Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Giving me a look to kill, Kiln yanks out his phone and pitches it against my chest. When I look at the screen, I see his visual voicemail. He doesn’t have to dial in and listen to his messages. He can just read them. This one chills me.

  Mr. Dalton, the following issue has come about. Trouble1 received a threat against her life. Mrs. Sanderson was informed, but she didn’t want to alarm the subject. We’ve confirmed the threat.

  I re-read the message. “Georgie is code named Trouble1?”

  No response from anyone. This can be manufactured, too.

  Kiln snatches his phone away. “Believe me now?”

  I fucking fought to stay in my band. I put up with their no drugs and no fighting rules. I wonder if it was just a ruse, and they’d never had any intentions of releasing me.

  “Get him on the phone,” I order. “I want the facts and the details first hand.”

  “Are you willing to risk her life?” Jaeger counters.

  No, I’m not, and we all know it.

  “You still have statutory rape charges pending, boy,” Dad reminds me. “You need to put a lot of distance between you and the McCall girl, once you obtain custody of my granddaughter.”

  “Bryn stays with her mother,” I say flatly. Had I intended to seek custody, I wouldn’t have allowed my father to come anywhere near my daughter.

  “You two are better off apart,” he insists. “She has to go with or without the child.”

  Maitland shakes his head in disagreement. “I think they love each other, Rand. Sloane was at his best when she was with him.”

  “His muse?” Dad asks.

  “No.” I skim a cold glance between my former bandmates. “That’s why you’re all here? You believed Dad had found a way to force me back in?”

  “No, we were upstairs in the music room,” Quint answers tightly. “Kiln told us what was going on about the threat at the hospital before calling you on the phone.”

  “Don’t rejoin yet,” Maitland suggests, ever the diplomat. “Just think about it.”

  “Yes, think about it, Sloane,” Kiln warns. “If the threat is real, imagine what will happen to Georgie if you quit the fucking band? Go ahead. Find out. We need to handle this, so you don’t go back to fucking jail for statutory rape. Everyone will know she’s telling the truth. And she’ll either be at Helen’s mercy or out on her own.”

  Yes, because if I’m sent back to jail they won’t lift a finger to protect her. Worse, she’ll be caught in the middle of a custody battle. Not between her and my father, but my father and her grandmother, neither wanting to be outdone by the other.

  “You really want to protect her, get back in the fucking band,” Dad says in a hard voice.

  “You want your motherfucking sons to have money, write them a fucking check,” I snarl.

  “Don’t you miss music?” Adam asks.

  “Fuck, yes,” I respond, without even considering my answer. It’s right there, brewing within me. What my music once meant. Not what it’s become. “I miss it for the sake of art and because we enjoyed bringing words to life. What we’ve become over the last twenty-five or thirty months? No. I don’t want that.”

  “I’d like to add you to the itinerary again for the trip to LA,” Jaeger says cautiously.

  The one that we’d been planning as the European tour wound down. Next week would’ve been our last concert, then we would’ve headed to the studio before going to LA in six weeks. As soon as I returned to the states, I’d intended to contact Georgie so we could talk.

  “Okay, Sloane?” Jaeger presses. “We’re in talks for the band to perform at a music festival. A last minute addition to the lineup since we’ll be in LA anyway. We have deadlines to meet.”

  Deadline. Rehearsals. Concerts. All music to my ears—pun unavoidable. I’d be dancing for joy if, once again, my music wasn’t wrapped up in my father’s schemes.

  “We’ll keep her safe,” Kiln swears.

  Words are so fucking easy. Only the actions put worth into them.

  “Let’s hear what Helen has to say. Then decide,” Dad tells me, once again leaning in my favor as he’s been doing the past days. “You’re walking a fine line between freedom and jail time. She might have a solution we can all live with.”

  “Fine,” I grumble.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I need to talk to you about the woman who was at the store,” I say to Abby, ten minutes after I leave my father’s office.

