“Yeah, well, dude. Life happens,” I’d countered, not in the mood for his shit. “Deal with it or suck my dick.”
He’d decided to deal with it.
On the bright side, Kiln and his death glares, and Jaeger and his superiority will be absent. It’ll just be me, Dad, and Steffie. Although some of Dad’s recent behavior has been questionable, I don’t mind spending time with him. Same for Steffie. The girl has a heart the size of Texas.
I love her a lot.
Besides, Steffie is anxious to hear the song I wrote. For days, the guys and I have been refining the tune.
We’ve put the room Dad converted into my studio—at Mom’s urging—to good use. We spend most of our spare time in there. I say most because we have school, and we have dicks requiring female attention. Jerking off gets old.
The studio is a private room, far away from our living quarters. Though it’s soundproof, Dad doesn’t want a steady stream in and out of the house. That might disturb Mom. I didn’t feel one way or the other about using a servant’s entrance into the house and the back staircase up to the second floor, until the Event That Changed Everything. Naked girls with their tits jiggling. Reefer being passed around.
Last weekend, we invited a few girls over to listen to one of our sessions. Somehow, it became…an orgy. Fuck, I’ve never had my dick sucked so well. When I become famous, I’ll require daily blowjobs. Every time I think of what those girls did, I snicker to myself and my face heats up. Though the experience was the best fucking thing to have ever happened, I’d never fucked in front of another dude, nor had I ever fucked more than one girl in the span of several hours. Or two girls at the same time, one on my mouth, and one on my dick.
My dick springs to life at the memory and I sigh in frustration. Okay, I don’t mind spending time with Dad and Steffie, but I’d prefer to pass the hours inside a girl.
Over the past year, since I’ve gotten my muscles, a heavier voice, and more height, I’ve enjoyed a lot of pussy. Older girls are the way to go. Fuck sex ed. Coed pussy is the Ph.D classes in mastering the art of fucking, although if I have a choice between college pussy and an orgy with high school girls, the orgy wins out. In this instance, quantity beats quality.
I’m determined to repeat last weekend, as soon as humanly possible. It’s fucking sad we’re at our beach house for this weekend. My dick might go on fucking strike, it’s so disappointed.
“Sloane!”
I halt at my sister’s call. Turning, I grin at her dead run, her dark hair flying. She has a skirt thing around her one-piece bathing suit. I think she calls it a sarong, but I’m not into girls’ fashions, so I’m not sure.
Average-sized and slender, Steffie has no curves. She calls me out all the time when I mention that. This time is no different.
“You’re my brother, Slo. Stop sizing me up.”
“Get over it. I don’t want you in a sexual way. That’s fucking disgusting. I’m your little brother. I need ammunition.”
She flips me off, and I howl with laughter. My sister is a sought-after introvert. I don’t know many shy social butterflies, but Steffie manages just that.
Though I just saw her last night and we challenged each other on the piano, she hugs me. Happiness fills her sea foam green eyes. Minus the bitchiness, Steffie takes after her mom in looks while I in no way resemble mine. Jaeger and I share Dad’s blue eyes. Kiln’s the fucking hybrid with blue-green eyes.
Steffie looks me up and down. When her face blazes a bright red, I know her problem, so I fold my arms and smirk.
“Speedos, Slo? Like, really?” She rolls her eyes and snorts. “Who wants to see the imprint of your junk?”
“You’d be surprised,” I retort, winking. Girls enjoy a flirtatious wink now and then. Even sisters. They can be charmed, too, right? “Women fall all over me.”
Steffie pretends immunity to me and sniffs. Deep down, she’s proud to have such an outgoing brother. “Uh, disgusting,” she insists. “You’re sixteen. Not some badass rocker—”
“Yet,” I interrupt with confidence. If I have my way, I’ll soon be a very badass rocker. The guys and I already have a fucking rad-ass name for our band. Phoenix Rising.
Fire and flames are already in my head, shooting high into the air, as I ascend from a stage and girls scream my name. I jerk off to those thoughts and come all over the place when I imagine how much girls will love and adore me.
“I can still be your manager, right?”
