Rock Bottom (The Handler Series Book 1)

by Angie M. Brashears

“Yes.” Every word out of his mouth makes me wet. Cold turkey? Try cold fucking Shamus.

  He reaches for me, and God love me, I go where he leads. I’ve been tested, washed in the hellfire’s and I’m fucking burning to ash. Look away, don’t see me like this.

  I take his hand and kneel on the bed next to him.

  My mouth sweats, I can’t swallow fast enough.

  “Shhhh, just lay back and let it happen.” Which sounds so creepy, there should be a red dot on my next album cover.

  Oh My Fucking God.

  This is happening. I’ll probably get life in jail for rape. Now I’m the crazy lady and the sane one inside of my head is shaking her head in disgust.

  What happened to looky, but no touchy?

  Sounded cute in my head, but this is me we’re talking about.

  Why did I think I could roofie and run?

  “Come closer,” he says, and it’s takes everything not too.

  “Display a little self-control.” I say. But I don’t know whom I talking too.

  Digging my heels in, I try to resist him. But the satin sheets offer no traction and before I know it, I’m in his arms like I don’t know the meaning of resist.

  “Not talking to me?” He asks.

  I pull my chin away, but it’s half-hearted.

  “Bet I can get you to crack right open and spill all over these sheets.”

  His lips keep moving, spilling fucking sexy talk into my ears. The smell of him, woodsy, manly, forbidden.

  If I were a vampire, this would be the moment I’d bite.

  I search out his eyes and realize how unfocused he is. On a trip to find ecstasy, I could be any willing passenger. I’ve been there.

  Pushing him away, it’s me that says no. “You accidentally took my roofie.”

  He grins. “Really, Nova…accidentally?” His eyes twinkle when he laughs.

  “I’m serious, Shamus,” I say, and I’m surprised I’m not licking my lips as I stare down at his massive hardon, which also twinkles when he laughs.

  “Looky, no touchy.” I whisper against his dry lips. He needs water.

  “I’ll help. Put your hands in your pants big boy.” I whisper into the shell of his ear. I watch with greed as his hand slides down his flat abs and takes a firm grip on the D.

  “Mmm,” he moans as he pleasures his cock with an expert stroke. Slow and measured.

  I swallow before I whisper. “Shamus likes it slow. Me too. That’s right. Stroke that big fucker into submission.”

  It’s the least I can do. Lull with my voice, soothe with my hands, after he comes, he falls right to sleep. Peaceful, with a smile on his face.

  He sleeps the sleep of the dead. I hold a hand over his face to make sure he’s breathing. But it’s all so suspicious. I’ve had a taste and I want more.

  Carefully, so as not to touch him, I mount him. Even in his inebriated state, both hands rise off the bed to catch me if I fall. I like that, it’s been a long time since anyone’s been there to catch me.

  His eyes are open. Focused on mine, they draw me in. “NovaKain, your beauty sears my brain. If I look too long, I’ll never get the imprint of you out of my mind.”

  “That’s a great line,” I whisper.

  I feel hooked, like a fish on a hook, thrashing. Caught. I need air. Cat meet mouse, but who’s the mouse. Me? Him, I look down at this Shamus. I want to trace each tattoo with my tongue, why does he have so many? Is it the last second, with the needle poised over your skin? When you think, will this hurt? Will I be able to stand the pain this time, is that why you’ve got so many tattoos? Is he good for me? I stroke the side of his cheek and sing to him.

  This will hurt a bit, you said.

  But it didn’t hurt at all.

  The part that really chaffed was waiting on your call.

  Waiting on your call.

  Climbing off Shamus, I spruce up as he sleeps. I stand over him, drinking the bottle. I could get back into the bed, it looks inviting next to him. The next Rusty. It will happen. I won’t pay enough attention, I’ll shine too bright. Without even knowing it, he’ll change. Bitter and angry, but mostly peanut butter and jelly.

  I pull a sweatshirt, with a hood from his closet.

  Wanna get away. You bet.

  When I hit the hall, I’m running. With no idea where I’m going, just far away from him. This is what I do, I fuck everything up. My name should be Tornado because I leave a path of destruction where I go. I couldn’t just be happy with a backrub, I had to roofie the poor bastard and make him jack off for me.