  Detouring to the kitchen to get control of my anger before I face Georgie again, I told the cook to send up a tray with bacon, eggs, hash browns and biscuits for Georgie and me. Instead of going to my bedroom, I headed to my aunt’s room. As I walk through her opened door, I halt in surprise when I see another woman and dresses all over the fucking place.

  “Oh my God! It’s really you,” the stranger in Abby’s room says in awe. “I-I mean. You’re him. Sloane Mason. I’m such a fan and I’ve been following your case so closely. I can’t believe the audacity of some people. Oh my God.” She breathes in and out. “Sloane Mason.”

  This woman is smartly dressed. A measuring tape is around her neck and a pen jammed behind her ear, but my mere presence is reducing her to blithering stupidity.

  She doesn’t see that I’m a real man, with real problems. She doesn’t even care that my accuser’s story might very well be true. No, all she sees is her idol.

  Not amused, I shake my head.

  Georgie’s life is in danger because of people like her. Wherever she goes, someone will point the finger at her. For every one person who’ll believe her, three more won’t.

  Abby clears her throat. “DeeDee wants an autograph.”

  “That’s you?” I ask the woman, and glance around the bedroom at all the clothes spread out. “Who are you, anyway?”

  “A stylist,” Abby answers, holding out paper and pen to me.

  Snatching the items, I scowl at her and she blinks innocently at me. Without being told, I know the tab for whatever she buys will be forwarded to me. If it keeps her happy and in Georgie’s company, all the better.

  My gaze falls on a silk and lace lavender gown. A pair of sad purple eyes floats into my brain. The amethyst is too much of a beautiful color to always have tears gleaming in them.

  Distracted, I sign my usual Always Rise, and my name. I return the paper and pen to my aunt, then move to the dress, lifting it up. It’s delicate, like Georgie.

  It will make a perfect wedding dress, even though I’ll leave the final decision to her. But seeing this gown further solidifies proposing to Georgie on her eighteenth birthday is meant to be. If I believed in signs and omens, this would be a very good indicator.

  Curious, Abby eyes me. “Do you like the gown?”

  “Yeah, but not for you.”

  “Of course not for me. You know I hate that color,” Abby says in dismissal. “I was thinking of the ice blue one.” She points in the direction of the dress. “What do you think?”

  I spare a glance, though I don’t pass my opinion and drape the gown over my forearm. “Add this to the tab, Dee Dee.”

  “O-oh, y-yes sir,” she says in that same reverential voice. “Anything you want is yours.”

  I grunt at her brownnosing and hold the gown up. To me, it needs a few adjustments to properly fit Georgie.

  “We’re having a family meeting, Abby, so hurry it up.”

  “Do I have to attend? After what happened this morning, I want to sleep.”

  “It shouldn’t be long.” Not if I have anything to say about it. “Be there.”

  “Fine.” She holds out her hands. “Give me the gown. I know her size, so I’ll take care of it. You dress yourself.”

  “Yes, Aunt Abby,” I say with a smirk.

  An hour later, I’m ready for Helen’s fucking meeting that I’ve waited until the last minute to tell Georgie about because I didn’t want her to worry.

  Scowling, I grip Georgie’s elbow and guide her to the den. Anger surges anew through
me at Cassandra’s presence.

  My band members stand on the opposite side of the room from Cassandra, a gaunt looking Parnell, and Georgie’s asshole brother, Josh.

  “Georgiana,” Cassandra’s voice cuts through the air.

  Georgie narrows her eyes. “I don’t want you here, Mom.”

  Cassandra shrugs. “I don’t want you, so we’re even.” She tosses her gorgeous mane of blonde hair. “But my granddaughter needs me. Your father and I can get Bryn to safety while they search for your would-be killer.”

  “Mother!” Josh snarls.

  “You.” Helen crooks her finger at Abby. “Take the child.”

  Georgie starts to back away, but my father is in cahoots with Helen and nods. Kiln steps up and holds Georgie still while Abby takes Bryn into her arms.

  “Why are you doing this?” Georgie asks, rushing behind her when she starts to walk away. “No! Bring her back to me.”

  “We’ve come up with a plan to keep you safe,” I tell her.

