Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Every inch of her is embedded into my psyche. I spent the night considering my next move. With each breath I took, I thought of her. Until the obvious conclusion arose and I agreed with my cook. I needed to see her. I had to get her.

  I wouldn’t rest until I looked into her deceitful eyes and heard exactly why she went to the fucking cops and the goddamn media. I also knew there was no fucking way I could stay in that mausoleum without her.

  Therefore, whether she wants to be with me or not, I intend to keep her at my side until I’m satisfied she can’t do any further damage. And I’ve gotten repayment from her for the hell she’s put me through.

  I owe her.

  After sending my aunt on a shopping spree for every available baby item, I called Helen. It behooved her not to fuck with me. I did expect arguments, threats, and warnings. She offered none of it. Oddly, she seemed opened to me seeing Georgie.

  Now, with her next to me and her scent invading me, I’m satisfied with my decision. She whispers to the baby, the sweetness of her voice soothing my loneliness but stirring my anger. I don’t know how I survived the months without her.

  No. At no time was I surviving. I’ve been existing. A far fucking cry from what I’ve fooled myself into believing

  Kiln stares at the baby’s dark head. “Let me hold her, Georgiana.”

  Darting her gaze between Kiln and me, Georgie stiffens. Her eyes are huge and filled with tears, so vulnerable my heart breaks. I grit my teeth, wrestling with my anger and my relief to have her at my side again. No matter how it came about, she’s within my reach. She’s my Achilles Heel.

  Obviously.

  She’s had my ass arrested and still I want her. My empty world, devoid of warmth, is suddenly vibrant again.

  Kiln holds his arms out. “I’m not going to keep her.”

  Instead of complying, she tightens her hold on our daughter and slides away to the far end of our seat. Hunching over, she shakes her head in denial. Her pain is my pain, and I hate her a little more. Once and for all, I’m getting from under her influence. I’m gaining the upper hand in reality, not just in a shitty ploy of intimidation.

  “Give her to me, Georgiana.” My tone leaves no doubt it’s in her best interest to listen to me or suffer the consequences.

  Her jaw clenches and she gives a stubborn shake of her head. “She’s mine,” she hisses defiantly as if we’re children arguing over a doll. “You can’t take her from me.”

  “I can do whatever the fuck I want to.”

  Little bitch.

  Her attitude reminds me of how she’s ruined my life, and I pull Bryn from her. Georgie’s sob matches the baby’s. Blanketed in anger, I ignore my penchant to comfort her and reassure her that no one will ever take Bryn away.

  Her pulse thrums at the base of her neck and her look turns frantic. “Please, Sloane,” she whispers around a pitiful wail. “Please, don’t take her. I swear I didn’t call anyone and tell about us.”

  Fuck, I hate her.

  She can’t fucking do this to me. But, she does, and I hear her, deep down in my soul where nothing can touch my feelings for her. Ignoring my protective instincts toward her, I stare at the tiny human in my arms, in awe. She’s absolutely fucking perfect, while her mother is a breath away from hyperventilating. Bryn must sense Georgie’s distress. Her little face scrunches and she whines.

  Being a raging motherfucker, I hand the baby to Kiln and then wrap my arms around Georgie to keep her in place when she reaches for her.

  “Do you know what it’s like in solitary confinement?” I whisper harshly, my lips close to her ear.

  I lick the sensitive area and bite gently. Vanilla invades my nostrils, the slight scent on her skin feeding my desire for her and reminding me of what she means to me.

  What she once meant to me.

  Her heartbeat pounds against my hand and her muscles are taut. Her hair tickles my nose and I bury my face against the silky, black strands. When I pull away, I run my tongue along the shell of her ear.

  She cries harder at my act of intimidation, necessary to illustrate I’m the one in control no matter how she fucked me over. She sniffles and I shake her.

  “Shut the fuck up. Why’d you fucking pin rape charges on me?”

  Her fast, furious tears prevent her from talking. She attempts to regain control, though my anger, lust, and sense of betrayal fly over the edge.

  “What the fuck should I do to you to make you suffer?” I whisper against her ear, purposely throwing her off-balance by my menacing demeanor. “You’ve already been branded a slut and an addict. The next step is being labeled an unfit mother.”

