Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Nodding, I peep at my toes, but he tugs me towards the entrance hall and a door in the far left corner. He presses his thumb against a flat silver pad. The door slides open, revealing an elaborate staircase.

  “There’s a back entrance, too,” he explains. “You can get out, but make sure you have whatever you need. I’m the only one who can get in here, besides Zelda, and she’s been given time off with everyone else.”

  I frown. “Why her?”

  “She’s been with my family since I was five.” He eyes me. “We don’t need to get her involved in our business.”

  “She’d turn you in?”

  “She’d lecture the fuck out of me and then protect me with her life.”

  “Would she like me?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes. If she’s known you since you were a child, she’ll have some influence over you.”

  He doesn’t answer me or give me one clue to his thoughts.

  “Do the guys know we’re lovers?”

  “I swore I wouldn’t touch you. They believed me, so this is between us.”

  My eyes narrow in skepticism, but he truly believes we’re a secret, so I trust him.

  A red light flashes on the panel. “I’ve taken too long to open the door. In thirty-five more seconds, an alarm will sound throughout the house, if I don’t repeat the procedure.”

  I’m speechless, for a second, and jump when the door slams shut. “Is there a reason you have Pentagon-style security?”

  “Yes,” he says tightly. “And his fucking name is Kiln.”

  Sloane

  In silence, I lead Georgie to the master bedroom. She’s had the wind taken out of her, so I attempt an explanation. In a few minutes. Right now, I’m too busy enjoying her reaction to my house. It’s as if she grew up in a trailer park. One thing that’s been so difficult for me is that there isn’t a lot I can offer her that will impress her. An expensive bauble as a bargaining chip is out of the question, because her parents shoved jewels, cars, and money at her without her having to ask.

  Still, I’ve gotten control of Georgie through attention and orgasms. She’s mine, body and soul, and I know it.

  Having had the best six days of my life, I’ve pushed aside any lingering guilt. Now, though, it seems as if I have found something besides sex and time to interest her.

  I lean against my burgundy colored wall, one booted sole resting against it. My arms are folded. Although I have space in here, I don’t have a lot of furniture. My big bed. Two night stands and a small table with four chairs. I don’t stop her when she begins to open doors to my simple walk-in closet, that arcs into the comfortably-sized bathroom, with a Roman style shower—no bathtub—and leads to a bigger, empty closet on the other side. It takes her through the sitting room with a sofa, a bar, and a big screen television, before bringing her back to me.

  “At home,” she begins, “the house I grew up in is beautiful. But it’s cold. It has no life. No joy. Just beauty.” Her voice catches. “Sometimes, the most exquisite creature hides the ugliest soul.” She clutches her shirt and shifts. “I think that’s why I didn’t like your receiving room. It’s gorgeous, but it’s heartless.”

  “I understand,” I tell her gravely. Because I do. I smile thinly. “Why do you think I meet my father in there? The room suits the man.”

  She swallows and licks her lips. “You don’t get along with him?”

  Pushing my hands in my pockets, I shove away from the wall. “What did your magazines and internet reports say?” I already know, but I want to hear the lies my father manufactured from her.

  “That you’re an only child and you had an ideal childhood, so it was inconceivable why you turned—“

  Her words stop abruptly. She draws her brows together.

  I tip her chin up and caress her jaw. “Why I turned to drugs?” I finish for her.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want the truth, Georgie? Are you ready for it?”

  “Is it so bad?”

  I brush my lips against hers and laugh with bitterness. “It’s worse.”

  “Tell me.”

  I guide her to the sitting room and pour myself a drink. I need fortification for this. She listens avidly as I tell my story, her various emotions flitting across her face with each new revelation. Pity. Pain. Outrage. Disgust. Anger. And what I’ve felt for so long—sadness.

  When I’m done, she leans back on the sofa and pulls me to her, silently offering me her body for comfort. I have to break her of the habit, because it’s as much to give herself relief, as it is for me.