“Who else would we have?” I ask in all seriousness though I’m going to pair her off with someone. Otherwise, she’ll do some serious cockblocking. And she needs some fun. My sister is so caring, but, I swear, sometimes it seems as if she carries a two-ton boulder on her back.
Steffie is the one who gifted me with my first guitar. I’ve moved on to lead and rhythm, but I’ll forever love the acoustic. Her, too, for helping me to find my talent.
“Can you imagine?” she whispers to me, a gust of wind whipping her hair around. “My baby brother and his band rising like the Phoenix. In spite of Daddy.”
I grimace. “Why’d you have to go and ruin my fucking day, Stef?”
The great Rand Mason wants his sons on the same team. He doesn’t doubt my talent, but since Kiln is an asshead and Jaeger is an asslicker, he wants us all to work together. As in they play a role in my band, behind the scenes.
Why the fuck would I allow that? Dad’s blood links us, but we fucking despise each other. They’d sabotage me before they would do anything else.
Unless I concede to his demands, Dad has sworn to not lift one finger to help us. He has contacts coming out his ass. Entertainment, politics, business. You name it. He has it.
At one time, my father could do no wrong. Once he reconnected with his children from his first marriage, he changed. As a result, I’ve changed, too. Fuck, I hope he hasn’t arranged our day together to talk about my band. He believes Steffie can get through to me about Kiln and Jaeger when she hasn’t succeeded yet, and neither has Mom.
A growl grabs my attention. Before I hone in on the culprit, the sound goes off again. It’s Steffie’s stomach. I hoot with laughter.
“I’m hungry,” she mumbles.
“I’m not.” More like hung over, a condition best kept secret. She’d cluck in disapproval.
I dislike disappointing my sister almost as much as I hate letting my mother down.
My parents are complete opposites. My father has a huge personality. Mom is quiet, especially in public, a thinker. She’s apt to listen but speaks only to add something valuable to the conversation.
Yawning, I scratch my chest. Fuck, but I’m quite the insightful asshole this morning, aren’t I?
Steffie scrunches her nose, her gaze roaming over my biceps.
“What?”
“You need to…I don’t know…you look older,” she complains. “My friends like you.”
Some of them really like me. Again, my education in the art of fucking is bar none. A far cry from the night, last year, when I lost my virginity. A fucking disaster from start to finish.
I lift my arm and flex my muscles, earning an eye roll and another irritated sniff.
“God, can you get a little more modest?”
“Probably not,” I retort. “I can flex my dick, too. Wanna see?”
“You’re such a fucking perve, Slo!” she yells. “A gross one.” Her blush spreads down her neck and along the modest line of her bathing suit’s scooped top.
I’d bet my fucking inheritance Steffie’s a virgin. I’m too proud of my heritage to willingly gamble away the huge empire I’ll one day acquire. However, I also know a sure thing. Offering the Mason wealth on the presence—or not—of Steffie’s hymen, would net me a fortune.
Folding my arms, I offer her an under-eyed look. “Since we’re on the subject, how many lovers have you had?” I ask casually.
“We were not discussing sex.”
“Um, yeah, we kind of were.”
My su
bject change deflects us from this awkward—on her part—and amusing—as I see it—conversation. Though it thrusts us into an even more uncomfortable and hilarious talk, it’s moved away from me. It also tests my theory on what I think I know about my big sister.
“Well? How many?”
At the determined set of my jaw, her mouth drops open. She’s going to provide me with an answer and we’re both aware protests are useless. “You’ve reached a new low.”
“You’re going to manage the world famous Phoenix Rising Rock Band. You’ll get a few groupies yourself. How much experience do you have to offer?”
“I haven’t had any lovers.” She twists some of her hair around her fingers and scowls at me. “If you tell Brenda, I’ll kill you.”
“Why would I rat you out?” Especially to Brenda, her BFF and a bitch to the extreme. We mutually detest one another. But we’ve had some damn good angry sex. What can I say? She’s fucking hot—body, face, and pussy. Blondes have been my type forever. Not sure why. It’s just a fact, like rain falling from clouds.
“F.I.O.M. alert,” Steffie chirps, biting down on her lip.
Father in our midst.
