Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Adam and I exchange glances, then we all look amongst one another. Before we can think of what to do, Georgie reveals something else.

  “He sent me a text while I was dressing. He…he wants to take me to Nevada.”

  Folding his arms, Kiln snorts and curses. “To fuck you or marry you?”

  “I’m old enough to marry him without parental consent in the state of Nevada.” She dislikes Kiln, judging from the evil look in her eyes and her sour tone. At least, she has some sense of self-preservation. “He said he’d marry me to show me how much I mean to him as long as I see him.”

  Nonplussed at her fervor, Kiln glances at me and I nod. I want her fucking phone. I want to read the fucking message myself. I’m both relieved and regretful we aren’t alone. She doesn’t need to talk about this in front of the guys, but we sure the fuck can’t be alone together.

  Within moments, Kiln returns and hands me the phone. Georgie’s eyes widen when she sees it. She rushes forward in an attempt to reclaim it.

  I get to my feet and hold it above my head.

  “Fucking bastard,” she yells, hopping up and down uselessly.

  I want her to have lied. I want her words to be a ploy for attention and to make me jealous.

  Several texts have come from Crowell in the past hours. She hasn’t responded to one, but I’m going to pay that motherfucker a visit.

  George, be my wife. We can drive or fly to Nevada. Your choice. We’ll wed and find a home there. I’ll keep you supplied with the best coke.

  Where the fuck are you, George? I’ve never proposed to a girl in my life and you’re not fucking answering me now that I have? I won’t let you come for a fucking week.

  This shit isn’t funny, Georgiana. You blew me off for that drug head asshole. I’ll bet my dick’s bigger than his. If you ever want me to feed it to you again, fucking answer me.

  Straightening, I stare at her. She’s no longer using her legs as a pogo. Her eyes are huge and vulnerable, but I’m fucking shaking.

  I’ve been in torture the past few hours, determined to behave and keep my hands off of her, when another asshole is luring her to fucking marry him to get her under his control.

  This scenario is exactly my fucking point. Morals are useless. There’s always someone around who never has pangs of fucking conscience.

  Her hand presses against my chest. “Sloane?”

  Quint snatches her phone from my hand and I hear him suck in a breath. Kiln’s the last to read it. Unlike me, he doesn’t flinch, and shows no emotion. He does stare at her, though. It’s brutal and ugly and I add him to the list of fuckers to talk to where Georgie is concerned.

  Another message comes through and she makes a grab for it. Kiln mimics me and raises it above his head.

  “Your body responds to me,” he reads. “I have control of you the moment I touch you. This is your last chance. If you don’t respond, I’ll make you crawl before I forgive you.”

  My head feels as if it’ll explode while Georgie scoots around Kiln and stumbles to the bar. I don’t interrupt as she pours herself Jägermeister and downs it. The champagne I ordered is long gone. It was only one bottle for six alcohol lovers.

  Foregoing the glass, she guzzles from the bottle. Silent and angry, I walk forward and snatch it away. Her eyes have turned wild and she’s close to hyperventilating.

  “Breathe,” I say calmly, capping the bottle and setting it behind me.

  She reaches for another bottle and I grab her wrist.

  “No. Now, breathe and calm down.”

  A moment passes.

  “I need my phone. I have to call him,” she blurts, lost in her frantic state.

  “What do you want more from him?” I can’t take it anymore. To help her, I have to get control of her. To control her, I need to bait her. “Sex or company?” Purposely, I leave off drugs. Neither of us can fuck around with that type of addiction anymore.

  The guys crowd around the breakfast bar. I don’t know if they’ll have my back or not. Do I fucking care?

  “Answer me.”

  “Sex,” she says and then shakes her head. “Friendship.”

  If she has Crowell as a friend, who the fuck’s her enemy? Looking at her, I know. She’s her own enemy. Just as I am mine.

  The revelation beats through my veins and I reach for her, shaking off the hands that attempt to pull me back.

  “Fuck off,” I snarl to no one in particular, daring them to fuck with me. If they do, I’ll subject them to the horrors I’d love to put Crowell through.

