Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  The guys have paused at various points and are signing autographs, shaking hands, posing for photographs, and kissing random girls. Even Sloane. I glance over my shoulder. Sloane and a brown-haired girl are whispering back and forth. Based on their body language—curved toward one another—I know they are flirting.

  I almost crack open then and there, but I chose him over my grandmother, so I have to deal with his lifestyle and the way he treats me, as if I’m a poodle on a leash.

  For once, Kiln isn’t smirking, and that fact is even worse than his grim scowl. I attempt to dig my heels in and wait for Sloane, but Kiln is so fucking strong. He nearly jerks my arm out of its socket as he yanks me forward again, not stopping until we’ve reached the backstage of the stadium, where the band is set to perform later tonight.

  Sloane

  Red, white, and black rip through the concert venue and my blood is like electrical currents racing through my veins. I feed off the intensity of the crowd’s energy. They are livewires, sparking at the band’s decision to resume the tour.

  My lead guitar, my favorite guitar, is racked for now, and, instead I’m playing rhythm. Judging by the panties flying in my direction, I decide the crowd approves. Maitland and I are ripping through our opening act. Since Georgiana is backstage, I’ve ordered we forego the fucking controlled fire.

  Controlled or not, shit can go fucking sideways. That’s why fire marshalls have always banned it since we incorporated it into our act, and that’s why we’ve always paid such hefty fines.

  But I love living on the edge, pushing the limits. As the color bursts morph into red, white and blue and form the American flag on the screen, Maitland and I walk towards opposite ends of the stage. Tonight, he’s singing the opening act before we launch into the new song, the one that rose in my brain from nowhere.

  No one beyond the studio has heard it before and I’m nervous, as if this is the first time I’m onstage, performing in front of so many people. Once the song drops—the only single before the album’s release—we’ll do a casting call for the video. We discussed on the plane ride hiring dancers to tour with us. Again. I’ve sworn to keep my dick in my pants this time around and not touch one of the girls.

  Adam’s croon has calmed the crowd and he glances at me to take over. Maitland’s pounding beat crescendos over the bass, slowly sliding into a faster pace, a sexier groove to usher me in.

  I haven’t greeted the fans tonight. I’m not in the greeting mood. As the spotlight narrows to me, I know my mic has become the dominant one, so I raise my fist, and the music ceases.

  A thirty second delay before I say or do anything and the crowd is roaring, screaming my name, crying it. A smile is locked inside of me, but it won’t release. I can’t let it go because I’m really not in a smiling mood, either.

  I glance to the side of me and see Georgie. Her sadness is tearing me the fuck up. Just as I couldn’t prevent Steffie from drowning, I’m doing a piss-poor job of saving Georgiana. Metaphorically, she’s sinking to the bottom. She’s trying to hold on and I think it’s for me.

  My control is tightly reined in. The moment I release it, there’ll be no turning back. So I live inside of my head, which has been a fucked-up place for years. I only talk to her to issue orders. My every intention was to leave her in Ocean Springs, to get the fuck away from her, but I couldn’t do it, so I regrouped and came up with a disguise for her.

  I can’t fucking stand that the conversation I overheard between Kiln and Georgiana has brought the memories of that day—of Steffie—back. Now, as then, I’d do anything not to have witnessed what my father did. More than that, I’d give anything to save my sister. Risk everything. Give my own life.

  Georgiana isn’t Steffie, though. She isn’t Georgiana, either. That’s her legal name, but she’s Georgie. Fucked-up, destructive, and young.

  She shifts and I realize I’ve missed my cue. There’s no anticipation now. Only silence.

  But that’s what she does to me—throws me off-kilter, out-of-balance, and out of sync.

  Georgie

  The after-concert party is keeping me awake and I toss and turn in my bed. Sloane has assigned me my own room in his suite. I’m a minute from going out there and ordering them to shut the fuck up, so I can sleep. Or better yet, leave. The sound of the women’s cackles and screechy voices are hurting my ears.

