Georgie’s eighteenth birthday is about ninety-five days away. If the charges are dropped, I’m flying to Denver, and Georgie’s going back to Helen. Not Cassandra. I’ll see to that. No one knows what I decided tonight, once I returned Georgie to the room and watched her sleep for a good hour. I’m marrying Georgie the day she turns eighteen. End of story.
Of course, until her birthday, she’s going to fucking hate me. Because I’m leaving again and I’m not telling anyone that I’m returning for her. I’m not going to play fucking games and blab the information to Georgie to see if she leaks it.
The world will think I’m fucking every woman I come across, and so will Georgie. My only defense to her will be I’ve never promised not to stick my dick in other women. It’s cold-blooded, but life isn’t fucking perfect.
That’s the best case scenario. Worse case? Shouting to the world that Bryn is my daughter, and I’m the only man to have ever had Georgiana. Do jail time, in the name of love. To show Georgie that she’s my everything.
Except if I’m locked away—and that would happen immediately—Georgie will be vulnerable to Helen and Cassandra. Though I despise Cassandra, I understand Helen. Despite horns made from Hell’s ashes, Helen has a mother’s instinct, and she uses it to protect her daughter. She’d destroy me and put my downfall on Georgie on Cassandra’s behalf.
I put nothing past her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. My absence would leave Georgie in a very bad position.
“One thing at a time, Sloane,” I advise myself aloud, making a full circle and staring at the mess I’ve made.
After hours of searching, I’ve found not one incriminating piece of information. He has photos of my mother, too many to count. There are handwritten letters she wrote to him throughout their marriage. Not even those mention what she knew about Steffie’s death. My father also has progress reports and essays from my school years. Photos of me from the time I was born to the present day. The collection includes snapshots of the biggest moments of my life and some of my lowest days. He has a copy of his most recent will, dated seven years ago, just months after Mom’s death. Neither Kiln, Jaeger, and I are anywhere in it, just as he’s always sworn—the other reason we work together, to be included in his fortune when he croaks.
He has a generous amount for Abby.
Dad has a huge file on the case. His photos of Georgie are even more in depth, ranging from the time Helen took her from Denver to a couple of days ago at La Perla. Reading through his file makes me feel lower than shit. He’s already had the audio analyzed and has a definitive conclusion that what the world heard was more than one recording spliced together.
The report on Detective Jackson shows he was suddenly relieved of his duty the day he interviewed Georgie. On a sticky note, Dad has written, Helen’s doing?
On a lined sheet of paper are the words, Who went public? And a list of names: Crowell Daniels, Josh McCall, Kiln Mason, Dietrech Mason, Parnell McCall, and Cassandra McCall. On the next line he wrote, Who am I missing?
Nowhere does he have Georgie’s name. Even when I was lost in my hatred of her, Dad knew she was innocent. Just as a small part of me doubted her virginity, a bigger part of me didn’t believe in her honesty.
No longer interested in discovering anything about my sister, I brace myself to discover just how deeply my injustice toward Georgie goes and flip the page.
“Sloane?”
I frown at the sound of Abby’s voice, but I’m almost relieved for the interruption.
I’m halfway to the door when she bursts in, her skin ghastly pale.
“Where the fuck is your phone?”
“Upstairs.” I grab her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“Georgie,” she says faintly. “Someone got into her room. She’s been calling all of us and…come quick.”
She turns and I move, running to the room Abby’s using, finding Georgie on the bed, holding Bryn.
I wrap her in my arms, allowing her to sob against my chest. Her skin is cold and the blanket around Bryn is wet. Between halts and sniffles, Georgie explains what happened. She must’ve already told Abby because my aunt’s door is locked. I can see that she’s scared, too. By the actions of the intruder, we don’t know his or her location. It’s possible they’re still in the house.
“Give me your phone, Abby,” I instruct, and dial Kiln’s number.
“Get the fuck back to the house now,” I order the moment he answers.
“Not.” He hoots with laughter. “Have you forgotten you’re no longer my concern? You quit the fucking band.”