Dad strides toward us, dressed in swimming trunks, his chest bare and his shades on his head. Parts of his silver hair stick up, like little horns. He’s way past middle-aged and has moved into senior citizen territory. However, he still has a decent body and shows it off at every opportunity.
“You two ready to spend your day with me?” he asks in greeting, looking between us.
Steffie sidles closer to me. She can handle Kiln and Jaeger, but she’s scared shitless of Dad. I’ve always wondered why.
“Sloane, your mother needs to talk to you. Meet Stefanie and me at the dock.” He half turns to indicate a sandy pathway that’ll lead me to it. “We’ll be waiting on the yacht for you, so there’s no need to rush.”
“Mom needs to talk to me?”
Mom is the one who woke me up this morning, knowing I’d dismissed my alarm clock, as usual. It stands to reason if she’d had anything to say, she would’ve told me then.
“Yes, son. She needs to talk to you. Don’t keep my Bryn waiting.”
Of course not. My father is over-the-top with everything concerning my mother—his Bryn. If she’s not happy, no one is. Adam’s dad always jokes that if all’s right with the wife, then all’s right with life. But, fuck, there’s them, and then there’s Rand and Bryn Mason.
If Mom wants a fucking cloud from the sky, Dad will find a way to lasso that motherfucker and give it to her. It’s serious shit. Like scary serious.
As in – if you hurt my wife, I’ll take your life.
Of course, as Mom’s one and only child, I’m special, too. But Dad’s still Dad. The concessions he makes for Mom, he’ll do for no one else. Not even me. Which means I’m either going to have to claw my way to the top of the music world or give in to Dad’s demands with Kiln and Jaeger.
Working my ass off it is.
I fucking hate those jealous, overbearing, sadistic motherfuckers. Kiln’s an overgrown ape. If I hadn’t started to bulk up, he probably would’ve killed me by now.
My lone consolation is Mom would’ve been heartbroken, so Dad would’ve made Kiln pay.
“Sloane!”
Irritation shoots through me at Dad’s peeved tone. Steffie is rigid, her eyes pleading for my rescue. “Okay, Dad. I’m going. C’mon, Stef.” I throw the words out casually, almost how I’d ask about the weather. I’m honor bound to protect my mother and my sister from anything and everyone. “Walk there with me. While I’m talking to Mom, run up to my room and grab my phone.”
I really did forget it. Now, I’m happy for the excuse to bring my sister with me.
Her brow smoothens and she beams a smile my way. Steffie knows how to make me feel as if I’m a hero. It’s a good feeling. There’s a sense of satisfaction as if I’ve earned something, instead of having everything handed to me.
That’s one reason I don’t give a fuck that Dad won’t help the guys and me with our band. When my band rises to the top, it’ll be thanks to the music I love to create. We won’t become superstars because we’re entitled, rich boys, with connections out the ass.
And we will become world-famous. We’re fucking awesome and we have a pact to succeed.
I’m shoved to the ground without warning. Landing on my ass, I stare at my father, stunned. He’s never once put his hands on me. He can be a complete dick, but he’s never physically abusive.
Steffie flinches and steps back, her face paling.
I’m trying to process her reaction, my father’s actions, when he grabs me by my hair and drags me to my knees.
“Your mother wants to talk to you,” he repeats on a snarl. “Get the fuck to her. It’s still early and I have to get this finished. Steffie stays with me.”
The only reason my father is manhandling me is because he’s stunned the fuck out of me. I’m already over six feet, taller than he is. I can stomp him into the fucking ground if I choose.
But I don’t choose. Because I don’t know what the fuck is happening. Has Dad hit the blunts we have stashed in my room? And what the fuck does he have to finish?
I clamber to my feet. “Fine, Dad.” Anger hardens my voice. I’m not the most level-headed person. I’m so fucking furious, I want to pound on my chest like a gorilla and charge. “I won’t be long, Stefanie.”
“W-wait, Sloane.”
Enraged, I ignore Steffie’s plea. Black and red paints my vision. Red for my father’s fucking blood, and black for the Carrion that will pick apart his fucking carcass. He hit me? He fucking hit me!