  Tomorrow, we leave for Columbia, South Carolina, where my new tutor that Jaeger hired will join us. I’ll bet it’s a hot girl who Sloane intends to fuck. Just as he’s fucking a girl beyond the door.

  In that moment, I can’t stand him. I’m so isolated I’m beginning to dream up voices in my head just to have fucking company. I have no idea what possessed me to choose Sloane. Nor do I have any idea what possessed my grandmother to give me the choice of her or Sloane.

  Yeah, right, go ahead, dear, choose between hanging yourself and blowing your head off. Silly me, I’ve chosen the slowest death possible.

  I can’t understand how everything went so off-track. One moment, I was meeting Sloane, and he was visiting me, watching over me, bringing me to his hotel room and spending an evening with me, to…this.

  Something slams against my door and I bolt up. Fed up, I stomp from my bed, not bothering to wear the robe he insists I use during breakfast or whenever else I’m in my nightclothes. He’ll just have to deal with my tank top and boy shorts.

  Yanking open the door, I pause. It’s the six of them in various stages of nudity—I really need eye bleach for Jaeger and Kiln—and a dozen naked women. The brown-haired girl from earlier is giving Sloane head. I vomit in the back of my throat, as tears rush to my eyes.

  No one notices me, as usual. The only time I’m really paid any attention to is when I’m being a brat. The scene pushes me over the edge and I feel a major meltdown brewing in me.

  “Get away from him,” I order, rushing the girl and surprising the fuck out of her when I grab her hair and drag her away from Sloane. She elbows me and I free her, but I’m so angry, all I see is Sloane and I spring on her, punching her jaw. I’m dragged backward, but I don’t care. I’m screaming and kicking and crying and yelling enough profanities to make a sailor applaud me.

  My heart is pounding and I only hear its rapid staccato in my ears. Suddenly, I’m shaken so hard my brain rattles. I still, breathing hard, and hissing at everyone. They’re staring at me like I’m a freak show.

  Sloane’s behind me. Not only do I know the feel of him, but Maitland, Adam, Quint, Kiln, and Jaeger are amongst the spectators.

  Sloane shoves me away. Despite his intent to send me sprawling, I still land on my feet. “Go the fuck back in your room and stay there until I call you.”

  The girls snicker, and the one I knocked on her ass stares at me in triumph. I hop to my feet and knee Sloane in the balls. As he doubles over, I scratch his jaw. Go for the asshole causing the trouble and that falls squarely on his fucking shoulders.

  “I’m leaving,” I snarl. “Since you’ve cut me off from the entire world, call Grandma, you fucking prick. Tell her I’d rather be with her any day over you.”

  His glare should crack me to pieces. It angers me more.

  “Fuck you,” I spit at him.

  He hobbles to the seat he’d been in having his dick sucked, and indicates for the girl to come back to him. At that, I almost double over, but then I don’t care about my actions anymore. He’s kept me, but at what cost?

  Kiln lounges nearby, sipping a drink, completely naked. He’s a dickhole, but he’s willing to make love to me. More than that, he’s the one I’ve been around. Allowing my mind to go completely blank, I head to him. He sees my aim and I wouldn’t put it past the asshole to turn me away. He doesn’t. When I stand on my tiptoes and plant my mouth on his, he kisses me back. His cock rises between us and I suck down a sob.

  I don’t want him. We know it, but if I’m childish enough to debase myself and open my legs to him, he’s predatory enough to take what I offer. His fingers thumb
my nipples and I grunt.

  A thud and a squeak reaches my ears, but I don’t stop sucking at Kiln’s tongue to discover the sources of the noises. Kiln turns me and bends me over. Before he makes another move, I’m snatched so ferociously from his grip I land flat on my belly.

  I roll over, but Sloane catches me and throws his body over mine, pinning me to the ground. The look in his eyes promise murder. As he glowers at me, he speaks. “Jaeger, take the girls to your room. Do what you must to keep this quiet.”

  No one says anything until Jaeger and the women are gone, then Sloane drags me to my feet and wraps an arm around me, imprisoning me against him.

