Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Get over it. It was one push, followed by a hair grab. My pride is fucking hurt, so I’m overreacting and being too hard on Dad. He’s on edge about something. If only he’d share, I’d understand more.

  Confusion over his behavior muddles my brain and pisses me off. Stalking to my parents’ bedroom, I knock on the door. The wood is dark and thick on all the doors in the house. To me, a pallor is cast over the pastel colors on the walls. The fucking doors should be white. Beach house brings to mind light and airy.

  Grumbling, I knock again.

  “Come in,” Mom calls.

  My stomach turns at the scents of magnolias and gardenia as I walk into the room. Flowers are everywhere. His doing. My father is completely obsessed with my mother.

  Mom sets aside her cell phone and rises from the chaise lounge. She frowns at me. Prepared for the day, bright and early, she’s wearing a sundress, her light brown hair in a ponytail.

  “Something wrong?” she asks, her perfectly arched brows drawn together.

  The old man handed me a crock of shit, just as I suspected. “Dad said you needed to talk to me.”

  Sweeping her gaze over me, Mom shakes her head.

  Fuck, I’m wearing Speedos. My displayed body hasn’t been too much of a big deal to me this morning. Now it’s fucking epic. I usually keep my cock less prevalent around Mom.

  Heat sweeps through me, flaming my face.

  “Cindy called looking for you.” Mom walks to her desk and sits in the chair, her back to me. “I did want to talk to you about that, but it wasn’t so urgent Rand had to interrupt your day on the water. It’s bad enough Hel—”

  “Cindy?” I echo, not interested in the rest of whatever else she has to say. All I fucking need is the first girl I fucked to insert herself into my life with Mom around. “What did she want?”

  “An invitation to dinner with us later tonight.”

  “Of course,” I mumble under my breath.

  “I thanked her for her desire to catch up but told her you had other plans.”

  I fold my arms, without commenting, so fucking thankful for my mother’s insight.

  Clearing her throat, she halfway turns, but only looks at my face. I can’t remember the last time Mom saw me in less than shorts. The woman gave birth to me, so she saw my cock way back when. Granted, what she saw was a little boy dick, not the teenage one.

  Okay, so thinking of Mom seeing my cock at any age, is worthy of a few wicked cringes.

  “I hope putting Cindy off was okay, son.”

  “What?” I say, still distracted. Her words penetrate my brain. “Mom, you’re a lifesaver! I appreciate your blow off.”

  “With the boys here, I thought you’d be a little pressed. She’s a very sweet girl. Maybe, next time we’re here we can get together?”

  Cindy is the chatty daughter of a family friend. Mom wouldn’t be too happy to hear I stuck my dick in her.

  Fuck. Mom would be as unhappy to discover I’m having sex as I am imagining her finding out.

  “Anything else, ma’am?” I say with little-boy charm. Winks don’t work on Moms, do they? One day, when I’m less fucking stressed, I’ll try it out.

  Her eyes twinkle at me. She’s so on to my bullshit. “Go have fun on the water.”

  Fun in the fucking sun is just what I need. Diving into the Gulf. Sunning on the boat’s deck. Serenading Stef. Casually dropping the name of a guy I want to introduce her to. A twenty-four-year-old virgin is a goddamn travesty, a fact I’ve faced even if she refuses to.

  How can she be innocent when her best friend is, hands down, the biggest fucking whore on earth? At the very least, Steffie could fall somewhere between Abby and Brenda.

  “Good day, son. Remember to take lots of pictures,” Mom adds.

  With a mock salute, I turn on my heel and get the fuck away. Note to self: ditch the Speedos after today. I don’t want to so blatantly offend Mom’s sensibilities. The moment I found out it would only be Dad, Steffie, and me on the boat, I pulled them out. If Dad decides to sail to another port for the day, running into a hot girl is inevitable. Still. The Speedos come out when Mom isn’t with us.

  Thoroughly frustrated with both my parents, I make my way down the beach. Rope railings line a sandy pathway leading from the houses in this exclusive area, to the private beach we all share. Including us, only three other families habitat this section. Two aren’t in residence. Dad invited the new neighbors to go sailing with us, until he got this fist up his ass to take me and Steffie out alone.

