Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Grandma calls out of the blue and informs me of her last minute plans to visit me. She sounds horrible, not at all like the woman I know.

  Sloane leaves early in the morning for rehearsals. Grandma misses him by about five minutes. I decide not to ruin his day with the news of her arrival. Abby and I tear through the house to clean up while Bryn amuses herself in her swing. I take breaks to feed and change her. At one in the afternoon, Abby walks into the den where I’m stretched out on the sofa, almost too tired to lift my head. I’ve been working since seven this morning.

  This is a big fucking house.

  “Georgie,” Abby calls.

  “What?” I mumble, my cheek against the soft cushion of the sofa.

  “Helen wants me to pick her up from the airport.”

  My eyes fly open. “What?” Is Grandma planning to have Abby killed and her body hidden along the way to the house? “No way!”

  She wiggles her phone beneath my nose and I grab it, sitting up with a sigh. Sure enough Grandma has texted Abby. “She wants you to bring Bryn?” I ask in confusion, pressing the screen to check the sender, verifying that it is, in fact, my grandmother’s phone number.

  Abby has been acting strangely for weeks, but it seems to have worsened since my shooting. When I ask her about it, she always brushes it off and claims as much as she loves me, working is a new experience for her.

  “What should I do?” she presses now.

  “Let me call my grandmother.”

  Of course, Grandma doesn’t pick up.

  As I dial a third time, a message comes through to me.

  Grandma: I only want to spend time with my great-granddaughter. I promise you I’m not taking her away.

  As I wrestle with the shock that Grandma is texting, I realize the thought of anyone taking Bryn away from me hadn’t crossed my mind. Grandma’s lost in her grief too, and it’s allowing her to do things she’d once deemed unmannerly. Namely, text messaging instead of phone calls. It pains me to admit part of my change of heart about Bryn is also because my mom is gone. She was the one who would’ve been happiest with Bryn taken from me. Familiar sorrow and hurt hits me, the same I’ve experienced whenever I think of Mom. Mom’s death aside, Sloane would never allow any of Grandma’s diabolical plans.

  Me: Why Abby?

  Grandma: I need to discuss a private matter with her.

  Me: I think she’ll be there, but Bryn won’t. I don’t have time to get to the airport and still cook the evening meal.

  Okay, try to cook, not that she needs full disclosure. My suspicions over Grandma’s sudden desire to have Bryn and Abby to herself destroy any chance that I’ll sleep and catch my second wind.

  My phone beeps again.

  Grandma: I requested Bryn and Abby, Georgiana. Not you.

  Um, right.

  Grandma: Please, dear. I just need this bonding time with the little one, as I discuss what I must with Abigail.

  Me: Fine. My fingers fly over the letters and I press send before I change my mind.

  For the next three hours, I vacillate between keeping Bryn with me and allowing her to go. To divert my worry, I call Zelda and ask her to walk me through my very ambitious menu.

  “Thanks, Zelda,” I say as I place the stuffed flounder in the oven. My red potatoes are quartered and boiled, waiting to be sautéed with the garlic and asparagus, as Zelda instructed and the shrimp salad is ready to be scooped onto the avocados. “I hope I did it right.”

  “I’m sure you did, Georgie. Call me if you need any more instructions. Don’t forget to put lemon juice over the avocados if you peel them any time soon.”

  “I remember.”

  “You’ll do just fine for your first dinner party.”

  She always has faith in me. Smiling as I hang up, I glimpse the clock and frown.

  By the time Abby is ready to leave, I’ve swung to allowing Bryn to go, as long as the remaining security detail accompany her. I don’t want to antagonize my grandmother. Sloane will jump in and then Rand. Then, major bullshit will start. I have a full security detail. It’s easier to send them with Bryn and Abby than to keep my daughter home and start another battle in the war already raging in our families.

  Because there won’t be room in one SUV for Grandma, Abby, Bryn in her car seat, and five bodyguards, they strap Bryn into the vehicle with Abby and Jason, while the other men go in the second.

  The quietness of the house is totally creepy and my imagination runs wild. The place is secluded with foliage surrounding it and a trail that leads to a cliff. Perfect spot for a killer to chop me to pieces and throw away my body parts.

  Nice, Georgie.

  Heaving in a breath, I count to three, pull in air through my nose, until I calm myself, repeating in my head that this is a perfectly safe place. No time like the present to experience being alone in a house for the first time in my life.

  Oh my God. For real?

  Yeah, Georgie. For real.

  Even when I was locked in that room and even when Grandma kept me secluded, I always knew at least two or three staff members were in residence. The guys didn’t hire any staff and since I arrived I didn’t think to, although Sloane wouldn’t have refused me.

  This is fucking insane.