  “You picked up a girl to fuck five feet from where I was.” I’m crazy to be so hurt. He has no ties to anyone, me especially. Fucking a bunch of women is a part of his life. I just happen to be along for the ride, at the moment. It still hurts, though. I sob softly. “Never mind,” I relent, wanting to beg him to please, at least wait until I’m out-of-sight before he arranges his dick sucks for the day.

  The tension bunching his muscles frightens me. I hate his silence more than I despise the way he barks orders.

  Kiln stares over my head, not flinching. The longer those blue-green eyes narrow, the tighter Sloane’s grip becomes. They are involved in some type of He-Man match.

  “Don’t ever touch her again.”

  As the first speaker, it feels as if Sloane has conceded something.

  “I don’t touch what I’m not offered,” Kiln responds softly. “Unlike you.”

  “Georgie isn’t up for the offering.”

  So he’s back to calling me Georgie again? That’s fucking news to me. I’m suddenly released and my arms flail for balance.

  “Go back to your fucking room,” Sloane orders.

  “No.” I go to the sofa and flop down next to Maitland, wrinkling my nose at the scent of sex. “I’m not going anywhere near that room ever again.” That’s kind of overdramatic, but it’s keeping his attention. Any moment, the blood vessels popping from his temples and neck will explode.

  “If you force me to make you go to your room, you’ll be fucking sorry.”

  I snort. “What are you going to do? Lock me in a room? Withhold food? Keep me in the dark? Or just be a general dickhead because you’re so fucking good at it?”

  Rage sweeps over his face. If that hadn’t registered a moment before he lunged for me, he would’ve caught me. Instead, I spring to the side, knocking over the end table, sending it—and—me crashing to the floor. I’m only glad just condoms are on the table and not anything glass.

  Maitland and Kiln—now wearing pants—grab Sloane and hold him back, while Adam and Quint help me to my feet, placing their bodies in front of mine. From behind the human walls, I tell Sloane exactly what’s on my mind, adlibbing most of the shit as I go along.

  “I’m sorry I ever met you. You’re nothing like who I thought you were. You’re moody and mean and one-dimensional and just plain fucked up. I’m sorry your sister died. Believe me I am so very, very sorry you couldn’t drag her from that pool—” Or wherever—“but I’m not her. You can’t save me. I was fucking lost when you found me and I’ll be lost when you decide to throw me away. Whatever else goes on, the one thing that isn’t, is me staying with you anymore.”

  There are a few curses and more grunts, but Sloane frees himself and knocks through my protection. He reaches out, then pulls back, closing his eyes and balling his fists.

  “You want to fuck Kiln?” he grates.

  I fuck up my chances of an attempt to make Sloane jealous and scowl at Kiln, growling at his half-smile. “No and he doesn’t want to fuck me. His dick just aims at the most available pussy to get into.”

  Kiln barks laughter, but Sloane isn’t so amused. When is he ever?

  He cups my face between his thumb and index finger. “You’re right,” he admits. “I want to save you. I don’t want you to become another statistic or to get a call that you’ve Od’d. I want to know you’re happy and healthy and thriving somewhere. What do you need to know about me to help yourself? Not one fucking thing. It doesn’t matter what compelled me to look after you. Does it? I want to save you from yourself when no one saved Steffie. Or me.”

  He caresses my cheek and it’s the first tenderness he’s shown me in days. I lean into his touch and tip my head against his hand. He sighs and embraces me, kissing the top of my head.

  Is this a turning point or another false start?

  Sloane

  Georgie is soft in my arms, breaking down my resistance and defenses.

  Bullshit.

  The sight of her with Kiln is what did it. I can’t take it any longer. Fighting my attraction to her is futile, as long as she’s around me. I don’t even have to see her. Knowledge is supposedly power, but, in my case, knowledge is temptation.

  Other than returning her to her fucked up family, I don’t know what else to do but give in. Days ago, the thought crossed my mind that I’d have the most control over her if I took her as my lover.

  But what is a lover?