  So far I’ve kept her away from drugs and alcohol, and I’ve stopped her from swearing like a goddamn sailor. I’m also keeping her occupied, and out of sight. What I’m failing horribly at, is keeping my dick to myself. Suddenly, sharing such a painful part of my life with her alters our relationship.

  I sink into her, and she sighs. I finger the hair growing back on her cunt. I think I’ll kill Crowell once and for all if she ever shaves her pubic hair back into the style he dictated. I didn’t tell her that, though. I only mention that I want to pick a style for my enjoyment.

  She comes hard against me. I remember to pull out of her at the last minute, spurting on her pussy mound. After we’re finished, I carry her to the shower and make love to her once more.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Cassandra

  I grip the window sill as I stare out at the rolling green fields. Not too far away is a wooden fence that leads to a gazebo. In the weeks I’ve been at the facility, I’ve never ventured out of the room. Part of it is rebellion, and part of it is fear. Although I’m angry and resentful that I was put away, the only thing I’m responsible for is me. Eat. Brush my teeth. Decide if I’ll speak to my psychiatrist. Ignore the staff. Wait for Parnell’s daily call.

  And…humor my mother. I now wear silk nightclothes. Mother’s doing. She knows the importance of a well-groomed appearance. My expensive clothes sets me apart from the wannabes of the world.

  A bird swoops past the window. I follow its flight, lunging to the ground, but soaring up just before it lands. Mother’s droning voice has silenced. I turn. Her shrewd gaze makes me flinch.

  “One more week,” she informs me, “before you’re released.”

  “So kind of you,” I tell her sarcastically. “Throw me in without my permission and yank me away in the same manner.”

  She snorts. “You needed help.”

  “Well, I’ve gotten it, and surprise, it’s become my sanctuary.”

  “Oh, please. It’s time for you to reenter the world. Kia will bring a few pants suits for you to choose from, for you to wear on the day you’re released.”

  “Why would your stylist bring me wardrobe choices?” I’m completely confused. My main concern is getting home to my husband. He’s showing the concern towards me that he did when we first met. “I don’t expect to run into anyone.”

  “You’ll only run into everyone.”

  My brows draw together. I head to my bed. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re an example of a survivor,” she says, transferring her disgusted gesture in my direction. “Young, rich girls in some type of rehab are a dime a dozen. But your story is inspiring. A woman who embraces her age, and had the maturity to recognize her despair. She willingly checked herself in for help, and now wants to share her experience to encourage other women.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “My mind is in perfect working order, Cassandra. If your father had ever suggested we bring outside people to our bed, he would’ve begged me to forgive him by the time I was done. I wouldn’t have allowed his cunning games to drive me mad, or desert my only daughter.” She glares at me. “Out of the two of us, I can comfortably say that I’m the saner one. Now, you were saying—“

  Yes, I was saying something, but Mother’s words—her plans—are making my heart pound. “I’m wrinkled and gray and old. I can’t face the world and admit—“r />
  “If you’re around year after year, you won’t have to say your age. Sooner or later, it’ll be figured out. You’re middle-aged. Deal with it.”

  She didn’t tell me I wasn’t wrinkled and gray.

  “Have you considered the alternative to aging?”

  “Happiness!” I cry.

  “Death, you idiot.”

  Saliva fills my mouth at her response, and I swallow. One time in memory have I considered suicide. Fear has always stayed me. I don’t know if my soul would rebirth to make me new and young again, or if it would all be for nothing.

  “What kind of message are you sending to women?”

  “Does it matter?” I fling back at her, since she seems to have all of this figured out. “It doesn’t. You’re old. No matter what you do, you’re not getting any younger. You’re not sexual—“

  “My sex life is in perfect condition. Do you want details?”

  Horrified at the thought, I stare at her—and shock myself by uttering, “Ew!”

  Mother laughs, as if the joke is on me, when the images playing in my head of her…and…a man…and her…oh my God. That’s the most disgusting scenario I’ve ever had.