“Fuck you. Get back here. Someone got into Georgie’s room and hid Bryn from her. We’re in Abby’s room now.”
“Fuck, I’ll be there as soon as possible,” he says grudgingly.
“I’ll call Pres and get them here, too.”
He grunts in response. “Don’t go upstairs, asshole. They’re safe.”
“Someone terrorized her.”
“Stay in that room, fucker! Guard your fucking daughter, Georgie, and Abby. You don’t have a firearm. If a fuckhead is still on the premises and you’re taken out, what happens to them?”
“I hate it when you use fucking logic.”
His laughter floats to me and I hang up. Abby chugs from a decanter of scotch.
“Take the baby, Abby.”
Georgie’s protest is immediate. “No!”
“She needs to have this wet blanket removed, and you’re shaking too bad to do it.”
Gently, I take Bryn from her. The baby yawns and I smile before handing her to Abby. I stretch out on the bed and pull Georgie against me, kissing her forehead, and thankful she’s alive.
Kiln arrives within thirty minutes, the rest of the guys tagging along with him.
Georgie clings to me.
“I won’t be long,” I assure, disentangling myself from her. “Abby will be right in here with you.”
“Pres is outside the door,” Maitland offers gruffly.
“Shouldn’t you wait for the police?” Georgie asks in a small voice.
Kiln snorts. “If we could get the police involved,” he snaps. “You’re here, though, where you’re not supposed to be. They find you, he goes back to jail.”
“Watch Georgie,” I order Abby, grabbing the scruff of Kiln’s collar and yanking him into the hallway.
He pulls away from me. “Don’t fucking touch me. You know I’m right.”
“You are,” I agree. “But it was up to me to answer her, not you.”
When we reach the third floor, Pres and three others file out of the White Suite, guns still drawn. Pres nods to my door, a silent indication for the others to guard it.
“What have you found?” Kiln asks.
“The bathroom’s ruined.”
“What do you mean?” Too impatient to wait for a response, I head for the door to the suite. When I reach the bathroom, I halt, speechless at the red words scrawled all over the walls and the floor.
You’re dead.
You ruined Sloane.
You will suffer.
Bitch.
Slut.
Whore.
Die.
“Who the fuck did this?” I roar.
“Goddamn.” Even Kiln sounds shocked. I turn to him and he raises his hands. “On it.”
“Sir, is everything all right?” Amika asks from the bedroom.
I shoulder aside Kiln and leave the bathroom and the fucked-up messages behind.
The maid is in her bedclothes, her blonde hair all over her head. Her eyes are too alert for her to have been asleep, which means all the commotion interrupted her fucking someone.
I explain what happened and she covers her mouth in shock.
“Oh my! Poor Georgie. I’ll look in on her.”
“That won’t be necessary. Georgie needs to rest. Thank you for coming up to check on us.”
She nods. “Yes, sir.”
“Go back to Georgiana,” Kiln instructs me once Amika is gone. “She
needs you around more than me.”
Asshole throws his little digs in all the fucking time. In this instance, though, he’s right.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the fucking bathroom?” I demand, when I reach Abby’s bedroom.
“I wasn’t thinking about it,” she admits. “I just wanted to get away.”
My anger deflates and I crawl into bed. Turning to me, she snakes her arms around my waist. Trembles rock her body and I hold her just a little tighter.
Chapter Thirteen
“Get the fuck to Dad’s office, Sloane,” Kiln barks at me when I pick up my cell phone, hours later, then hangs up without waiting for my response. He’s a rude motherfucker like that.
I ease out of bed and Bryn makes a face at me.
After moving Georgie and Bryn to the suite I use, Georgie is finally asleep, although Bryn is wide awake. We’ve been entertaining each other for an hour and her expressions fascinate me. She follows my movements, then turns to Georgie and nuzzles her tit. Bryn’s tiny fingers grab her mother’s gown, attempting to find a way to latch on.
“You’re making Daddy do a really tough job,” I tell her. I go to Georgie’s side, lean over and push the material aside then guide Bryn to Georgie’s nipple. I smile at the baby’s contented sound.