  Pacing in front of the elevator, it hits me. A smile crosses my face when I step into the elevator. When faced with a full course meal, I broke off a tiny piece. “Not to get high, just to maintain.” I think and step into the elevator.

  Chapter 19

  Shamus

  One minute I’m dreaming of her creamy thighs, clenching my middle and the next, a heavy hand comes down on my bare ass. The crack echoes throughout the suite like a gunshot.

  Jumping out of bed is too much for my aching head. I sit back down and peer up at my heavy-handed brother, twirling a pair of lacy panties, around his finger. Full of mirth, Justice asks. “Did you have a fun sleepover, Shamus?”

  I’m sure he didn’t yell it, but the question echoes just the same. Trying to get my bearings, I ask, “What time is it?”

  “Late, after eight, but maybe early to you. You sleep the whole day away? She in there?” He tilts his head toward the bathroom and I grab her unmentionables from him with a sinking feeling.

  Is she in there?

  It’s hard to say. Everything past the drink is a blur.

  “Don’t fry your brain, Shamus. She’s gone, we’ve got people looking for her. Eat, you need the carbs.”

  Justice drops a bag of Dunkin Donuts in my lap.

  “What do you mean gone?”

  “I mean gone, as in, Shamus you had one job. Take a half-conscious girl back to your suite and maybe don’t fuck her. Oh, and while you’re at it, try not to lose her.”

  Donut holes forgotten, I stand and drop the bag on the way to the bathroom. Even though I know in my heart, she’s gone. I knock anyway.

  “Nova! C’mon, hon. Open up. Today is the first day of the rest…” the spit dries in my mouth as the bathroom door swings open, revealing marble, opulence, and space, but no pop star.

  “Nova?” I ask but my stomach’s already turning.

  “See? Gone.” Justice confirms over my shoulder, like he knew it was going to happen.

  But I feel one step behind. It’s like trying to put a puzzle together when all the pieces are turned over.

  Vaguely, I try again. “She woke up…”

  Resigned Justice says, “And like you always do, you ran to her. Maybe tripped and fell and speared her with your dick. Got drunk with her.” He upends a bottle of Maker's Mark that I’m sure was halfway full. “I told you to let me handle this. When are you going to learn, Shamus?”

  “She’s not a set of keys, she’s bound to be here somewhere.”

  “And she’s not dad. She could be anywhere by now.”

  At the mention of my dad, I hang my head and follow him out of the room.

  But he stops me with a look. “Clothes would be nice. We’ve got company.”

  Tugging on sweats, I ask. “Who? Uncle Tommy?”

  “No, and you definitely don’t want that. One whiff of this fiasco, and they’ll make that insurance payout happen, by any means necessary. No, this is just between you and me for now.” My brother looks like a gangster when he speaks to security. “Get eyes on her.”

  “No, it’s my mess. I’ll find her,” I say.

  “In the state you’re in, she’d just wrap you around her finger a little tighter. You need to get your head straight. I know you want to handle it, but maybe you’re not the right man for the job. In less than 24 hours, you got drunk with her, had sex and I’m still not convinced you’re not under the influence of something. You look bli
tzed,” he says.

  I scrub a hand across my face. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m doing, the only thing I do know is, she can bend me like a pretzel, and I’d still be begging to be squeezed tighter. I don’t want a model I can prop onstage that moves her lips and mimes the rock star she once was. I need the real thing. Get her better.”

  “Don’t look so glum, baby brother. If you want her better, you’ve got to give her a chance. After your text last night, I made sure to bring the best.”

  I follow him into the living room and nod to a lady at the bar. “Meet my ace in the hole. When you save one life, you’re a hero. When you save a hundred, you’re a nurse. Meet Ilsa.”

  She crosses the room and shakes me hand. Peering into my eyes, she asks. “What are you on?”

  “Nothing.” But my voice sounds unsure. Everything’s a blur of lips, hips, and pussy apocalypse.

  She pulls a syringe from her pocket and taps the bubbles out. “Any allergies?” She asks.

  “No. What’s that?” I ask suspiciously.

