Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “What are you doing here?” He heads to the mini fridge for a bottle of vodka, swigs from it, then sits in the closest chair to study me.

  I can’t gauge his thoughts. His tone is neutral but inscrutability shutters his eyes.

  “You aren’t happy to see me?”

  He drinks again and eyes me from head to toe. I resist the urge to squirm like an insecure twenty-something, but my outfit is nothing I normally wear. The black leather dress and thigh-high stiletto boots are more Georgie’s style than mine. My stylist’s last minute scramble to find these clothes shouldn’t go unnoticed. Along with a response to my question, I expect a compliment.

  “Well?” I prompt when he doesn’t answer.

  “I’m surprised to see you, Cassandra. Other than that, I don’t feel one way or the other about it.”

  The door swings open and the man who picked me up walks in, flanked by two girls, a huge grin on his face until he spots me. I say nothing, too busy sizing up my competition. Just as they do to me. They’re both golden headed and have dark roots, so I know their hair color is a result of peroxide rather than genes. One is pierced to Kingdom Come—lips, eyebrows, nose, and at least five in each ear. She runs her tongue along her lips, undoubtedly to show off the piercing there. The little clothes she wears allows me to see the dangling cross hanging from her pierced belly button.

  The other one, an inch or two taller than me and Miss Pin Cushion, is so heavily made up she’s created a new layer of skin for herself.

  Hostility radiates from them and it simmers in me. Both slightly older than Georgie, they think I’m a pathetic old woman. It’s in their eyes, the lack of respect they afford me, the sum total of what I offer them.

  Zero.

  “Cassandra?”

  Sloane’s voice snaps my attention to him and nausea swirls in me at the amusement in his eyes. He’s laughing at me, too. Mortification sears my blood, but I raise my chin and fold my arms, retaining my dignity with the knowledge of my importance.

  “We’re having a private party in my hotel room,” he explains before I can make my excuses and leave. “That’s Macie and Echo.”

  Macie is the pin cushion.

  “Two special friends of the band. If you’d like to party with us, Kiln will bring the three of you to the hotel.”

  The girls squeal, missing the disgust that crosses Sloane’s face. Kiln snorts and the world seems to balance out again. I have more in common with these men.

  Sloane glances between me, Macie, and Echo again, but his gaze lingers on me the longest and my belly tightens. He wants to fuck me again. Feeling bold, I run my tongue over my lips. Desire brightens his eyes. I don’t want to share him, so I try a different tact.

  “I really must get home, but if I can impose on you for a few minutes, I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  He nods and, within moments, Kiln, Macie and Echo leave Sloane and me alone once more. I walk over to him, lift up on my toes, and kiss him. Although he isn’t surprised, he doesn’t respond, so I press closer to him and grind against his hard cock.

  Grabbing my hips, he turns me. “Bend over,” he says harshly.

  I’m too breathless with anticipation to say anything, so I comply. The sound of the condom wrapper being torn open sends a rush of wetness to my pussy. He shoves my skirt above my waist, pushes the seat of my panties aside and slams into me. I gasp and groan at the thick length of him. He works in and out of me roughly, almost to the point of pain, but I don’t care. I revel in the fact that he’s fucking me. Parnell didn’t have to urge him to do it, either. He’s having me simply because I offered him pussy.

  I feel young and alive again. It’s addicting, more so than the orgasm that suddenly crashes over me. I scream out my release, not caring if I’m heard beyond the doors or not. If I am, that’s all the better.

  I’m making my claim on Sloane, and I refuse to let anyone take him from me.

  Sloane

  Cassandra’s face is flushed and her chest is rising and falling in heavy pants from the exertion of our fucking. I right the seat of her panties and pull her skirt down before snapping the condom off my dick and discarding it.

  She’s too self-absorbed to realize I didn’t come but she got what she wanted from me—attention and an orgasm. She was on the verge of unhinging when faced with Macie and Echo.

  Sighing and tucking my dick away, I grab my vodka again. I want to pretend I’m relieved that Georgiana is a no-show, going so far as to remind myself she’s fucking trouble. But that’s it in a nutshell. She’s trouble. She’s in trouble.