Georgie mumbles. Mostly asleep, she adjusts her and Bryn to a more comfortable position, dislodging my hand still around her swollen tit.
Instead of watching Bryn nurse, I head downstairs, in only pajama bottoms. Opening the door to my room, Pres nods to me.
“I won’t be long.”
“Yes, sir.”
Entering the office, all traces of my search has been removed. Dad’s lifted brow tells me he knows I was in here. Even if I wanted to hide it, I couldn’t. Nor can I fucking escape him. He’s Beelzebub.
I refuse to offer an explanation, so I return the favor and lift my brow.
Everyone remains silent, so I ask, “What’s going on?” It irritates me I was called away from Georgie and Bryn seemingly for nothing.
Kiln’s look is considering. “You have rabid fans.”
Tell me something I don’t fucking know.
“What the fuck does that mean and how does that relate to what happened here to Georgie?”
“I’ve spent the morning checking our security cameras. I also called the hospital where she gave birth to Bryn to ask about any suspicious activity while Georgiana was admitted. They have nothing concrete, but a nurse who alleges a strange woman was in Georgiana’s room, looking for Bryn. When the nurse walked in, she thought it was a visitor, but found some of Georgiana’s comments odd.”
“What did Georgie say that the woman found suspicious?”
“That the woman was there to get the baby, who’d already been taken back to the nursery.”
“Georgie hasn’t mentioned this to me.” She’d tell me about a threat to Bryn. “What makes you think it’s one of my fans?”
“She was sedated,” Kiln explains. “Either she doesn’t remember or she’s chalked it up to a dream. The nurse mentioned it to a supervisor, who reported it. Then, the morning of her release the hospital received a death threat against Georgie.”
My blood runs cold upon hearing the words, and all types of scenarios run through my head. My security team has dealt with wild women. Those who just want to touch me, as if I were the Holy Grail. One fan wanted a piece of my hair, only discovered after she yanked my head and pulled out a pair of scissors. She was wrestled to the ground in not a very nice way.
This event occurred during my drug using days. We were wasted alike and I forgave her easily enough. Not only did she end up with my hair, she got dick from me, too.
I never stopped and considered if she was some crazy bitch or not. She could’ve had a gun, knife, another pair of scissors, or any type of weapon hidden. My guys had checked her, but inviting her back to my hotel room was still a fucking risk.
In retrospect, I see that my life didn’t matter to me.
Until this moment, I’ve never concerned myself with risk assessment. Kiln and the band’s security detail would either protect me or they wouldn’t. Georgie, on the other hand, is precious. Few appreciate what she’s done. My Phoenicians are rabid and mostly female.
Georgie is at the center of all the concert cancelations, some of our lost endorsements, and radios pulling our songs. With the photo of the hospital all over the place, her whereabouts were easily attainable. Except…
“This doesn’t make sense. Georgie isn’t in the fucking hospital, and her current location shouldn’t be known. Still, someone broke in and used my daughter in a game of hide-and-seek. I don’t even want to go into the messages for Georgie that are spray painted all over the bathroom. When whoever it is, is identified, they better pray the police get to them before I do.”
“We’re looking for leads, but have come up with nothing,” Dad inserts.
“You wanted to see her suffer and repay her for everything she’s put you through,” Kiln reminds me.
I did. Before I saw her, smelled her, and touched her again. Before I held our daughter in my arms. I don’t comment on Kiln’s words. He knows that I no longer want Georgie hurt.
“Find a Detective Stu Jackson.” I gaze between Jaeger and Kiln. I don’t care who does it, as long as it gets done. Dad and I exchange glances. I never went further in the file he has on Georgie, so maybe he’s already located the cop. In case, he hasn’t…“I’ve tried to track him down, but he was relieved of his duties at HPD.”
“Has anyone called Helen Sanderson about the death threat against Georgie?” Adam’s question brings the conversation back to the original reason Kiln called me. “She’s her custodian, right?”
I snort. “I was the closest she ever came to having a guardian.” Despite what Helen claims.