  Giving her grandmother a sullen glance, she eases down onto the floor, sitting in the spot she’d been standing.

  “You will stay here with your daughter until tomorrow when charges will be formally dropped against Sloane and the name of your baby’s father will be announced. Sloane will make a statement. Then, dear, you will make a public apology, before opening the floor to three questions. I’ll tell you beforehand which reporters to choose. You and the baby’s father will agree to co-parent. Afterward, you and the baby will be taken to the airport. I know where you’re going, and you’ll be well provided for. But we’re done, Georgiana. You wanted his baby, you have it. Cassandra can be targeted for death threats if you stay, so you go.”

  “No, absolutely not,” Josh protests. “There’s no fucking way you’re pushing Georgie out of this fucking family.”

  My respect for him grows tenfold. I remain silent, deciding who I’ll take out first. Very soon, not only will there be a threat against Cassandra, but Helen as well, in the form of me.

  “Joshua!” Helen says sharply.

  “No, Grandmother. Change the terms.”

  Georgie curls up on the floor. I can’t stand to see her this way. Neither can I abide the triumph in Cassandra’s eyes or the bleakness in Parnell’s. Fucking pussy.

  “Do you want to see your brother?” Helen asks.

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  Helen purses her mouth. “Fine. Once a week, you’ll get a call from him. No visits. The press and your so-called would-be killer will be on the hunt for you for many months. No one can lead them your way.”

  “No,” Josh argues. “She’s coming with me. What’s the matter with you people?”

  “She has chosen her daughter,” Helen says in dismissal. “I have chosen mine.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, allowing this travesty long enough.

  “It means if I would give her up, I could stay.” Georgie’s words are robotic, shell-shocked as if she can’t believe what Helen is doing.

  “You still can,” Helen cajoles. “The adoption papers are all drawn up. Just sign her away and forget about her. Forget him.” She nods to me. “He doesn’t want you. He never has. He slept with your mother several times.”

  “Enough!” I place myself in front of Georgie and face Helen. “I want Georgiana. It’s Cassandra I’ve never fucking wanted.” As I turn to order Georgie to her feet, Helen halts me.

  Her eyes are void of warmth, charity, or kindness. Hard to believe that Georgie’s related to these deceitful, cruel bitches.

  I attempt to jerk away from her, but she tightens her hold. “A moment of your time please, Sloane?” She snaps her fingers. “Kiln, pick up Georgiana and bring her wherever you keep her.”

  As if she knows I won’t refuse her, she begins to walk away.

  “When she’s done, I have to talk to you, son,” Dad calls.

  I go only as far as the entrance hall to better watch Kiln carry Georgie upstairs, where he knows to take her to my room. She’s never setting foot in that fucking White Suite again.

  “What, Helen?” I bark, not giving a fuck about anything but getting to Georgie.

  “Even I make mistakes,” she begins.

  That catches my attention. I widen my eyes, sure I’ve fucking misheard the wicked bitch of America admit to errors.

  She scoffs. “I love my daughter, Mr. Mason.”

  This isn’t news to me. She’s screwed me over time and again because of Cassandra, but what she did to me pales in comparison to her treatment of Georgie.

  “Say what you have to say, madam. Stop talking in fucking riddles.”

  “Cassandra is ill.”

  I tell her to stop with the fucking riddles and she changes the subject completely. “Give that woman an award. She’s finally recognized her fucked up bitch of a daughter for who she is.”

  “You do try my patience, boy.”

  “Get to your fucking point.”

  “The point is,” she hisses, sidling next to me and clasping my arm, “the charges will be dropped quietly Thursday evening, but formally on Friday. That means, at the press conference, you can announce plans to marry Georgiana and get her and your baby under your protection. That means, Mr. Mason, this is the solution to appeasing Cassandra and taking care of Georgiana and Bryn. I can’t very well control what you do, can I?”

  For a moment, I don’t move or speak. I barely breathe. Her evil, degenerate mind has figured a way for me to marry Georgie now rather than three months away.

  “Did you touch her before or after you took her on the road with you?”