  Tall grass brushes my thigh. Eventually, the height tapers off as I reach the shoreline. The dock isn’t far away and the curve in the beach takes me to a little cove, where just around the bend the yacht is moored. Something reflects behind me and a shadow looms on the sand.

  Instead of searching for whoever’s out there, I freeze, indignation grating on my temper. Dad has pulled out of port already. Asshole! Well, fuck him and his antagonistic deeds. Kicking the sand, I hunt for a rock or three to hurl toward the yacht idling in the water, not too far from shore. It would serve him right if I found a way to get to them.

  Mindless rage seethes through me. The more I consider Dad’s shock at thwarting his plans to leave me, the more the idea appeals to me. I’m a strong fucking swimmer.

  What the fuck do I have to do all day but recover from a long-distance swim? Right. One-upping Dad is worth extreme exhaustion. Fuck this. I don’t have the patience for Dad’s games today. I need to turn my ass around and go the fuck back to the beach house. He doesn’t want my fucking company.

  My gut feeling is Steffie needs me with her, however. Unsure why I sense that, I rub the back of my neck.

  Swallowing and trying to pretend I’m not freaked by Dad’s behavior and Steffie’s attitude, I look for whoever might’ve been on the beach. Maybe, I can hang out with him or her until Dad decides he wants my ass onboard. Then, I can drag Steffie somewhere and get the story of what the fuck is her problem with Dad.

  Maybe—

  Steffie screams and my unconcerned thoughts evaporate. I shield my eyes from the sun, using my hands as a visor.

  “Help me!”

  The terror in her voice drills into me and I run into the gulf, the cold water and wet sand sucking at my feet. I catch sight of her and my heart almost stops.

  Steffie’s bobbing up and down, struggling to stay afloat.

  Jesus. What’s going on? Is she caught in a riptide?

  “Steffie!” I yell.

  Can she hear me? I doubt it with the way her arms are flailing.

  She’s panicking. She’s fucking panicking, which will get her killed.

  Just before I dive into deeper water, I glimpse Dad. He gazes at me, at Steffie, and then jumps in.

  Let him save her. He’s right there. He’ll get her out…or get caught as well.

  Fuck. I have to get to them.

  Don’t let anything happen to Dad and Steffie. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.

  I come up to the surface for air, and doggy paddle, circling three hundred sixty degrees, finding nothing. No one. Both Dad and Steffie are gone.

  Fear and adrenaline surge through me, and I propel myself through the water. It’s taking me forever to reach them. They’ll be lost. Along with my three friends, my father, mother, and sister, are everything to me.

  I have to save them, find them, help them. Or…Jesus…recover them.

  My eyes sting and, after a few more yards, my lungs tingle. Air. I need air, so I come up again. I’ve been timed at staying under water one hundred fifty seconds. They were further out than I’d initially thought. I’ve been swimming for a total of five minutes now, including coming up for air twice and…

  Dad. Resurfaced and breathing, not far from me. He’s trying to drag Steffie up…I think…Holy God, he’s…he’s not helping her up, he’s holding her under. His hand is on the back of her head, keeping it in place. The upper half of her body bobs in the water.

  Steffie’s gone. I know it, but I c
an’t wrap my head around what I’m witnessing.

  Dad killed Steffie.

  I propel my body into him, surprising him, and he releases her. She’s sinking. My sister will be lost if I don’t get her…

  Steffie, please, don’t leave me. Come back. You have to.

  I fold my arms around her body and find...nothing. She’s still. She’s gone.

  Dad seizes me, and I panic, afraid he’ll drown me, too. I fight off his hold, by jabbing him with my elbow. But he’s strong and I’m devastated. Dad tightens his grip and I stop caring.

  Let him kill me. I will the water to overcome me and take me away from this nightmare. If I survive, I’ll live without my sister and with the knowledge that my Dad, the man I once worshiped, her father too, is her murderer.

  What‘s going to happen to Mom?

  One arm holding me, Dad grabs Steffie’s hair. Despising him, I shove him away and yank my sister from him, determined to keep her head above water, though she’s limp. I struggle with her onto the boat, where I lay her on a brown tarp that flaps in the wind and is weighted on each side by ice coolers.