As distance separates me from Dad, the sun grows higher in the sky, and the salty sea air calms my temper. I think of Steffie’s attitude. Her mom’s bitterness that comes through despite the layer of fear she can’t quite hide. Kiln’s viciousness. What could cause such behaviors?
Yes, I had a singular focus on music, until the recent pussy addiction I’ve acquired. And, yes, I drink like fuck and smoke pot. Still, I am possessed with culture and civility. Mom's requirement. To be fucking well-rounded, I joined the debate team at school. We can get into some deep shit, eye-opening topics I would never consider.
We’ve recently deliberated on domestic violence and the behavioral effects on those who’ve suffered it. Based on Stefanie’s reaction, what I know of Kiln and their mother, they didn’t have a very pleasant home life.
Did my dad abuse them?
No way. Fucking impossible. Rand Mason isn’t a child abuser or wife beater.
No, not Dad. Respected and connected, my father has always revered my mother and me. Unless he suffers a split personality, he couldn’t hide a violent side from us for so many years.
A chill sweeps through me as I reach our deck. The house sits on stilts, a protection against storm surges. The furniture outside is a pain in the fucking ass to bring in whenever the area faces a hurricane. Mom only brings Zelda, our cook, with us whenever we come to the beach house. We’re all responsible for everything else.
If I’m ever stranded somewhere, I’ll bask in organizational skills and cleanliness. On the other hand, I’ll fucking starve. I can’t cook worth a shit.
An odd foreboding snakes through me. Goosebumps rise on me and snatches away my random thoughts.
Scowling, I step into the quiet house. No one awaits me. The guys are upstairs, dead to the world since Dad’s changed plans. Kiln’s probably just rising from the toilet he sleeps in. Motherfucker just cavorts in shit. Abby, my eighteen-year-old aunt, is still out, on the other side of the island, fucking some waiter.
My granddad was a dirty old fuck, but Abby’s mother was a money-grubbing cunt. We take care of our own, however. Abby is a spoiled, mischievous brat. Just like it should be for a rich girl her age.
“Mom!” Darkness surrounds me and silence deafens me. My brain receives the message to shut the fuck down and continue sleeping off the alcohol.
The smoky ar
oma of bacon invades my nostrils, deterring my original plans.
I make my way through the house, to the kitchen, where Zelda’s busy at the sink. I creep behind her and put my chin on her shoulder. She jumps.
“Mr. Sloane!” she screeches.
“Hey, Zee.” All innocence after scaring the fuck out of her, I kiss her brown cheek. “Did I frighten you?”
“Get,” she orders, shrugging me off in exasperation. She turns the faucet off and I see she’s filled the glass coffee carafe with water.
Taking her place at the sink, I quickly turn the water on and splash my face. I need to wake up and hurry back to my sister.
Zelda concentrates on her preparations at the coffee maker. “Long night?”
“Umm hmm.” I grab a clean dish towel from a drawer and run it over my face. “I need more sleep.”
“You need more clothes,” she counters on an ornery harrumph.
I pose like Rodin’s ‘Adam’ sculpture. Head turned sideways, shoulder raised to support my cheek, one leg lifted, and thigh flexing. “Do I really?”
“Bye, Mr. Sloane.” She dismisses me without giving me an ego boost. I laugh. My Speedos, which has caused such an uproar with Stef and Zee, are pushed to the furthest corner of my mind.
I head toward the front door but hesitate. If I go to Mom, I can look Dad in the eye and tell him I checked in with her. If I don’t go, I’ll have to lie, risking discovery.
Dad might go off again, and then, we’ll get into a full-on brawl. No fucking way will I allow another man to put his hands on me, father included.
The thought riles me up again. Maybe, I should stay home. I’m not in the mood to bother with my father’s shitty attitude.
Damn. Stef doesn’t want to be alone with Dad and I won’t leave her hanging.
Bypassing a visit with Mom increasingly appeals to me. All I need do is backtrack and ask for Zelda’s help.
She’ll cover for me and swear to Dad I tried talking to Mom, but she was indisposed. Zelda would even bring Mom in on the lie. Fuck. No. Dad’s acting like a goddamn jackass. I can’t pull Mom or Zelda in the middle of his male menopause moodiness or whatever led to his actions toward me.
Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series Page 31