  My band members step back. I yank Georgie to my bedroom, slam the door shut, and lock it. I take her into my arms and kiss her, backing her to the bed until we fall upon it. She’s ravenous, engaging her tongue, teeth, and lips in returning my kisses, while wrapping her legs around my waist. She rocks her pussy against me. The scent of her arousal excites me. Mint and black licorice from the Jägermeister she drank teases my taste buds and drives me insane.

  Her ass is bare beneath my shirt. I caress her soft skin, my hand traveling to her wet pussy a moment later. She’s hot and tight. I want to get inside of her. Instead, I bring her to the brink of orgasm and pull away.

  Judging by her reaction, she doesn’t appreciate the separation. She inches closer to me and her dazed expression lures me. Her slim fingers clutches my shirt, straining my control.

  “Do you want me to make you come?” My voice is rough and harsh.

  She whimpers and rubs against me.

  I brush a finger against her slit. “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  We stare at each other, not breaking eye contact as I release her hair. I bring the finger with her pussy juice to my mouth and lick. Her breath hitches. One touch to her pussy will send her over the edge.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asks softly.

  Yes. What? Unless I find a way to keep her at my side until I leave, then tonight will be for nothing. Even beyond that, after I depart Houston, my hard work will go to waste.

  I need to think further on this, so I spread her legs and lick her. My tongue works her clit through her orgasm. When she settles, I wrap my arms around her, threading my fingers through her hair.

  I lean against her damp thigh, talking myself down from burying my dick in her.

  “Get in bed.”

  “I’m not tired.”

  No, she’s exhausted, but she’s so fucking stubborn.

  “I need a shower,” I tell her. “I promise not to be long. Relax while I clean up.”

  This, she agrees to. I spend no more than twenty minutes in the shower, but, by the time I return to the room, she’s asleep, clutching my pillow close to her.

  I should paint her in red.

  She’s trouble. She’s danger. She’s my Lolita and Circe.

  Instead, I quietly dry myself, climb into bed with her, and pull her into my arms.

  “Sloane?” she mumbles.

  “Yes, no one else,” I assure her.

  Offering me a sleepy smile, she snuggles against me. I hold her all night, no closer to knowing what to do with her as the first glimmer of sunlight sneaks between the slats in the blinds.

  Chapter Ten

  Cassandra

  Where’s Georgie? She’s supposed to be sick, but she’s not home when I arrive early in the morning. No one knows her whereabouts. For once, it irritates me that I don’t keep tabs on her.

  I’m suspicious about why Sloane hasn’t answered me, and I’m suspicious over her absence, especially after one of the maids hands me a days’ old newspaper with a photograph of Sloane arriving at a hospital. The very same hospital where Georgie was admitted.

  “Call Whitney. Tell her I’m home earlier than expected and I need her here.” She’s my assistant. She needs to be here to assist. I give the order to no one in particular. My staff is amassed in the kitchen, where I called them to ask about Georgie.

  As they scramble to follow my orders and also to begin their regular daily tasks, the
head gardener winks at me. Without saying a word, I know he enjoys my daily display in front of my window where I stand nude.

  Perhaps, a raise is in order for him. Or even a little pussy play. The idea has merit and I smile as I head to my office.

  An hour later, Whitney waltzes in, her blonde hair twisted in a severe bun, and her eyeglasses firmly in place. She’s in orange, and looks sallow with the color. I beam at her.

  “Find Georgiana,” I direct.

  She doesn’t talk to me much and I’m fine with that. She’s competent and efficient, and she proves her worth yet again when she hands me an address, ninety minutes later, and tells me that’s Georgie’s location.

  I frown. Perhaps, I’m wrong about my suspicions that she’s with Sloane. The address isn’t far from here. Still, something niggles at me. I’m slightly acquainted with the woman who lives at the address. I’ve snubbed her daughter more than once.

  Having me show up will be unexpected and, to them, a welcome surprise.