  She twists against me and wraps her arms around my neck, sobbing. “I’d never do anything to hurt you. I love you.”

  Blood roars in my ears and I inch toward a fucking stroke, I’m so goddamn angry. With Georgie, and her admission. At the feel of her trembling in my arms. At my belief of her words of love. Most of all, being such a flaming fucking asshole to her pisses me off. I’ve reached a new low, even as I insist my behavior is justified. But, for fuck’s sake, she just delivered my baby.

  And she humiliated you in front of the world with false accusations and had you arrested.

  Indeed, my treatment of her is justified. I’m the one in control, not her and petty vengeance. Whether I intend to follow through on any of my threats or not, I have every right to scare the fuck out of her.

  “I can raise Bryn alone and forget you ever fucking existed,” I snarl.

  Georgie opens her mouth, then snaps it shut and glares at Kiln.

  “You did this,” she accuses him hoarsely, her eyes blazing in his direction. “You set me and Sloane up. You sent that dickhead of a detective!”

  I snap my gaze to hers. “What fucking detective?”

  Sniffling, she bites her lip. “The one who tried to trick me into talking about our relationship,” she whispers, not looking at either of us anymore. “I didn’t go to anyone. Detective Jackson came to me. He…he was like…like a thug and threatened to arrest me.”

  Lying little bitch.

  “Enough, Georgie,” I warn. “Coercion is against the fucking law. Nothing would be admissible in court.”

  “I swear, Sloane. I-I didn’t know I was being recorded and…and I didn’t do an interview. Yes, I spoke to Detective Jackson, and I said some of those words, but everything is all twisted. I’d never hurt you, even though you’ve hurt me time and again. You and your father turned me into a whore when I’ve never been with anyone but you…” She pauses and hiccups, emotion after emotion swirling in her gorgeous eyes.

  Anger, betrayal, pain, fear, all stark for me to see. She’s reading me the riot act without saying a fucking word while asking me to believe her. It’s all rolled together, her agony and outrage. But not her guilt. That she’s putting on me. When she did this. Her.

  I concede I hurt her but was it worth what she’s fucking done?

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Did you talk to a fucking detective?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I don’t need to hear anything else.”

  “I’d never do anything to hurt you,” she insists. “Please, believe me.”

  Fuck, but I feel physically ill, my heart and my head at war. My traitorous heart believes her, but my head, my experience of being fucked over by my very own father, doesn’t allow it.

  “It was Kiln. I know it was.”

  Kiln pulls his attention from Bryn and lifts a brow. “Deflect your guilt to me. Excellent strategy.”

  “Fuck you,” she storms, kicking Kiln’s leg.

  “Kiln’s a motherfucker, but he isn’t fucking stupid,” I grate, gripping her shoulders and shaking her again, ignoring her reddened eyes and nose. “I’m still useful. Besides, your fucking voice is on the recording. You haven’t fucking heard?” I ask sarcastically when I know she has. The whole world has listened. “It’s being replayed over and over. Breaking fucking news. I’m having a little girl. I’m carry
ing Sloane’s daughter. It’s you, Georgiana, speaking to a reporter from Music Time Magazine.”

  “No, no, no, no,” she chants. “I was talking to Kiln and telling him I was carrying your daughter. No one else. I know his voice—”

  And I know Georgie's voice, in all its many variations. High-pitched. Low-pitched. Angry. Sad. Passionate. Bratty. Sexy. Amused…

  Bryn wails and Georgie struggles against me. I refuse to release her, enjoying how fucking good it is to hold her again. She elbows me. Clenching my jaw hides my wince. She’s pale and tired, and I wonder if she’s in pain from the delivery. There’s fuck all I know about pregnant women. But Georgie, the girl in front of me? I know her and see her need for rest and recovery.

  On the other hand, I need revenge.

  “Let me go! Bryn’s hungry. I have to feed her.”

  “Where’s her bottle?” I demand. “Because you aren’t getting her back.”

  If I weren't holding her up, she would double over in the place where she’s sitting. I release her, to watch her fall apart. She doesn't disappoint me. She buries her face between her knees and sobs so hard her body trembles. The moment I reach out to comfort her, she lifts her head and sends me a desperate look. I drop my hands in my lap.