  No fucking way am I answering that. I didn’t put my dick in her pussy, but her mouth and my cock were as well-acquainted as my tongue and her cunt. She was still underage according to this state’s law.

  Helen must see something in my expression. Her spine stiffens and she draws herself up. “Let me rephrase that,” she says tightly. “Did you have sexual intercourse with her before you took her on the road?”

  I clamp down on my jaw.

  “Baby? Remember? Yours. Proof.” Helen sniffs. “So tell me where your sexual affair began? Was it in Mississippi? Ocean Springs?”

  The night I took Georgie’s virginity was the moment I realized I could no longer fight my desire for her. “We were in North Carolina.”

  “When the tour ended you went to Colorado?”

  “Yes.”

  Hands on hips, she turns in a circle. “Who knew you were in Colorado?”

  “Dad, the band, Kiln, Jaeger.”

  “Anyone else. Anyone that I’ll need my attorneys to contact with an offer?”

  “Where the fuck is this going? These questions are irrelevant. The fact is she was here. The charges claim that the affair happened in Houston.”

  “Age of consent in North Carolina is sixteen. Colorado is eighteen. So forget Colorado,” she orders. “According to my estimate, she was four or five weeks away from her seventeenth birthday. Bryn was born early,” she says without missing a beat. “You visited Georgie on her seventeenth birthday and you had…relations with her. The result is your daughter. She’s thirteen weeks from eighteen, so once this ripple is taken care of, I’m sure everything else will fall into place.”

  My eyes narrow.

  She laughs her witch’s cackle.

  “I had a cleric with me. At the hospital. I was all set to have the charges dropped and have you marry Georgie the day she was released, but Cassandra was there.” She clucks. “Your father will be furious, but I’ll handle him. This is entirely up to you, of course. We can always do it my way though I’d prefer not to.”

  She offers me a smile, a real smile, the first I’ve ever seen from her.

  “Your father and I have been acquainted for a while,” she rambles calmly. “Houston’s elite, you know? We run in the same circles.” She smiles and paces again, then stops in front of me. “Beach houses weren’t far from one another. Your father loved your mother very, very much. I knew Bryn and
Alexia. His first wife,” she clarifies as if I’m a dumb motherfucker. “I still see Alexia from time-to-time, you know?”

  No, I sure the fuck don’t know. “How would I know that?”

  “Of course. How would you?”

  Her smile is a little sadder. “One never gets over losing a child, and Stefanie was a good girl.”

  I steel myself against listening to her comparing her and Cassandra to Alexia and Stefanie.

  “I was supposed to be on the boat that day,” she continues casually.

  I swallow. “What?”

  “Yes, Sloane. But I received a call from Bryn. Your mother,” she clarifies. For herself. I know she was referring to my mother and not my daughter. “Rand wanted time with his two favorite children.” She levels me with an unreadable gaze. “Too bad I didn’t get the message until after I returned from the beach.”

  “You know?” I whisper. “You fucking know that Dad killed her and—”

  She shrugs. “Never tip your hand. Rand is…not nice. My husband had several business deals with him—”

  “If he’d known you were there, he would’ve stopped.” I’m that sixteen-year-old all over again, helpless to save his sister who was being murdered right in front of his eyes.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Had he seen me, he would’ve killed me and threatened to pin something else on you. Had I told what I know, I wouldn’t be in the position I am at the moment, now would I? Timing, boy. That idiot, Parnell, pulled Rand into the sick games that he played with my daughter.” She bristles and draws herself up. I estimate she’s about five feet, six inches. At the moment, she could be the Incredible Hulk. Not only does she have audacity, she has fucking balls. “I don’t like you, Mr. Mason. You’re a womanizer of the worst sort. I’ve had you investigated, too.”

  Too?

  “Georgie happens to love you. God knows my genes skipped over Cassandra and went right to my granddaughter.” She gives a dramatic sigh. “If you cheat on her, that’s between you and Georgie. Right now, she’s vulnerable. Someone is threatening her life. You have those monsters in your security detail so they can keep her safe even if you can’t.”