  Sloane

  If eyes shot bullets, Georgie would be dead. The moment we walk into the studio, Jaeger shoots her a death look. Kiln sits in one of the chairs around the equipment, along with the producers. Maitland, Adam, and Quint are already in the soundproof room.

  Today, I’m not late nor am I distracted. Georgie is here with me, so I don’t have to wonder if she’s somewhere fucking herself up. No one moves to offer her a seat, so I thump Kiln’s head.

  He glares at me, but gets to his feet and allows Georgie to sit. Meekly, she complies, shoving her hands under her thighs.

  “Keep Jaeger out of her face,” I warn him, not in the mood for his shit, too.

  Protest gathers in his face and he opens his mouth.

  “You’re my personal bodyguard, fucker.” He hates when I shove our changed relationship in his face. “I pay you to protect me and whoever else is with me. Georgie is with me, so earn your fucking keep.”

  Similar words, our positions reversed, drum through my head. I grit my teeth, stalking away.

  Inside the soundproof room, I slide my headphones into place, purposely keeping my back to the glass, so I won’t see what’s going on with Georgie and the others. Once I strap up, I press the fifth string and play it with the second fret. A string becomes B, but I pause. Riffs loop through my head, words…a song. I smile.

  I don’t believe in inspiration. I’ve never needed it before to create music, but this is all I have—music. It never lets me down. I’ve let it down, damaging the ebb and flow of my creativity. Still, it’s always there, waiting on me. Ready to forgive and let me back in. No explanations required.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I press the first string and keep it in the first fret. The energy in the room is changing. Maitland is already adding percussion. Adam stands silent, picking up the tone I’ve set and deciding what his addition will be.

  The sudden magic between us gives me a fucking head rush. My eyes shut, seeing the words behind the black void of my lids. At the last minute, Quint brings in the keyboard and we’re making music. Not for fucking money. Or fame. Or fans. We’re making music because we love it. It’s in our blood and soul.

  It becomes our tears and turmoil. It is our tears, our sweat, our passion.

  As we end the impromptu instrumental piece, we laugh and offer back slaps.

  “Time is fucking money.” Jaeger’s irritated voice bounces in the room.

  I curse him and every fucking promise I’ve ever made that tied me to Kiln and Jaeger. Professionally, at least. I had no control over the rest of it.

  “Give us a moment,” I say, casually glancing in Georgie’s direction. She’s talking to Kiln and one of the assistants. Relieved that she’s fine, I turn to my bandmates. “We have no lyrics for what we just played, but the sound vibes through me. Do you want to see where this takes us?”

  Quint’s pumped. “That was the fucking shit.”

  “Let’s go for it,” Maitland agrees.

  “We’re recording this time around,” I tell Jaeger, daring him to open his fucking mouth and complain that this is a new song, not on the list of included tracks when we drop the disc.

  Two hours of stops and starts, coupled with interruptions by Jaeger or one of the producers to offer constructive criticism, and the decision to not have the bassline so prevalent and we nail it. Words and all.

  When we’re done, Georgie claps and bounces up and down. At some point, I turned to her. She focused on me with rapt attention. I’ve had the eyes of millions on me, but I’ve never felt a look so physically as I did hers.

  Once we secure our instruments, we leave the room.

  Georgie squeals and stands on her tiptoes to hug me, which I assist by bending so she can reach my neck. I’m sweaty, but she doesn’t mind. “Oh my god, that was so fucking awesome.”

  Quint tosses his sticks into the air and catches them. “Fucking right.”

  Before anyone comments, the door opens. Cassandra glides in, narrowing her eyes at the sight of Georgie, standing next to me, still wearing my shirt, even though she now has her pants on.

  Kiln whistles.

  Jaeger stiffens. “I’m sorry, madam, but this is a private session.”

  Cassandra scoffs. “What are you doing here, Georgiana?”

  To her credit, Georgie recovers quickly. “I can ask you the same thing, Mom.”

  Cassandra sends me an ugly glower. I clench my teeth, breaking eye contact with her first.