  I’m a shallow, superficial bastard. It was her beauty that first got my attention. My brain was processing how young she appeared, too, but it was her face. I’ve met and fucked so many beautiful women, I’ve lost count. Yet, Georgie’s features are rampant in my mind. The reason is slightly less shallow, but still dangerous.

  Perhaps, she feigned illness tonight in order to get her fix. While her father is wherever and her mother has usurped Georgie’s place at the concert, Georgie is what? Od’ing?

  Fuck. I have to banish her from my head. Though I didn’t enjoy fucking Cassandra, I’m happy I did. If only to dispel Georgie’s hold on me. No fucking way can I fuck her and her mother.

  I can’t fuck her at all…

  If I could, I wouldn’t have stuck my dick in Cassandra a second time.

  Shit like this is unforgivable. Thank fuck! What I did with Cassandra tonight solidifies the knowledge that Georgie is out of my reach.

  Who the fuck am I kidding?

  Even the prospect of jail time hasn’t flipped the out-of-reach switch on in my brain.

  “Come to the house with me,” Cassandra offers, scraping her nails across my chest. Her interruption of my internal debate irritates the fuck out of me. “It’ll be just you and I, and we’ll have a wonderful party.”

  I regard her for a moment, urging myself to fuck her until daybreak. What girl, sixteen or sixty, would want a man who slept with her mother? This is the perfect way to distance myself from Georgie. If only I could. Why can’t I?

  “Won’t you have to care for Georgie?” I ask, failing to hide my sarcasm. I don’t believe for a minute she’s sick.

  Cassandra shrugs. “The hospital is caring for her.”

  That catches my attention. “What do you mean?”

  Guilt pulls her brows down and the shadow of a blush brightens her face. “Georgie has pneumonia and inflammation of the chest wall. She’s in ICU.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I’m incredulous at her nonchalance. If my father wasn’t so fucked up, I might be speechless at this woman’s behavior.

  “I told you she was sick.”

  I scrub a hand over my face. “Shouldn’t you be there with her?”

  “I couldn’t do anything to help her. I called Parnell and told him. He didn’t drop everything to see about her. Why should I change my plans?”

  “What fucking plans? The invitation to the concert was for Georgiana.”

  Hurt creeps into Cassandra’s eyes and I scowl at her, unease sliding into me. The thought that I’ve misjudged what type of attention she needs niggles at me. Most women seek me out to brag that they’ve been in my bed, especially if I make a clear choice between her and one or two other girls as I did with Cassandra.

  The ruthlessness of my dick isn’t this beautiful woman’s fault, so I try honesty, deciding not to blame her for her lack of motherly instinct. It was going on long before I ran into Georgie and it’ll continue long after I walk away. “I made an unforgivable mistake. I shouldn’t have touched you when Kiln left with those girls. It wasn’t a wise thing to do.”

  “You already fucked me,” she says, bewildered. “And we’re fucking again Monday.”

  Though she phrases it as statement, her uncertainty is plain. Not backing out seems a sort of betrayal to Georgie. The idea disgusts me, so I nod.

  “So tonight…?”

  “Go to the hospital
and spend time with Georgie,” I say softly. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No matter how I try, I can’t escape her.

  “If you aren’t coming with me, I need my beauty sleep to get myself together for your visit Monday.”

  Anger surges through me at her continued disregard for her daughter. “Act like a woman with a daughter and think about her instead of yourself.”

  Her jaw clenches and the last of her hurt turns into an ugly glare. “Are you accepting my invitation

  for tonight or not?”

  “Not,” I snap. “In case you’ve forgotten, I have other entertainment awaiting me at the hotel. You’re still welcome to join in.”

  “Thanks but no thanks.” She turns on her heels and stalks out of the dressing room.

  I’m happy to see the back of her. I tell myself this is the end of my association with the McCalls.

  Heading to the shower, Cassandra’s petulance floats away as if it never existed. If only I could be so lucky and forget Georgie’s loneliness.

