, they couldn’t fix a fucking thing. Only time would heal both my physical and emotional wounds. I don’t regret killing him, but taking another human being's life takes its toll.

  At the end of week one, I wake to find Kip in my living room alone.

  I raise my eyebrows when I see only one person in my house. It has been packed full of people quietly milling around for a week.

  “They went to dinner to celebrate Jessica’s birthday. I told them I’d stay in case you needed anything,” Kip instructs.

  “Thank God.”

  “Feeling smothered?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I smile.

  “You need anything?”

  “I’d love a shower. I need help to get my shirt over my head though. This sling sucks ass,” I answer.

  I wait for Kip to make a sexual comment, but surprisingly it doesn’t come to pass.

  He hesitates to answer, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I can do that.”

  “I’m going outside to smoke first.”

  “I’ll join you.”

  Kip, Cash, and I settle into seats on my patio and light up. Well Cash doesn’t, he hasn’t mastered the art of smoking without opposable thumbs.

  “How you feeling?” Kip inquires.

  “I’m ok. My shoulder and ribs ache, but it isn’t anything I can’t handle.”

  “How are you doing with all the other bullshit?”

  “Which particular incident of bullshit are you referring to? Jagger being pissed at me about a sex tape? Or the actual sex tape? Or Ian trying to keep me his dirty little secret? Or my favorite, the one where Ian and Jagger both see the light of day and the error of their ways and want me back? Or killing a man?” I ask.

  “Shit, when you put it like that… I’m sorry I asked,” he winces.

  “I performed amazingly well on that tape, so at least there’s that,” I smile.

  “Yes, ma’am. There is always your Oscar worthy performance,” he answers.

  “Jagger and I weren’t together when it happened, and I was explicitly clear about it. While he doesn’t have a right to be mad, I wouldn’t take seeing him fuck someone else well either. Or at least at one point in time I wouldn’t have. He’s dating another woman now, so he shouldn’t be over here all the time. I don’t see us getting back together.”

  Kip looks genuinely surprised, “Like ever?”

  “I don’t think so. I think we crossed a line that can never be undone. I’ll always love Jagger, but not the way he’ll want me to.”

  Kip looks down at his fingers and picks at one of his fingernails. He’s unusually quiet and pensive.

  “And Ian?” he asks without looking up from his fingers.

  “I’ll always love Ian too, but I’ll also always wonder if he’s ashamed of me. He’s never seemed to have an issue with my personality before the tape, and I can’t change my personality any more than a zebra can its stripes.”

  “You shouldn’t have to change for anyone,” he says softly.

  “I agree.”

  Once I snuff out my cigarette, I make my way to the master bath, and turn the shower on. After grabbing towels and a fresh change of clothes, I wait for Kip.

  When he walks in I announce, “I’m not wearing a bra because it’s too fucking hard to get on. Keep your eyes to yourself Paxton.”

  “Shit, really? Fuck me! Why?” he asks and looks up to the heavens and smiles.

  “You can’t look,” I reiterate.

  “It’s boobs! I have to look. Fuck, I’ll lose my man card if I don’t.”

  “You’re not looking at my boobs, Kip!”

  “Just one tiny peek? I mean I can even pretend they’re someone else’s boobs.”

  “You can do that?” I ask genuinely interested.

  “No, of course not. I was just trying to make you feel better. I’ll know they’re yours and I’ll probably get a halfy,” he admits with a mischievous smile.

  “We’re not toddlers playing doctor, Kip. No peeking.”

  “And who in the fuck did you play doctor with? I never got to play doctor with you!” he asks mocking astonishment.

  “We were a bit old by the time we met, don’t you think?”

  “Woman! You are never too old to play doctor! I thought we were friends Henley. You should really let me see your boobs to make up for the fact that I missed out on my Dr. Paxton opportunity.”

  “Give me a towel,” I demand.

  “I’m not seeing boob today. It’s a sad day,” he shakes his head and reaches for a towel.

  I take the towel and wrap it around me underneath my tank top. I use my bad arm the best I can to push my sweats and panties down.
>
  “Can I at least smell your panties when you get in the shower?”

  “No! Pervert!”

  “I can’t help it. I have a dick. It’s not my fault,” he pouts.

  “I’m taking my panties in the shower with me.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  Kip gently pulls a tank over my head, and I take my panties into the shower with me, not dropping the towel until I’m safely inside.

  “I think I might’ve seen a little nip, just a tiny bit,” he says.

  “You didn’t see my nipple, Kip.”

  “I’m a better judge of these things than you are.”

  I don’t even attempt to argue with him. Kip will manufacture some bullshit and I’ll just waste my breath on him. I scrub my hair and body. It takes more time to shower when you only have one good arm.

  Once I’m finished, I ask Kip to hand the towel through the shower curtain, and cover up to keep him from manufacturing any other parts of my body he thinks he’s seen. Of course millions have seen it by now, so I don’t know why I bother.

  He helps me out of the shower, and orders me to sit on the toilet. He uses another towel to dry my legs and feet, and then gently wipes my arms, back and shoulders.

  “Lift your arms up so we can put anti-stench on ‘em,” he says and rolls deodorant under my arms.

  “I want to leave for a while,” I spit out.

  “What? Where?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure. The promotional tour is starting soon, and I may even miss some of it,” I answer.

  “I’m confused,” he arches his eyebrow at me.

  “It just sort of ran through my mind, and I said it out loud. I’d like to heal up more. I need to get away from here for a little while. The craziness will start soon and I think I need to clear my head.”

  He kneels down in front of me with a worried expression, choosing his words.

  “I have no right to ask this because I walked out on you when you needed me most. You and me, we never really talked about what happened, so I guess I need to get this out. I’m sorry I was an ass. You’ve never left my side when I needed you. You saved my life, and you always make it sound like an insignificant deed, but I know where I would be right now if you didn’t come into my life when you did. I was just so fucking angry when you overdosed. I thought I was angry at you, but I was just pissed off at the thought of losing you. There aren’t words I can say that will ever really tell you how fucking sorry I truly am.”