  Georgie’s gaze travels between her mother and I. “What’s going on?” She looks at me again. The truth is dawning on her. She’s asked me twice what I was doing at her house the night we met. I’ve never answered her. “You’re here for Sloane?” she says in a trembling voice. “That’s why he was there that night.”

  It isn’t a question but rather a soul-crushing conclusion. Anguish twists her face and the eyes that I love so much fill with tears, liquid pools of amethysts. Her lips tremble and a sob escapes her. Just as I knew it would, the idea of me with her mother is tearing her apart. I vow, then and there, to smooth this over and never allow Georgie to discover my wretchedness.

  I reach for her. Sneering at me, Cassandra mimics my actions.

  “Georgie,” she coos, squeezing her daughter’s arm, her tone flat with condescension.

  Gritting my teeth so I won’t slam Cassandra away, I keep my hands at my sides, ignoring my need to hold Georgiana and comfort her. “Let me explain,” I tell her.

  She hiccups and shakes her head. “Explain?” she breathes in broken torment. “Explain you fucked my mother…” Her voice trails off and her eyes round. I wonder if her life has been sordid enough to where she’s figured out her father’s role. “Dad, too?” she whispers.

  Cassandra bristles and draws herself up. “As if I’d fuck him,” she says in a level voice, sparing me a single nod but not one glance. “I could if I wanted to, since I have experience to offer him and you have nothing.” She drops her fingers from Georgie and offers her a grim smile. “Mature women are underrated for our sexual experience. He could learn a thing or two from me that the groupies he fucks at every concert can’t offer him in a thousand years.”

  Kiln sniggers and I thrust my fingers through my hair in frustration. Cassandra really doesn’t give a fuck her words are crushing her daughter. She’s doing it out of jealousy and revenge for my spurning her. She believes I’ve taken Georgie to my bed, and has just trampled over whatever I might’ve told her to serve her purpose. Concern that her husband might discover our fucking drives her denial, otherwise, she’d willingly and gladly fill Georgie in on the gory details of the two times she and I fucked.

  Chin trembling, Georgie focuses on me. Her gaze begs me for an explanation, anything that she can latch onto to make her conclusions not be real. I’m searching, too. Georgie is so fragile. She tries to be tough and not give a fuck, but she does. She cares that her parents, her entire family, couldn’t give less of a fuck about her.

  She breathes in a deep b
reath and shudders. “Mom’s perfume was all over you that night.”

  Pain laces her barely audible voice. I feel lower than I ever have. It makes an explanation hard to manufacture.

  Once again, Cassandra rises to the occasion. Not for me or Georgie, though. She’s adding to her incorruptibility. “I hugged him when he agreed to spend time with you.”

  For once I’m glad Cassandra is so cavalier with Georgie. It lets me off the hook of her discovering I stuck my dick in her mother. Extreme relief flows through me and I shake my head in silent affirmation of Cassandra’s lie.

  Georgie blinks, doubt breaching the certainty of her idea. She glances at me. Her shoulders sag slightly when I concur with her mother’s explanation. Licking her lips, she gazes at her mom. “What…what do you mean?” she asks in a small voice. “Agreed to spend time with me?”

  Waving a hand in dismissal, Cassandra continues. “We wanted to surprise you.”

  Her mother’s words are credible to Georgie because she wants to believe them. It’s better than the alternative, but her indecision makes her as vulnerable as her previous anger.

  Regret mutes my relief. I consider confessing the truth then and there. She’d believe me, too. She trusts me. It was my agreement with her mother’s words that decided her. With every explanation Cassandra offered, Georgie looked to me for confirmation.

  Her trust in me is built on a house of lies. I don’t give a fuck. She believes in me and that’s what matters the most.

  “You don’t think he’s spending time with you because you’re so interesting?” she mocks in a hard voice. “He’s doing it as a favor.”

  Georgie’s relief, my relief, disintegrates. Her hands fly to her mouth and she whimpers. All over again, we’re thrust back into dangerous territory.

  “That’s bullshit, Georgiana,” I bark out.

  Cassandra lifts a smug brow. “As opposed to you and I fucking?”