  “A dose of antibiotics. The strongest or did I miss the condom?” She asks sweetly.

  Frustrated, I say, “No, go find her! I didn’t hire you to take care of me.”

  “Your brother did. I’m getting paid extra to make sure you walk away with your dick attached. Bend over.”

  I take the shot. Wincing, I peer up and see a man with a beard watching the whole thing. With admiration, he says. “Took that like a trooper.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Don’t know if you remember, but that’s Cody. Let us in to see Nova,” Justice says.

  I nod.

  “I remember, I just don’t understand what he’s doing here. You’re not here to take her back, are you?” I ask.

  Justice quickly intercedes. “Nothing like that, bro. He’s the reinforcements and he’s willing to take one for the team.”

  Flummoxed, I ask. “What do you mean?”

  “He’ll be around in case Nova needs some male company. I’m starting to think that along with a bit of a drug problem, Nova might also be treading in sex addict territory.”

  “What? Need a word in private,” I grit out.

  And the asshole agrees. “Fine, but Cody stays.”

  He follows me into the kitchen.

  “What is it?” He asks, like he doesn’t know.

  “What in the ever-loving fuck, Justice?” I say.

  “This isn’t a game, Justice. She may need more than what you can give her. I’d rather she get her rocks off here, with Cody, than run into some junkies’ track-marked arms in a back alley.”

  “What? No, absolutely not. If Nova needs male company, I’ll be more than happy to volunteer.”

  Justice looks at me funny. “Bro, I’m seriously start to think a glutton for punishment.”

  The room spins and I’ve gotta lean on the counter. “Maybe I am. But if Nova needs something, I’m right here.”

  Concerned, he pats my back. “I hear ya, bro, but it’s really up to her. Go take a cold shower. As far as I know, she’s still in town. We’ve got people at every casino tearing down the penthouses looking for the golden goose. And Shamus?”

  “Yeah, bro?”

  “This can’t happen again.” He says and we both know why.

  Unless I want her stepping in front of a bus, drunk and high out of her mind, on my watch. “It won’t,” I say.

  Chapter 20

  NovaKain

  Walking away from the elevator towards the bright lights, a pang of regret fills me. Like I’ve left the last jelly donut in the pink box for someone else to enjoy. It will happen. Jelly donuts never last long.

  Some lucky woman is going to tame him. Hook a ring through his nose and lead him to the altar.

  The thought makes me sad. Where does that leave me?

  I’ll be the footnote in his fabulous life. His crowning moment when the gray starts to show in his hair. A story to cling to with just the right amount of ego boost as his middle spreads. Over beers and a gut to go with it, he’ll turn to a fishing buddy, maybe even that hottie brother of his that came to the hospital. Won’t matter who, it’s the anecdote that’s important. Anything to do with a famous person is. ‘Once upon a time, the one and only NovaKain roofied me. Yeah, she did finally OD, but once upon a time, in her fine as shit days, she couldn’t get enough of me.’

  Would have been better if we’d actually banged, but he had a little too much respect…and maybe I did too.

  You can do anything you want, I’d said. I’ve used that line many times, and every taker who’s heard it, did just that, but not Shamus. Why?

  I walk through the casino doors, under a twinkling blanket of neon lights, and have time to wonder if Shamus is still sleeping. Does he know I’m gone? What it took for me to leave?

  Is he, at this moment, racing around the penthouse, looking for me? He’ll be searching that suite forever, because I’m down in the gutter.

  Right where I belong.

  What if he chokes? Barely conscious. I had to hold a hand over his face just to make sure he was breathing.

  I know he doesn’t think much of Kiki, but she served as a hell of a pillow monitor. On more than one occasion, she saved me from choking on my own vomit. And I don’t even have the decency to pay the favor forward.

  Just where do I think I’m going?

  There’s no destination. I’m just running to prove to myself I could say no. Or walking, kind of fast. There was no way I could stay. I didn’t trust myself with Shamus, up there naked, eyes imploring me to take what I want.

  Naked Shamus though. Wow.

  I’m jostled by the crowd as I stare up at the sign over the casino. A huge Shamrock, with The Four Leaf. A Malone Establishment.