  I’ve had girlfriends, trysts, submissives, hookups, booty calls, and physical expressions from my fans. I’ve never had a fucking lover. My parents were lovers. They loved each other and confided in each other. But they were fucking toxic to anyone outside of their circle of love.

  Georgie isn’t going to respond to me any other way. I’ve pushed her too far. The way I’ve treated her for the past days hasn’t given her structure or discipline. It’s hurt her worse.

  Besides, she’s right. On impulse, I arranged to have a random fan attend my concert and return to my hotel room with her almost within hearing distance. The woman never expected to fuck me. She was just hoping to get a glimpse—maybe, an autograph—and awaited our arrival.

  I close my eyes to shut out Kiln’s ugly glare. She’s just a means to an end for him, a way to repay me for all the harm I’ve caused. But he threw the gauntlet down first. He’s still waiting for me to fuck up. However, I’ve inadvertently bought myself time by canceling the Midwestern leg of our tour. We have to recoup those losses.

  The scent of Georgie’s hair and skin envelope me and I bury my nose in the silken strands. They’re damp with sweat, and heat is escaping her head in waves.

  I’ve fought many, many battles over my life. To date, I’ve only lost one. My sister. It galls me that a girl is bringing me so low. I’m better than this. I’m better than wanting to open up to a girl. Once open, my soul will be laid bare and I won’t ever be able to release her.

  Why her?

  I wish I knew the fucking answer. Part of it is lust. I’ve known that from the moment I laid eyes on her. Part of it is empathy. She’s me all over again. Part of it is fascination. She’s so fucking immature and yet she comes up with amazing insight at times. And, part of it, is pure fucking instinct. My life is fucking ironic to the extreme.

  My life wouldn’t allow me to meet her when she’s eighteen. That would be too easy. It would’ve been too easy for me to become infatuated with her mother. Or, fuck, her father, and men aren’t the way I roll.

  “The tour ends in two weeks, Georgie,” I say hoarsely, kissing her head, her temples, and her eyelids. “I’ll have six weeks off before I have to go to Europe for the next leg. Before then, I’m taking you to Denver. My house. I want you to make a concerted effort to focus on you. At the end, whether you’re well or not, we part ways.”

  She steps back and her crushed expression tears me up. She doesn’t seem to understand that I’m finished fighting to keep my hands off of her. For better or worse, illegal or immoral, I’m taking her to my bed.

  Fingers on her elbow, I guide her around the guys and order her to sit on the sofa. They can’t save me from Georgie. They’ve tried with valiant efforts to hang around us and to keep me plied with women.

  “So what now?”

  Kiln. Kiln. Fucking Kiln. The only motherfucker with the nuts to ask that question, when he knows what the fuck now.
>
  “Now, you get your fucking revenge, or keep the fuck quiet and let me work this out,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “The one thing you aren’t doing, motherfucker, is making me tip around and fucking fear your intentions.”

  The hate he tries to cover up, blasts me. I despise my father a little more for putting me in this situation.

  “You fear me?” he asks with scorn, then laughs with bitterness. “That’s fucking rich. Your secret plaything is safe with me. The money, my paycheck, is what I see when I look at you.”

  He nods to where Georgie has curled up and fallen asleep. She’s exhausted. It’s after three in the morning. After flying into Raleigh and heading straight to the concert venue, I kept her up with my party.

  His consideration of Georgie produces not one change in expression, not one chink in his armor. With a final look, he stalks to the door and leaves me alone with my band members.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” Maitland asks.

  Lately, he’s been the most talkative one. To me, at least.

  I smile and massage my neck. “Do I ever?” Rethinking my answer, I grimace. “I won’t touch her any more than I have,” I swear, although I know I’m lying. Addicts lie with a straight face, and, although I kicked my drug habit, I still have the characteristics of a junkie. “Trust me.”

  The four of us have known each other since we were boys, just out to conquer the world with our music. That’s why it felt like such a betrayal when they sided with Kiln and Jaeger, and threatened to kick me out of my own fucking band.