  Dad clamors onto the deck. I stare at the stranger who was once my father, the force of my sobs shaking my shoulders. Disbelief and grief thicken the air. Each second feels like hours, days, years. The only way to soothe my agony is my sister opening her eyes, standing up, and hugging me.

  Kneeling next to her, I sob against her body, touching her hair, her nose, her cheeks. “Stefanie!” I shout, kissing her forehead. Refusal to accept this rings in my head.

  Fuck, no, Sloane. Do CPR. You can get her back.

  Yes. Right. My Steffie can come back to me. I put to use the knowledge of the CPR classes Mom insisted I take. For five minutes, I work on Steffie, but she’s uncooperative. She won’t breathe again.

  Roaring in helplessness, I shake her.

  Without warning, I’m shoved backward. Dad again. No, not Dad. The man who was my dad. Now, he’s Steffie’s killer.

  “Motherfucker.” I shoot to my feet and tackle him, determined to fucking kill him. Then and only then will I put myself out of this misery. He doesn’t fucking deserve to live.

  Somehow, Dad gets the upper hand, whaling on my chest and stomach.

  I maneuver away from him, stagger up, and lunge, but Steffie’s body is in the way and I stumble over it. She’s dead at my feet.

  My sister’s gone.

  A flash hurts my eyes. One, two, three. It continues. The short bursts of light adds to my grief. I swear it’s a camera. But I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I hold out my hands, hovering over her, but I stop just short of touching her.

  Unable to bear my grief, I finally fall to my knees and press my hands on her chest.

  “Come back to me!” I cry, thrusting my fingers through her hair.

  She’s gray.

  Hands falling to her neck, I search for signs of life. The water made her cold. She might still have a pulse. A faint one will work.

  “Stefanie,” I repeat her name, in another pitiful attempt to waken her. Desperate, I shake her. She doesn’t change. She remains limp. Wrapping her in my arms again, I place another kiss on her cheek, crying against her neck. All the things I never said to her drum through my head. Emotions I never thought to express. How much I love her and the depth of my admiration. In the six years since we met, I don’t remember ever thanking her for seeing me and my love of music.

  Something presses against the back of my head. Lost in my devastation, I still feel the barrel. Dad has a gun trained on me.

  “Do it,” I order. Hatred is most powerful when formed from love. I. Despise. Him. “Kill me, like you killed her.”

  “I should,” he says hoarsely. “For being such an obedient son. Why didn’t you stay away?”

  I don’t know what he means. The way he sneers ‘obedient’ makes a mockery of how I’ve always followed my parents’ instructions. When have I ever been truly disobedient? I don’t bother asking. It isn’t important. My once perfect family is gone.

  In reality, it never was.

  He jiggles the gun against my skull. “You killed your sister. Jealousy leads to ugly souls.”

  “What? Killed—”

  Horrified, I release Steffie’s body and crawl away from her. From Dad. The sun almost blinds me, but light will never again shine in my world. From this day forward, it will be muted in gray and painted with death.

  “You killed Stefanie,” he hollers.

  Rendered mute, I shake my head in denial, my tears falling fast and furious. Stuck in a wild hallucination, I’ve lost my mind. Maybe, it’s the pot. Supposedly, only grass, but something else could’ve laced it.

  He shoves the gun against my temple and my entire body shakes. “You killed her.”

  No. No. “No.” As the horrible truth dawns on me…as I accept the facts, I understand. He’s about to ruin my entire life, pin my sister’s murder on me. “You can’t…No! I didn’t kill my sister, fucker. You did.”

  He kicks me in the stomach and I double over. But then I’m staring right down the gun’s barrel, pointed in my face. “You killed her, didn’t you, Sloane?” Dad cocks the gun. “You do this my way. Or you die. Murder-suicide.”

  I revert to the nightmare theory. Yes, I’m living a motherfucking epic fantasy. No fucking way is this happening. I’m asleep after drinking too much shit, and smoking that blunt. When I awaken, I’ll still be in my bed. Late in getting to the dock. Maybe, left behind.