  Grumpy now that I’ve realized I’m conditioned to not being alone, I’m determined to overcome this fear. Ignoring the creepiness, I clean up the huge mess I’ve made in the kitchen. Halfway through, the doorbell rings and I scowl, irritated at the interruption.

  When I look through the door viewer, I cry out in surprise. Crowell stands there, the breeze blowing through his hair. It’s imperative to get rid of him like five minutes ago, but I swing open the door and hug him, genuinely happy to see him.

  “Hey, George,” he greets me, kissing my forehead and walking into the house. He’s handsome but in no way comparable to Sloane.

  “What are you doing here?” I gush, almost hugging him again. His life is in jeopardy with the cameras everywhere.

  “I was in the neighborhood,” he teases with a snicker.

  “Silly!” Rocking back on my heels, I poke him and giggle. “Who gave you my address to this house? You know the one where I live with Sloane. He’s going to gut you for coming here.”

  Face darkening, Crowell stomps around me toward the den and sits on the sofa. “Fuck him. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  Sighing, I sink down near him, keeping the distance of the middle cushion between us. I need to jump into the shower and wash the sweat of cleaning and cooking away. “We are and we’ll always be. But Sloane’s my husband and I love him. I have to respect his wishes.”

  Crowell’s face falls and I fold my arms so I won’t offer comfort out of habit. He taught me to make him feel good whenever I was in his company and he was sad. He lays his head back on the sofa. Memories rush back to me at his heavy-lidded contemplation. It embarrasses me now to think of the way I sucked his dick and the reasons for it. There’s more to me than cocksucking in exchange for a high. Crowell helped me through a dark time and I’ll be forever grateful, but Sloane and I share an unbreakable bond, our friendship so much deeper than what Crowell ever offered me.

  “I’m sorry, George,” he whispers, scooting next to me and caressing my cheek. “I’ve just missed you.” He heaves in a breath. “God, I love you,” he whispers and indicates the rise in his pants. “I can’t even look at you without getting a hard dick.”

  “You’ve got to leave.” I never thought I’d be in a position where I’d have to put out the man I once considered my only friend, but I won’t allow him to disrespect my husband. Sexual talk is very disrespectful.

  Crowell’s blue eyes harden and unease slides into me. The day he hit me comes to mind.

  “We’re friends,” I hurry on. “Our sexual relationship is over. You’re a very good man.”

  Glaring at me, he gets to his feet.

  My heart rate accelerates and I lower my lashes, giving him the submission he expects.

>   He’s not high. I know him well enough to be certain of that. When he’d so violently shoved and slapped me, he’d snorted a lot of coke, popped speed, and guzzled alcohol. I had so much drugs in my system, I didn’t feel the pain of his hit until later.

  “I have…Grandma is expected,” I tell him, standing so I won’t be at such a disadvantage. “I need to finish cleaning the kitchen.”

  “Look at me.”

  His quiet menace makes me instantly obey. He raises his hand and I lift mine to shield my face.

  He takes another step toward me and I back up again, trembling at his balled fists.

  “I forgave you for hitting me the way you did. You still make me nervous when you look at me with that anger, so stop. Okay?”

  “Why did you let me in if you’re afraid of me?”

  “I was happy to see you. I didn’t even consider what had happened between us.” My responses appease him and he shoves his hands in his pockets, further away but still too close to me.

  “The security cameras feed into our phones. Someone from the detail will see it and tell on you.” Maybe Sloane himself. If he has his alerts on, all he has to do is accept it and look at his screen to see what’s happening via the camera feed. On the other hand, he assumes my detail is here.

  Crowell’s eyes narrow. “I’m a grown fucking man. There’s no ‘telling on me.’ This is a free fucking country. I can go where the fuck I want to.”

  “But this is private property,” I counter.

  “Oh, baby, if you only knew.”

  He smirks at me and looks around the room as if he owns it. He lifts a brow and my heart sinks. Nausea invades me. “Yours, right?”

  Triumph lights his eyes and he nods. “Rand and I developed a friendship. When the band headed here, he suggested to Jaeger a rental. Here it is. His way of keeping tabs on his hothead of a son. He hoped to get a little action with him between the sheets with some slut. Ammunition to keep him in line.” His mouth twists. “Nothing. Not one fucking slut, until the biggest one of all arrived.” Grabbing me, he hits me, stunning me enough that he has easy leverage to spit on me, push me into the wall, and spit in my face again.

  “Disgusting fuckhead,” I snarl, feinting right when he lunges left and wiping away the spit on my cheek and forehead with the back of my hand. My feet slap against the kitchen as I head toward the alarm system. Not knowing who it’ll summon and not caring, I press the call button at the bottom. Crowell charges me, allowing me no time to see if I’ll get a response.

  We face off, each of us attempting to guess which way the other will go.

  “You threw me over for your rock star. Until you met him, you were satisfied sucking cock to get high.”