  Chapter Five

  Georgie

  Coughing racks me until my entire body trembles with the effort. I fear dislodging the IV catheter. Though I’m hooked up to oxygen, it still hurts to breathe, and, sometimes, I lose my breath. I’ve been in the hospital two days already, long enough to skip out on Sloane’s invitation.

  That much I know. Other than my time with Sloane in my dressing room, I remember the bare minimum of the events that have transpired since I dove into the pool. If Mom called me or visited, I would ask her to fill in the blanks.

  The coughing finally settles down, but my hair is plastered to my face. Though it’s freezing in the room, I’m sweating buckets. Frustrated, I shove the nozzles for the oxygen back into my nose and draw in sharp breaths.

  My door opens and I turn my head, hoping to see Mom. I still manage a smile when my big brother walks in, stylish in a black suit, crisp white shirt, and red silk tie. His hazel eyes brighten when they focus on me, but my smile falters when Crowell and his girlfriend follow Josh in.

  I avert my eyes, cursing the tears suddenly stinging behind the lids.

  “What trouble have you gotten into now, kitten?” Josh asks with a sigh.

  “Nothing,” I mutter, reminding myself to play this cool. I can’t make Crowell feel guilty for choosing a girl his own age. Nor can I risk his life by Josh discovering what we’ve been up to. “I have pneumonia.”

  I haven’t managed to look their way yet. The lovely view of a small section of sky is just sooo very interesting.

  “You remember Lana, don’t you, George?”

  Crowell can be such an ass. I’m trying to be mature about this, but he really doesn’t have to shove the presence of his girlfriend in my face. Pursing my lips, I nod. I can’t stand that she’s seeing me when I feel like a limp noodle and smell of sweat and medicine.

  “How’d you get pneumonia?” Josh walks around my spacious room, the best that money can acquire, sniffing my water cup, lifting the lid on the pitcher and grimacing, studying the various machines hooked to me. “Who have you been hanging around?”

  Lana walks into my range of vision and eyes me with distaste. I return the favor. As she opens her mouth to speak, Crowell throws an arm around her and pulls her against him, kissing her head. She smiles at me, the triumphant gleam in her eyes bitching her up. Swearing she’s wearing contact lenses to complete her fakery, I bare my teeth at her.

  Abnormally blue eyes—Shamrock green the day we met—narrow at me.

  “Mom’s having your room fumigated,” Josh says, still walking around touching everything he can.

  “What are you? Two?” I snarl. “Stop touching shit. For someone supposedly concerned about how I caught this, you’re certainly brave.”

  Josh gives me his megawatt smile. “PMS’ing, Georgiana?”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  He plops into the nearest chair. “No, I’m your big brother. I have every right to know if my life is in danger when your time of the month rolls around.”

  I don’t respond. Why take out my fucked up mood on Josh? It’ll only cause us to argue.

  The door opens again. This time I don’t even delude myself and pretend my mom will come. She really has no time for me anymore and misery squeezes my insides, saddening me. If I drop off the face of the earth—fly from a high rise building—who would miss me or care that I’m gone?

  “Holy fuck,” Crowell growls as Lana squeals.

  Annoyed, I look up and choke. “Sloane?”

  He stands there, baseball cap turned backward, dark sunglasses shielding his eyes, but I’d know him anywhere.

  “Oh my,” Lana coos. “Crowell and I were at your concert Saturday. You’re…you’re amazing.”

  Another knife to my chest. Crowell took Lana to the concert he’d invited me to. I glower at him and he flushes. I hope his head explodes and his dick never gets hard again.

  Suddenly, the room is silent and everyone’s attention is on me.

  “Who’s he?” Josh asks sharply.

  “Sloane Mason,” Lana gushes. “Only the biggest rock star in the world.”

  Josh isn’t impressed, but the ringing of his cell phone saves us from a smart ass comment. He excuses himself and Sloane takes the space he’d occupied. He doesn’t sit, though, instead standing at the side of my bed and staring at me.