  Breathing hard, I squeeze my eyes shut, ignoring the tears leaking from them. God, please, please. This is a dream. Please. I pop my eyes open again.

  It’s still the same. My sister is still dead at my feet. My father still has a gun on me.

  And I’m still shattered, never piecing myself back together.

  Chapter One

  The air-conditioning cools me, as I sip fresh lemonade and listen for the front door opening, heralding Grandma’s return. She prefers me to stay in my apartment, as she calls it. In reality, it’s just a bunch of rooms in her house, converted into my space. Or my prison, depending on how I choose to see it. Apartment, prison, a bunch of rooms, or living quarters, it’s confining. Period. End of story. I have a maid assigned to me, and Grandma sees me every day, usually once. Whenever Josh is in town, we have dinner at my six-seated table, where I go to great lengths to show him everything is fine. In so many regards, it is.

  I don’t have an allowance anymore, so that’s different. Still, I want for nothing.

  Except the same as always. Someone to love me.

  Grandma’s house is gorgeous, with all types of antique furnishings, one-of-a-kind works of art, and imported collectibles. If I’m honest, I’m glad she keeps me stuck in my quarters. Amongst Grandma’s possessions, I’m nervous. They represent everything I’m not. Her stuff is valued and valuable. I’m neither.

  If something in her house goes missing or is stolen, if anything is broken, nicked, chipped, scratched…whatever…a big stink will arise.

  Again, that wouldn’t happen on my behalf. When I’m outside of the rooms I’ve been allotted, I often think of the repercussions if I accidentally damage her belongings.

  I risk discovery roaming about the house. This time, a wild, trapped feeling and overwhelming thoughts of Sloane runs me out of my rooms. My vivid dreams of him last night and my morning where I waited and prayed he’d call are too much for me.

  Did Kiln even tell him I was having a little girl?

  Before I traipsed about in Grandma’s space, I walked outside, hoping to quell my loneliness and the pain at the continued silence of my phone. The sun on my face and the sweet scent of flowers helped slightly. Over and over, I reminded myself that I’m an adult now. I must act my age for the child I’m bringing into the world.

  I strengthen my resolve to keep her, too. Grandma wants me to put her up for adoption. I’m just as determined never to allow it.

  Several times, I’ve thought of running away. If only
I had somewhere to go, someone who wanted me, I would. Calling a social service agency has crossed my mind, then I push the idea away. I’m not battered or in danger, so a women’s shelter is out. I’m not poor—not really—or homeless. I am penniless, however.

  My life is freakily fucked. Not a dollar to my name. No credit cards or checkbooks. Nevertheless, my maternity clothes are spectacular, and the baby’s clothes are from the best shops in the world. With wardrobes, Grandma exceeds Mom. Where my mother purchases designer clothes through a stylist, my grandmother brings in the designer, so our clothes are custom made. The amount of money spent on my outfits could pay for a decent sized house for a middle-class family.

  In essence, I’m still getting things. Meanwhile, Grandma happily goes about committing Guerilla warfare on my peace of mind.

  “Georgiana?”

  Panic rises in me when I hear my name until it registers one of the maids is calling me.

  Swallowing, I lumber to my feet. Time’s running out before Grandma returns. In all fairness, she hasn’t told me not to contaminate her house with my presence. However, whenever I’ve come downstairs uninvited, her look and attitude are so rigid and cold, words are pointless.

  Once I failed all my lessons and remained just a junior in high school, I became unworthy to walk her hallways. She’s ashamed of me. The idea crushes me and—

  The servant clears her throat and I flush, balling my fists at my sides so I won’t touch my stomach. It just reminds every one of my baby. Yes, my belly is huge, but it’s easier to pretend I’m overweight rather than a Mom-to-be.

  “Georgiana!” she calls in exasperation.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, biting down on my lip.

  “There’s a detective who needs to talk to you.”

  My brows draw together. “Me?” There’s no reason a cop should want to see me. I’ve done nothing. I haven’t gone many places to do anything. “A detective?”

  Is this a coincidence or does it have something to do with the phone call?

  Since hearing from Kiln yesterday, I’ve thought of little else. Though stupid on my part, I expected a response from Sloane to the news I’m carrying his daughter.