  Shamus Malone wasn’t kidding, his name is on the side of his house.

  Fremont Street is packed. I don’t have to worry about being recognized, it’s bumper to bumper tourists. Phones in hand, eagerly awaiting their next picture.

  Which will not be me. I duck into the shadows of the borrowed hoodie and make eye contact with one of them.

  “Do you have the time?” I ask.

  With no sign of recognition, he finishes snapping a pic of the Glitter Gulch sign before he answers. “Almost nine. It should be starting any second now.”

  Now I’ve gotta ask. “What?”

  Before the word is even out of my mouth, the neon lights around me dim and everyone takes a collective pause in the darkness.

  “The world premiere. Look up,” he says, and I do.

  My neck cranes along with all the others to peer up at a vaulted canopy screen. Traveling down four city blocks, a shooting star hurtles towards me. Right above my head, the constellation erupts into a burst of beautiful teals, pinks, silvers, and golds. Every color of the rainbow morphs into a kaleidoscope buffet for the mind which bleeds colored confetti down the sides of the screen until only blackness is left.

  There’s a united sound of awe from the crowd as a tiny beacon of light becomes visible. Off in the distance, as it grows in size, I make out letters. It’s one word, spiraling out of the black space. It becomes so big it fills the length of the screen.

  The crowd around me erupts into a stadium cheer just as the word registers. NovaKain.

  Wow. Renting out the Fremont Street Light show. I’m impressed, Shamus.

  All around me, tourists use their camera phones to film a This Is Your Life video montage and my stomach aches.

  Don’t waste your phone memory. It doesn’t end well.

  But why spoil the ending? I watch with everyone else despite a sinking feeling that’s trying to get me to run into the arms of the next guy that looks at me…at all.

  It’s all me. In braids and John Lennon specs, a candy cane on the front of my jumper. Penny’s arm slung casually over my shoulder. Back when Penny was still talking to me, must’ve been taken on our last trip to Japan.

  Each clip blends seamlessly. One glittery stage after the
next. The colors may change but the neon sign is always the same. In 20-foot teal letters, Penny Candy.

  As far back as I can remember I’ve been fifty percent of Penny Candy, but I’m not Penny.

  Why was I always second best? I watch with an objective eye and try to see what she had, that I didn’t.

  Both tweens give it their all. Goofing around backstage at Saturday Night Live. Giggles and silly string, before taking the stage as Penny Candy, the dynamic girl singing duo, belting their hearts out in matching jumpers and hair ribbons.

  We look impossibly young, thanks to wardrobe supervision by thee Mr. Whimsy himself, I think with revulsion. Binding my breasts, lacey socks. Braces, when I didn’t need them. Always with ribbons in my pigtails.

  “Just take it down a notch, you know? Dim the lights a little bit. Stop outshining Penny and things will go a lot smoother around here for you.” Competition born and fed by the constant whisperings of Mr. Whim in my ear.

  The camera pans a stage, until it finds Penny’s blonde pigtails. Now she knows, I see it on her face. The way it feels to be the side, an afterthought and I know. I’m witnessing our last performance as Penny Candy.

  The strains of our cutesy bubblegum pop song, Bad Penny flows from outdoor speakers, but it’s replaced by the sound of a long-ago audience, chanting our name which puts me back up on that stage behind her. In her shadow.

  Penny Candy.

  Penny Candy.

  From above, I look down into the crowd. Sparkling with braces and shiny faces, but they only had eyes for her, Penny. First with admiration now they look about as frustrated as I feel after listening to everyone’s favorite, fuck up the high notes again.

  Although, it’s delicious to watch Miss Perfect stumble, the crowd’s energy ebbs like a wave, and a smattering of jeers can be heard from below.

  Why her? Why not me?

  I take a tiny step forward and she waves me back just as the beachballs fall and she misses the beginning of the chorus…again.

  The crowd recoils and my stomach clenches. I’m going to do this. I know I am good enough…but am I brave enough?

  With a lavish sway of my pink sparkly hip, I bump Miss Penny Lane out of my spotlight. Slowing my breathing, I tap my headset and my mic on. Time to snatch the lead. Twirling with a purpose, I invade her personal space and say. “I’m up.”