Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  I don’t foresee that happening. In the hours we’ve been at this house, it’s been boring and quiet.

  We landed near Gulfport yesterday at Ocean Springs Airport, where the prerequisite black SUV—once again an Escalade—awaited us. While me, Kiln, and Georgie whisked away to a mansion overlooking Biloxi Back Bay, the others headed to Florida. I didn’t want a bunch of men crowding Georgie, so I sent them on their way.

  Kiln was bad enough. It seems the bastard is always being stuffed down my throat as a deterrent. First, my father did it and, now, Helen.

  “Your master told you to sit, Georgiana,” Kiln rumbles.

  He grips the back of a slatted chair, awaiting Georgie’s reaction to my order and his words. She looks much better than she did when we landed. Even if her hair is still almost as tangled as it was a few days ago. However, her cheeks are pinker and her eyes are brighter, though the wrist bandages are a gruesome reminder of her suicide attempt.

  She hisses at him, but doesn’t move. He fucking loves this battle between us.

  “Sit,” I throw over my shoulder again as I turn and head to the bathroom to dig out a first aid kit. Once I reach the rectangular room with an enclosed shower and bathtub next to a linen closet on one side and a double sink and cabinet on the other, I retrieved unopened gauze, peroxide and tape. A small window rests above the toilet along the other wall. The sun shines through the white curtains. The paisley wallpaper is ugly as fuck. If this was my house, I’d never have this shit anywhere.

  Thanking God for the simple elegance my mother had, I return to the kitchen and grit my teeth.

  Stubborn witch.

  Georgie still hasn’t complied. She’s wearing pink boxers with white polka dots and a white lacy tank top. Her bottoms hang loosely on her hips, but I know what’s beneath and I get an immediate boner. Laying my hand on her shoulder, I guide her to the table and force her onto the chair across from Kiln.

  Confusion fills her purple gaze. She curls her toes, laying one foot over the other. “G-good morning.”

  Yes, fuck. I didn’t offer her the most cursory greeting.

  My jaw clenches at her uncertainty and my swift regret. Determined not to allow my course to be swayed, I’m unable not to nod in acknowledgment. These next few minutes are supposed to set the tone for our stay here. Much like last night on the plane. Then, though, fatigue and worry, helped my attitude. And a dose of jealousy at seeing Kiln holding her so close to him as he carried her out of the hospital. This morning, she’s awake. Though she looks a thousand percent better, she’s still weak, not at all the girl I spent time with. Good in some respects, disappointing in others.

  My resolve stiffens, so I say in as rigid a tone as possible, “Once I see to your wrists, we’ll have breakfast.”

  Still not catching on to my attempt to play hardball with her, she wrinkles her nose. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Too bad,” I snap, annoyed in truth. She’s lost a lot of weight. “You didn’t eat much yesterday. Today that changes.”

  She cranes her neck and glances at the counter next to the stove, where three bowls sit next to a pot. Near the spoons and napkins, also on the counter, is a canister of oatmeal. “You can’t force me to fucking eat.”

  Fuck, I don’t blame her. I narrow my eyes at Kiln. “Asshole, where’s the grits?”

  “Grits, oatmeal, or gruel, I’m not fucking eating that shit,” Georgie snarls, interrupting before Kiln replies, partly to be difficult, but, mostly, because this is crap offerings.

  Instead of flinching at my glare, she returns it. Her temper relieves me and shows her spirit. She’s a survivor. She just has to be one at all costs.

  “I can force you to do whatever the fuck I choose.”

  “You think, dickhead?”

  Standing in front of her makes her eye level with my hard cock, so I use it to my advantage and crowd her in. I didn’t think this position through. Having her mouth so close to my dick is about as smart as offering a killer a loaded gun.

  I’m aware of her, but I’m just as aware of Kiln, therefore, I grab her wrists when she touches my thigh. At her inhalation of breath, I release my hold on her. Her cuts are still healing. However, I rethink my strategy and crouch in front of her.

  “This is how it will be. No touching. You follow my instructions if you don’t want me to lose my temper.”