  “You’re spoiled.”

  “You spoiled me.”

  “We all have,” she agrees with a sigh.

  “Sloane didn’t.”

  “Forget him,” she warns in a deadly calm voice.

  “How can I? Isn’t Georgie still with him?”

  “I’m taking care of my granddaughter,” she assures me. “Do you want to talk to her?”

  She was with Sloane while I was in here. I ended up finding a measure of peace within these walls, but it’s still a bitter pill to swallow.

  “Do you want a divorce from your husband?”

  “What? No! I love Parnell.” His fixation on younger women has broken me. I don’t think I’ll ever recover all of my self-worth.

  “Then you’ll do exactly as I say and never have to worry about your husband straying again.”

  “Where’s Georgiana?” I shriek.

  Mother sighs. “You’re still here, so she’s being looked after until you’re better. It won’t be long before she’s back. Just a few more weeks.”

  I stiffen. “I don’t want her. Keep her. Let her go to hell.”

  Heaving in a noisy breath, Mother narrows her eyes and my heart races. I must be insane to say that, when she has the power to have me kept here. No. Parnell has the power, but he goes along with what she says.

  “Where is she?” I repeat again, wanting to hear from Mother that Georgie’s still with Sloane. He’s nothing but a petty wannabe, a six-year-old with the body of a man. People like us don’t concern ourselves with people like Georgie. He’s in the limelight, a public figure, and instead, he’s acting as if he understands the problems of a girl.

  How ordinary.

  “Her location is a secret.”

  Lowering my lids, I can’t stop my smirk. “Even dead men tell secrets, Mother,” I say sweetly.

  “Meaning?”

  “Nothing’s safe,” I clarify, so she won’t think I’ve just threatened Georgie. I would never kill her. I just wouldn’t save her. “No one. No secret. Safe. Ever.”

  My ridiculous way of talking doesn’t annoy her at all. I thought maybe throwing her stupid speech pattern back at her, I’d get under her skin.

  “If you don’t want the child, don’t concern yourself with her whereabouts. Now, stop interrupting and listen to me. Or else we’ll keep you here another four or five months.

  Despite what she believes, I’m not crazy, so I settle down, shut the hell up, and follow my mother’s words closely.

  Georgie

  I’m floating on cloud nine, higher than I’ve ever been, but it has nothing to do with coke or weed or any other type of drug I’ve dabbled with. My high is natural. Sloane. Sloane’s my addiction.

  After a breakfast of hash browns, sausage, and eggs, that we cook together, he invites me into his music room. He makes me promise to behave, so, with as much innocence as I can muster, I cross my heart. It’s the first time in the two days I’ve been here that he’s asked me in when he practices. From the inside, I have a perfect view of the den and kitchen. Outside, however, all I see is my reflection.

  I walk amongst the drum kit, piano, four racked guitars, and music stands as he presses buttons on the wall. Low static fills the room, but when he adjusts the knobs, it quiets. Pretending the fact that he’s wearing only pajama bottoms doesn’t affect me, I sit in an overstuffed armchair.

  Strapping up, he turns to me and offers me a boyish smile. His hair is all over his head. He has a day’s stubble on his face, but he’s so hot, and sexy, it’s hard for me to remain seated.

  He moves his long fingers and a rock lead serenades me. My body flushes at the hungry look in his eyes. We stare at one another as he plays again.

  We made love most of the night. One of the boxes of condoms he purchased yesterday afternoon is completely gone. He should’ve listened to me and picked up a couple of twelve packs, instead of several three packs. It’s like I’m talking about beer, although I have to admit the cum he fills the condoms with is pretty tasty.

  I giggle at the thought and he pauses.

  “Care to share?”

  “Your semen is delicious,” I offer.

  He lifts a brow and his eyes smolder. “Good to know, since I love to have you drink it.”