  She raises her hands in supplication. “I-I’ll suck you off. Pl-please. I-I’ll do whatever.” Flushing, she sidles a glance to Kiln. “Please, Sloane. Just don’t take her from me. She’s all I have,” she says in a small voice.

  An overwhelming sense of déjà vu barrels into me. She’d spoken similar words once before. Only then, she referred to Crowell. Months have passed and I'm furious with her, but those words from her, gut me.

  Our gazes meet and I see her endless hurt. I also recognize her look, the one she adopts when backed against the wall. The look Crowell taught her.

  Submission.

  She’ll do whatever I tell her to do, suck my cock and Kiln’s if it means keeping Bryn.

  I nod to Kiln, and he hands my daughter to me. I cradle the back of her head and smile at her, ignoring her whines to study her tiny features. Her eyes are a dark blue, her hair black. She resembles neither me nor Georgie but is gorgeous in her own right.

  She yawns and whimpers again. Kissing her forehead, I offer her to Georgie, who breathes in her scent and closes her eyes in relief before she reopens them to search my face. A wealth of gratefulness glimmers in her features. When I remain rigid, her face crumples.

  Sniffling, she slides one side of her gown over and exposes a swollen tit, guiding Bryn to her nipple.

  My dick hardens, but she pays no attention to me, not caring my balls are drawing up and tightening at her display. I choke, staring at her bowed head in awe. She’s still ignoring me and cooing to Bryn. With my brain stuck firmly on Georgie’s nipple in Bryn’s little mouth, I have no fucking clue what she’s saying.

  Milk fills Georgie’s tits. Milk. I’ve never tasted a milk-filled tit before. The need to taste Georgie has my mouth fucking watering. As a distraction, I glance outside and sigh. We’re about thirty minutes away from my father’s house, so I still have a while to suffer Georgie’s nearness without doing something completely stupid.

  Kiln grunts, and I snap my head toward him. I growl, low in my throat at the lust darkening his eyes as he stares at Georgie.

  “She’s not a fucking show-and-tell,” I snap.

  Georgie breaks in before Kiln responds.

  “What’s going on?” she asks around a shuddering breath. “Why am I here?”

  Kiln starts to speak, but I stare him into silence. If I want to terrorize Georgie for the hell she’s put me through that’s my business.

  “What did Helen tell you?”

  She licks her lips then murmurs something to Bryn, who’s still contentedly sucking Georgie’s boob.

  Fuck, I’d be quite contented too if I had Georgie’s tit in my mouth.

  “Grandma didn’t say anything, but in a matter of hours, I’ve gone from brokering a deal to never see you again to being ushered out of the hospital with all that fanfare.” Her gaze roams the interior of the car. “To this.”

  Curious, I cock my head to the side. Perversions aside, Georgie nursing Bryn reminds me of the daughter she’s gifted me with me. I haven’t gotten much satisfaction from lashing out. It’s only made me recognize her continued vulnerability. Before I continue torturing her, I’ll check out her story about the fucking detective. I owe it to her as the mother of my daughter. My decision to ease up on her has little to do with the never-ending desire I feel for her. “What were the conditions of Helen’s deal?” I ask in a moderated voice, free of my bitter anger.

  She swallows and offers me the barest of smiles. “She wouldn’t take Bryn from me, if I swore I’d never see you again.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised the wicked old bitch taunted Georgie with such a prospect. I scowl. “She said she would?” I ask, for confirmation.

  Georgie nods. “She wants me to put her up for adoption. A closed adoption. I told her to emancipate me, but I’m four months from eighteen, so she declined. Then, I told her to disown me.”

  I glare at her. “How do you expect to support you and my daughter if that happens?”

  “I have ideas,” she says defensively.

  For some reason, that motherfucker, Crowell, comes to mind. I’m so fucking certain he’s somehow involved in her ideas, I’m ready to find him and fuck him up again.

  Her lips tremble and she raises her stunning gaze to me. I search her eyes for signs she has it in her to betray me. The only thing I see is what brings me to my knees with her. An innocent defenselessness and sweet adoration.