  Her breath catches. For a moment, I see my rough warning appeals to her, but she won’t capitulate so easy. Her rebellion inflames my desire for her.

  “Fuck you,” she snarls, shoving me back and jumping to her feet, running toward her bedroom.

  I start after her, but Kiln grabs me. “You’ll only end up fucking her,” he warns me. “Find your running shoes and let’s go for a run.”

  He’s right, and, although I’ve exhibited very suspicious behavior around Kiln and the others with Georgie, it’s mostly been on the up-and-up, so I’m being tested. For more reasons than one, any affair I have with her will be a secret from everyone.

  Fuck. I won’t have an affair with her. I sigh. “A run it is.”

  “Oatmeal’s the only thing that was in the cabinets, by the way,” Kiln says with a shrug. “It was unopened.”

  “I don’t like oatmeal and Georgie doesn’t. Have groceries delivered.” I tick off a list. “Don’t forget a case of scotch.” At least.

  “Who’s cooking?”

  “You. Who else?”

  “No.”

  “I wasn’t asking if you were cooking. I’m telling you that you are cooking.”

  “The babysitter has a babysitter, which kind of makes me the boss around here. I’m not fucking cooking. I’m going to do takeout for us while we’re here.”

  “That’s because your brain’s in your feet.” No that’s because he’s an asshole, but in the interest of keeping our bullshit down for Georgie’s sake, I don’t point that out. Besides, he already knows that’s how I feel. “All some rabid fan has to do is see your bulldog face and my location will become known.”

  “I didn’t go with you to rehab,” he points out.

  Fuck, I should return to get the fuck away from him.

  “Sloane,” he grits through his teeth, so I know whatever he’s going to say is almost killing him. “I’ll be careful. With Georgiana here, I won’t allow anyone to smoke you out. Okay?”

  With reluctance, I agree, then go to my room and change into shorts and running shoes. I intend to bring a woman here who might very well rat me out. It’s hypocritical of me to insist Kiln not have contact with outsiders.

  Georgie

  Alone in the house, I search drawers cabinets, whatever that has doors or drawers that may hide my electronic devices. I’m on the verge of loonyness. A small grumble escapes me. More loonyness.

  In Sloane’s room, my quest is interrupted to breathe in his lingering scent. The jeans he wore at breakfast are thrown over the back of a chair. The heavy boots he likes sit on the floor nearby. His shirt is crumpled in the space between the bed and the wall, and his bed is haphazardly made.

  Curiosity gets the best of me and I glance over my shoulder, in full stealth-mode, before tipping to the side of the bed closest to the door. Each time I slept in his room, he always took that side, as if he’d be the first line of defense for any intruder surprising us.

  I lift the pillow and bring it to my nose, closing my eyes at the scent of musk and Sloane, the scent a combination of cologne and him. Although I want him to take me in his arms, I know why he can’t. I just don’t understand the end game here. Why is he acting like a drill sergeant instead of my friend?

  Sitting on the edge, I curl my arms around the fluffy pillow, then lean over and open the nightstand drawer, biting my lip at the pack of condoms greeting me. My heart sinks. My bedroom is isolated from the other two, on the opposite side of the house, along a small, separate hallway. I might hear if he has company, and I might not.

  Does he care?

  My fingers tremble as they close around the b
ox. The bandages around my wrists mock me. Pain at the jagged slash points prickle. I can’t decide if I’m sad or grateful to be alive.

  “Acceptance of…” The saying jumbles in my head. I concentrate to get the words right. “That which cannot be changed…”

  That isn’t it, either. All I see is the box of condoms. I’m hurt to my soul. Mom’s conversation that day in the studio returns, the facts about Sloane’s lifestyle that she threw in my face. A different woman in his bed every night. Blondes. Buxom. Older.

  It surprises me, but tears aren’t rushing to my eyes. There’s nothing but numbness when I recall her words. She’d said if I were lucky I would be dead by thirty-five. I was almost gone at sixteen. Would she have loved my memory? Pretended there was no bad and held onto the good as so many people do? A person reviled in life is suddenly revered in death. Would that have been Mom’s feelings about me?