“We all know how that turned out,” Kiln remarks dryly and addresses Adam, ignoring my growl. “Why do you think Georgie’s here, Adam?”
Fuck, it suddenly makes perfect sense. No wonder Helen was so agreeable to me when I told her I intended to collect Georgiana. Sonofabitch, does that mean Helen knew about the threat to Georgie’s life and didn’t fucking tell me?
That wicked old bitch will never like me but, in the interest of her granddaughter, she could’ve fucking told me about the danger.
Who the fuck am I kidding? Helen is Helen. I was the stupid motherfucker who thought I’d trumped her in some way. She doesn’t agree to anything if it doesn’t benefit her.
I scrub a hand over my face, impotent anger surging through me. Crowell is a known threat. I can wipe him off the face of the earth and the problem is solved, but this is an unknown woman. The same one who attacked at La Perla? Whoever she might be doesn’t explain how they found a way onto the grounds and into the house? Thanks to video cameras, she was arrested. Because Abby attacked her, we had to work out a deal. No charges against my aunt, no charges against her. She agreed.
“This is an inside job,” I say about this latest attack. “How would anyone know Georgie is with me? Or her location, if she isn’t familiar with us?”
“It could be Cassandra,” Dad throws out with nonchalance.
“The staff at the hospital would’ve recognized her,” Maitland says in dismissal of the theory. He looks wasted and smells like sex and alcohol.
“Fuck! Why the fuck are we finding out about the security breach now? What reason would someone have to kill her?”
My rhetorical question is spoken out of pure frustration. These fuckers, however, aren’t giving me a break.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jaeger sneers, tired of having his face unbroken. “Maybe, just bringing down Sloane Mason might be cause enough.”
“Nothing,” I grit out, “not even my arrest and the prospect of a very long time in jail, is worth her life.”
Perhaps, I’m the worst person of all for her to have in her life. Worse than Cassandra, Crowell, or Helen. Worse than my father even. I swore to Georgie that I’d alwa
ys protect her. I know her fears and fragility. I gave up on her, on us, long before she ever gave up on me.
The thought sobers me and I turn on my heel. “Get Georgie her own detail,” I call over my shoulder. “Kiln, see who we can pull from everyone.”
Kiln clears his throat and I glance back. He hasn’t moved and seems more smugly amused than he did when I ordered Detective Jackson be found.
I face him again and narrow my eyes. “I’m not asking, I’m telling you to do it. So get a move on.”
“Well, you quit your band, so we have no incentive.” Dad glances at his watch and folds his arms. “Therefore, I do what the fuck I want, and I don’t want to save Georgiana. Nor am I interested in finding some goddamn detective.”
“Helen’s on her way here,” Kiln inserts, before I tackle Dad. “She says she has a solution and has called a family meeting.”
“A family meeting?” Georgie doesn’t have a family. Furthermore, whoever’s pretending to give a fuck about her, wouldn’t meet at my father’s house. Helen would be more comfortable on her own turf. “Here?”
“Here,” Kiln confirms while Dad goes to Jaeger and speaks in low tones.
With nothing more to say, I once again start for the door.
“Sloane.” Dad’s voice stops me.
I don’t answer, waiting on him.
“We’ll pick up any slack that Helen may have if you unresign from the fucking band,” he says.
I’m out. Done. Days ago, I made that clear. The bargain he’s offering seems calculated and designed to put me back under his control. No fucking way am I making another deal with the devil. No matter how much I already miss Phoenix Rising. I can go solo, but it won’t be the same, just as Quint said the band won’t be the same without me.
“Fuck you,” I shout back, and glance between him and Kiln. Master manipulators, both of them. They’ve removed the joy from my music, the simple happiness I feel whenever I add a line to Inferno, the song I’m writing for Georgie. Is that all this is? All an elaborate scheme to get me back in the band? Dad’s kind of evil is bar none. He also has time on his hands to plot and plan and play with everyone’s lives. And he wants me in my band. “You sick motherfucker. There’s no fucking danger against Georgie, is there?”
Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series Page 52