  “I had to see about my number one fan. What happened?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Swallowing gallons of water usually has dire repercussions.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Crowell pipes up, his brows drawn together. “George?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I reply as casual as I can. He skirts around Lana and rushes to my other side.

  “George,” he whispers. “Don’t shut me out. We’re friends. Always.”

  Lana plasters a smile on her face. “Yeah, because you eat the pussy of every woman you call a friend.”

  Both Sloane and Crowell go rigid. Anger surges through me. I narrow my eyes. “Get out,” I order, even though I want to tell her so much more. She wants drama and I’m not giving it to her.

  Josh blows back into the room again and frowns. “What did I miss?”

  “Nothing,” I blurt, cursing renegade tears.

  “Stop acting so spoiled, Georgiana,” Josh chastises. “You’ll be home soon. We have to leave, kiddies,” he tells Crowell and Lana.

  Crowell starts off, then stops at the edge of my bed and touches my foot that’s peeking out from beneath my covers. He squeezes, but I refuse to look at him. I can’t. Whether I like it or not, he’s hurt me deeply.

  Without a word, the three of them exit, leaving me alone with Sloane.

  Sloane

  I can’t stay long. I have prior commitments and I’ve already been spotted. Kiln had to call in additional security to meet us, so I’ll be able to get away from here in one piece. But I couldn’t rest until I saw for myself how Georgie was faring.

  As far as I can tell, not good.

  “I missed your concert.”

  Georgie’s soft voice washes over me. She looks small and vulnerable connected to oxygen and IVs.

  “Mmmm.” What else can I say? I fucked my night away, starting with your mother…? “Are they saying when you’re due to be released?”

  “No…” Hoarseness catches in her throat and she pauses to clear it. “I’m not sure.”

  I touch her flushed cheeks. She’s so damn warm. She has fever. I realize not one fucking nurse has come in to check on her. During my mother’s final days, she had twenty-four hour care. She chose to die at home and got her wish, not that I’m surprised.

  Logically, I know Georgie isn’t Mom. Cancer isn’t ravishing her body, but she’s here due to a near-drowning. If she sneezes, medical staff should rush to her side and check on her.

  She scratches her cheek. “I wanted to call you and tell you I was here. Not that I would’ve expected you to visit.”

  I grin
at her and shake my head. “Little liar. Why else would you call me to tell me you’ve been admitted to the hospital?”

  Giggling, she shrugs, then frowns. “How did you find out?”

  “Your mother,” I admit, not adding anymore.

  She misconstrues my words and smiles happily. “Mom told you for me? I must’ve really told her how disappointed I was. Here I thought I’d dreamed the conversation.”

  More than likely she had, but I won’t burst her bubble. Instead, I nod toward the door. “Crowell?”

  Either the name or the question in my tone—or both—startle her. Guilt darkens her eyes and she chews on her lower lip. “What about him?”

  A fucking lot. That’s what about him, but I stay silent, wrestling my temper under control.

  “He’s all I have.”

  Of that I have no doubt. This is too much for me. Little by little, I feel myself getting in deeper with her.

  “You should have more than your drug supplier to rely on.”

  Her purple eyes flash. Her eyes remind me of violets in winter, isolated in a sea of frost, a burst of brilliance exposed to a cold world.

  Violets. Lilacs. Aster. Iris. Her eye color can’t be penned into a singular description, despite how much I try. Much like Georgie herself.

  Hounded by my inability to forget her, I look at the clock on the wall and her face crumples.

  “Feel better, Georgiana,” I tell her.

  Though she nods, she turns her head away. I’m almost to the door when her soft voice reaches me. “Bye, Sloane.”

  Instead of stopping, I continue walking. Considering my intentions with her mother and father today, I shouldn’t have visited her at all.

  The false hope I offer her tortures both of us. Kiln and Pres lounge by the elevator, so they can’t interrupt a small crowd who swarm me. Three nurses, a doctor, and a couple of patient visitors.

  Signing autographs and interacting with the Phoenicians never gets old, therefore, the burden I feel as I do this shocks me. My mind is elsewhere, however, on Georgie, and her sweetness when she bid me farewell.