  Tossing the pillow against the headboard, I grab the remote control, still stubbornly holding those condoms. The moment I flick the TV on, Sloane walks in and halts, narrowing his gorgeous blue eyes at me. His mouth thins in displeasure. Hhe stomps to me, grabbing the remote and turning the TV off again.

  He’s shirtless, sweat clinging to his chest and abs, dripping down his forehead and clinging to his hair. A small bit of hair beneath his belly button disappears into the waistband of his shorts. Heat sweeps through me, rising to my face, and fanning out over my entire body.

  “What are you doing in here? More to the point, what the fuck did you do to this house? It looks like a fucking tornado hit it.”

  My eyes snap to his and we face off. Suddenly, I’m so angry I can’t see straight. I throw the small box against his chest. “Fuck you, asshole.”

  A perfunctory glance at the package before he lunges for me. I dart to my feet, steady beneath the firmness of the mattress. He’s so quick, grabbing my legs and tackling me beneath him, covering me with every hard plane of him. He pins my hands above my head and breathes hard. Harder than he had been when he first walked in.

  “Let go of me!” I yell, squirming against him, determined not to lift my head and press my lips to his. “Take your fucking condoms and fuck your life away.”

  “I intend to,” he tells me with a hard note.

  Oh my God. My tears betray me, rushing to my eyes, so I turn my face away, but he sees them and bends, running his tongue along one of the wet trails sliding down my cheeks.

  “What are you doing in my room, Georgiana?” His voice is deep and demanding. It’s soothed me and served as my lullaby for so many years, but I’m still not immune to it. “Answer me.”

  “I’m searching for my things. I need to do something.”

  He presses his erection against me, and I groan. Instead of nightclothes, I’m wearing a sundress with a matching shrug to keep my arms covered. Because of the bandages and the strength of the a/c.

  His lips brush against my neck and I open my legs to cradle him better. My panties are cute, but they’re small, lacy, and soaked, useless to block out the feel of his hard length. I swear the tip of him burns against me, so I raise my pelvis and rock against him. My nipples are painful and hard. As if he knows all the places I ache for him, he shoves my top down and palms my breast, staring at me as he does this, before bending his dark head and sucking my nipple into his mouth.

  “Sloane,” I whisper, combing my fingers through his damp hair, not caring about the sweat on him. His smell increases my excitement. I trace his ear and the gold hoops that he favors above all other earrings.

  My breasts are small, so he has no problem covering nearly the entire mound with his mouth, swirling his tongue around my nipple, while keeping a steady suction going, his lips hot against my skin.

  He leaves me, and I whimper in protest. Instead of deserting me, he slides his hands over my skin and removes my panties. He sniffs them and runs his tongue along the wet seat, the animalistic action almost sending me over the edge.

  His fingers glide along my seam. I brush my clit against his movements, my hands tweaking my nipples. A moan escapes me.

  “Shhh,” he soothes, covering me again and placing his mouth over mine. It takes a moment to realize his fingers are gone. Braced above me, we’re only connected mouth-to-mouth.

  “Make love to me.”

  “No.”

  “Sloane—"

  Now that he has my full attention, he gets to his feet. His erection presses against his loose shorts and his gaze sweeps over me. My legs are spread open. My body is as frustrated from a lack of release, as my mind is jumbled from all the emotions.

  “Now that I have your full attention…Stay out of my room. It’s useless to search for your shit because it isn’t here.”

  Turning his back on me, he rubs his neck. As his words penetrate my brain, I snap my legs closed and sit up. He only touched me like that to get my attention? Not because he felt any desire for me. My knees draw up and I rest my cheek on them, the same old emptiness slamming into me.

  “Did you hear me?”

  I hear him now, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of answering, so I clamp my jaw together in childish rebellion.

  “Get out of my room and don’t come back in without my permission.”

  A slew of arguments rise in me, but I scoff at their insignificance. “Do you know why I chose you over Grandma?”