  “Bryn, Georgie?” I manage. “Why would you name my daughter after my mother?”

  She shrugs and opens her mouth to speak.

  “Naming her after Sloane’s mother will only back up the allegations that you’re an obsessed groupie,” Kiln interrupts.

  Georgie stays silent, withdrawing from me at Kiln’s words. I glower at him as she sniffles and wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  Her pervasive sadness makes me draw in a deep breath and endure the remainder of the ride in miserable silence.

  What did I do in the last minute?

  Nothing important. I’ve just been standing in Georgie’s study, staring. Wasting another minute of my life. Returning from the hospital, I headed to her suite, furious my little selfish bitch of a daughter refused to allow me a moment to hold Bryn.

  Clenching my jaw, I narrow my gaze to the framed poster of Sloane.

  She thinks she’s so special because he put his little puppy in her to breed.

  Besides fucking, she’s only good to serve as a brood mare. She has no goddamn academic sense or common sense.

  Grim, I walk to her desk and stare at the report Mother sent to me, courtesy of Georgie’s tutors. She failed because she’s a failure. Georgie may have youth, but…

  I’m me. Cassandra Sanderson McCall, leagues ahead of what Georgie will ever hope to be.

  My nostrils flare, resentment flowing inside me as fast as molten lava from an erupting volcano. I look around this room. This waste of space. Much like her brain, Georgie’s ‘study’ is a goddamn joke. What was she thinking to decorate it like this? There’s nothing but posters, magazines, biographies, CDs, and scrapbooks of Phoenix Rising. In particular, Sloane Mason.

  I grab the back of the desk chair and breathe in deep. He fucked me but gave her his child. It wasn’t an accident. I’d stake my life on it. He was the condom king. So how did Georgie turn up pregnant if he didn’t do it on purpose?

  And it was him. She’s too young and stupid to make such a monumental decision. Undoubtedly, she just threw her legs open and let him use his dick on her however he wished.

  How dare he? How could he?

  Goddamn him. I’m better than him, too.

  “Cassandra?”

  At the sound of Parnell’s voice, I gasp. In my head, I’m all disheveled, even though I’m as we
ll put together as ever.

  I clear my throat. “In here,” I call.

  When he walks in from the sitting room, I bow my head, wanting to cry. My husband is gaunt and sad-eyed. What can I do to get my Parnell back? The robust, sexually-active man I remember is gone. I’m at a loss.

  He spares the study a glance. “What are you doing in here?”

  His voice has some emotion to it, more than I’ve heard in days. Weeks. Months.

  More unrecoverable lost time.

  Death has begun to obsess me. It’s hard to fathom how life begins. How it ends. How a person goes to being a corpse upon their last breath. Someone once possessed of a soul is just empty. A body. No longer vital. No longer…here.

  I was once Georgie’s age. Georgie was once a newborn like Bryn. I’m old now, closer to death. What will happen to me once I die? Will I know? Or will I just cease to exist? Is there really light? Or a black void?

  “Cassandra?”

  Lost in my thoughts, I jump when I hear my name. Parnell is frowning, staring at me as if I’m insane. His question pops into my head.

  “I’m in here because I want to get rid of Georgie’s things. Throw them away.”

  His eyes darken and his body stiffens. My words affront him. He gives me a grave look, once his resentment passes. “She had the baby,” he says as if I’m unaware.

  Astronauts on the space station probably know the news. Bryn McCall is the most famous newborn in the universe right now. I force down my rage and nod. “A little girl,” I confirm. “Bryn.”

  Wistfulness softens his face and I give him a tentative smile. I’m not sure about the reasons for his nostalgia—or what I assume is nostalgia. But he looks like himself again.

  “Have you seen her?”

  “Which her?”

  “Bryn,” he responds. “Georgie. Both of them.”

  “Yes.”

  “Remember when she was a baby, Cass,” he whispers, not hearing the tightness in my voice. “My Georgie.”

  He catches himself before the same bleakness returns to his face. “Leave her things where they are. This is hers.” His eyes touch upon her bookcases, the carpeting I insisted on, the useless desk and chair, the framed photos of Sloane. He winces. “I suppose she’ll want her stuff.”