  I blush to the roots of my hair. Soft laughter rumbles from him before he beckons me with the crook of his finger. Though I obey the silent instruction, his hard cock commands my attention. My hand grips him the moment I stop in front of him.

  “Ah-ah-ah,” he chants, twisting away. “You promised to behave.”

  I roll my eyes and sniff, deepening his amusement.

  He gestures to his guitar. “Your fathead father wanted you to learn to play.”

  “You just insulted my dad!”

  “He deserves more than my insults,” he retorts, and changes the subject by offering me his guitar.

  Cursing under my breath, I place the strap of the guitar over my shoulder and pluck at a couple of strings. Soon, my irritation floats away. I giggle at the grating sound I pollute the air with.

  Sloane smiles before placing his body behind mine, and covering both my hands—the one holding the neck of the guitar and the one at the strings—with his.

  “Do you know which string and fret plays what key?”

  His thick erection pressing against my back scatters my brain. Even if I did know it, I’d forget. I shake my head.

  “Like this.” His fingers guide my hand and he bites my ear, whispering, “Follow my lead.”

  My heart hammers and my body responds to his immediately. Interest to play his guitar quickly wans and turns into desire for him. The short synth we do doesn’t register. Sensing he’s lost me for a music lesson, he removes the guitar and sets it aside, pulling me into his arms, and sweeping me off my feet. I immediately wrap my legs around his waist, groaning when he pushes into me, stretching me around him, and kissing my neck.

  His hands cup my ass. I flatten my palms against his shoulders, bouncing, the friction sending streaks of fire through me. As I near my orgasm, I hug him and lay my head on his shoulder.

  “Sloane,” I whisper.

  “Let it go, baby,” he returns and I do.

  Sloane

  “Wanna race?”

  Before I can answer, Georgie urges Tima forward, the horse’s mane, and her dark hair, flying in the breeze. In seconds, she’s yards ahead of me. My heart thumps in concern.

  Spurring Rylan forward, I gallop behind Georgie, focusing on the path ahead of me, already seeing the fence we have to clear. “Georgiana!” I yell.

  She pays me absolutely no attention, and performs a flawless jump. Anger vibrating through me, I tighten Rylan’s reins and follow behind Georgie. The moment I catch up to her, I signal her. Laughing, she bridles Tima. I seize the opportunity and yank h
er off the horse and onto my lap. My heart’s about to pound out of my chest. I have no idea what she sees in my face, but her happiness falters.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” I yell. “You could’ve been thrown and hurt.” Jesus, I’ve never felt such a combination of fear and anger so deeply. “Or worse,” I add on a strangle.

  She licks her lips, her cheeks flushed from the horse ride. “Are you really that concerned for me?”

  At her question, I can do nothing but hug her tightly and kiss her forehead, helpless against the visualization of her body being thrown from the horse.

  “It isn’t as if I’ve never ridden a horse before,” she continues and shrugs. “I had lessons for…” She pauses and counts on her fingers…”Six years, I think. From the time I was six until I was twelve.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Georgiana,” I tell her, getting my full asshole on. “You never fucking told me you rode.”

  “You never asked.” She squirms against me. “Can we finish?”

  “No. We’re done for the day.”

  I ignore her crestfallen look. She doesn’t understand what having her around for the past week has done for me. I don’t want to think about the end of our time together. We’ve been lost in each other, and the little world we’re creating.

  I need my ass examined.

  On the heels of that kill buzz, I glance at her and shake my head. Maybe, I shouldn’t have interfered in her life and tried to give her normalcy.

  She’s Georgie, and I’ve never met a more abnormal girl.

  Her arms slide around my neck and she tugs me down to kiss her. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

  Her sweetness gets me every time. After nodding in acknowledgment, I allow her to remount Tima.

  Together, we return to the stables and tend to the horses before stabling them. The moment we’re done, Georgie lures me into an empty stall, filled with nothing but hay, and allows me to enjoy her body, as much as I enjoy her company.

  Chapter Twenty Four