  His shoulders heave. I think he’s softened. He hasn’t. “I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Because you’re as much of an ass as Crowell is.” I’ve descended to full on bitch-brat. Knowing how he detests Josh’s friend is a low blow on my part. Who cares? All’s fair in grumpiness and assholery. “I thought you cared. I thought we were friends. Grandma would attempt to turn me into the blithering puppet she’s made Mom and Dad. I’m already half afraid of her. I didn’t have the energy to pit my will against hers.”

  He still won’t face me. “So I’m the lesser of two evils?”

  The flames and the Phoenix are glistening with lingering patches of sweat. “At the moment, you’re the greater of two evils.”

  His shoulders relax a little and he glances at me, affording me a view of his smile in profile. The man’s beautiful from any direction.

  “Do you remember the night we met?”

  “Yes.” As long as I live, I’ll never forget it.

  “I wanted to help you.” Finally, he comes to the bed and sits on the edge, leaning in his favorite pose, elbows on knees. This time, though, he looks tragic, with his head in his hands. “I was afraid you’d OD, so I had to get those drugs from asshole…” His voice trails off. “It was a struggle. A test,” he amends and clarifies, “after you left and I had the coke. It took everything in me to get rid of that shit. But it was your words…Sloane, please…the memory of your voice…it meant something to me.”

  This moment between us is so fragile, I’m almost afraid to speak and break it. Each time, he affords me a glimpse into his thoughts, his real life, our bond solidifies. We connect in every way a girl and a boy…a man and a woman…can. I slide closer to him, lay my hand against the red guitar tat.

  “You wanted to save me?”

  I already know the answer. Kiln told me. Though Sloane flinches, he nods.

  “Because you couldn’t save her? Your sister?” I think of the girl who gave him the acoustic guitar and suspicion wells in me. “She’s the one, right? The one who gave you the guitar?”

  “Yes. Steffie.”

  On my knees, I nuzzle his neck until he gives in and pulls me onto his lap.

  “She drowned…” His voice trails off and he tenses, as if there’s more.

  “You were there?”

  “Yes.”

  “She wouldn’t want you to spend your life so eaten up with guilt.”

  “You didn’t know her.”

  “So she’s that selfish?” Another thought occurs to me. “Had she lived, would you even give a fuck about me?”

  “I don’t know. Had she lived, who knows how my
life would’ve turned out.”

  “Is it so bad? Despite how much information is inaccurate, you still live an elite life. One that many people would kill to have.”

  No response.

  “Sloane, there’s something I have to tell you.” I really haven’t considered Kiln’s revelations beyond the conversation I had with him. Things moved at a frantic pace, so I couldn’t slow down enough to begin to muddle through the words, our sister. “I know you and Kiln are brothers.”

  “I know. I was standing in the doorway when he told you his bullshit.”

  “Not quite a revelation, huh? He just dropped the supposed reasons for why you were looking over me and let the implication hang in the air.”

  “He’s a fucking asshole like that,” Sloane grumbles.

  “He loves you.”

  “We detest each other,” he counters. “And, one other thing, Jaeger is his brother, too.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re being an asshole now. Obviously, you’re all related.”

  “More’s the fucking pity.”

  “Sloane—"

  “This is it, Georgie. As much as I’m willing to share with you.”

  He’s going to send me on my way. It’s odd how I can feel his emotional withdrawal in a physical way, even though I’m still on his lap and in his arms. “One more thing. Please?” I ask in a small voice. While he’s talking, I just need to know once and for all.

  “Georgiana—"

  “Did you spend time with me because Mom and Dad asked you to do it? Because of…of Steffie? Just tell me that.”

  I’ve hit a nerve. His pulse increases and he sucks in a breath, but, then, he kisses my forehead. "Cassandra and Parnell have never influenced me one way or the other where you’re concerned.”

  Is it only my imagination or has he stiffened even more when he says my mother’s name?

  “Neither of them had absolutely anything to do with my decision to see you. That should be fucking obvious. Do you really think they would hire me so you can suck my dick and I can eat your pussy?”

  “You never know with them,” I mutter before I catch myself. Ignoring my need for him to use his mouth on me again, I gasp. “I’m sorry. My parents have issues, but they aren’t bad.”