  “I was too fucking doped up to know better, dickhead.”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret about the internationally known, Sloane Mason,” he chortles. “He’s pissed Rand off and I despise him for the arrogant asshole he is.”

  I duck around him and snatch up a dirty frying pan, swinging it at Crowell as he reaches me. He’s taller than me, so I stand on my tiptoes, hoping to get his chin, but he sees it coming and deflects it, yanking my wrist and tearing the frying pan away.

  He lifts me off my feet, ignoring my blows until we get back to the den, where his jacket is. Setting me down, he delivers another slap to the side of my face. I drop to the ground. Before I recover, he places his hand over my mouth and imprisons me against him.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, George,” he croaks out. “I just want us to be the way we once were.”

  One of his fingers jam against my nostrils, stopping my air and I struggle.

  “I’m here for you. Rand asked me to get rid of you as a warning to Sloane.”

  Thrusting his erection against my back, he slams me to my knees and I gasp for breath, scrambling away. Not quick enough. He grabs my hair and wrenches me back, jerking me to my feet.

  He’s done no serious damage to me. Yet. That’ll change if I don’t get away. I’ve heard his words about what Rand wants, but I can’t care about them now. Scratching his cheek, I jump onto the sofa, intending to hop over it. Wild with anger, he catches my shoulders and shakes me, then slams me onto the cushions, straddling me. He digs in his shirt pocket and pulls out a needle.

  “Crack, George. Maybe enough to kill you. Maybe not.”

  I struggle against him, but he stretches out over me, trapping my hands above my head. “Don’t do this, Crowell. Please. I have my baby.”

  “You have his baby. There’s a difference.”

  “She’s mine, too! I love her. Please, don’t take me away from her.”

  “You’re like any other little groupie wanting a rock star’s baby,” he sneers. “Your daughter’s expendable to Rand. As are you. I’ll take you. I have no fucking use for a kid.”

  He kisses me and I start to cry.

  “Do you think you’re so gorgeous?” He laughs and kisses me again. “You aren’t. That isn’t why I want you. It’s because you’re young and easy to control. I’ve trained you just the way I want you to be. And Sloane Mason is the beneficiary of all my hard work? I think not.”

  I scream at the top of my lungs. Crowell laughs.

  “None of the hulks your husband has guarding you are around. Makes my job easier. Too bad your daughter isn’t here, so I could get rid of her.”

  “Get the fuck off of me!” It’s a useless demand, but I’m furious to be at Crowell’s mercy. “You’re a perverted fucker.”

  “Because of your age? What does that make Sloane?”

  “Ten fucking times better than you. And, no, asshole, it isn’t because of my age. It’s because of the reasons you want me.”

  I wiggle again, until the syringe I’d all but forgotten pricks my neck and I still.

  “You don’t want me to shoot you up, do you?”

  If I move the needle will be inserted further in, though he has to press it for any of the drug to go in. “No. Please.”

  “Suck me off. That’s your only other option.”

  “Asshole. Fuckhead. Motherfucker,” I snarl through my tears.

  “What’ll it be, George?” He licks the side of my face and my stomach turns. “Sucking my dick or…?” He jiggles the needle against my skin.

  “I’ll suck you.”

  His triumphant smile will turn to bitter pain when I bite his fucking cock off. We sit up and he unzips his pants, freeing his dick. I don’t want him in my mouth for a moment, but I’ll do what’s necessary to distract him and get that syringe from him. Crowell will have me blow him and then still shoot me up.

  My only other option is escape and I haven’t succeeded yet. I’ve just enraged him with each attempt.

  “Have you changed your mind, babe?”

  A breath shudders out of me and I hiccup, shaking my head. Before I lose my nerve, I go to him and drop to my knees. I stare at his erection, knowing there’s no way I can do this.

  He has fast reflexes. He was an athlete in high school and college. I only ever danced and Mom always said I was no good. My equestrian skills aren't athleticism either, according to her. I’m not good for anything but what Crowell is waiting for me to do.

  But I have to try. If he overpowers me and I die, I would’ve died a fighter this one time.

  Meeting his gaze, I wrap one hand around the base of his cock and lower my head as if I’m about to take him into my mouth. He sighs and leans his head back, already anticipating the glide of my tongue on his crown as he taught me, as the needle goes lax in his hand.

  Grabbing it, I jab it into his stomach and close my eyes as I pump the contents into him. He meets my gaze, his eyes as wide with shock as mine.

  Shaking violently, I stumble to my cell phone to dial 911, praying he can be saved as his eyes roll back. His body convulses, as red foam bubbles from his mouth and blood drips from his nose. I don’t want him to die. I just wanted to save myself.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I walk into chaos. E
MTs and police, along with a shitload of the usual. The media. Even before I arrive at the house, it’s all over the radio and the web. Jaeger receives calls for statements about the attack on Sloane Mason’s wife.

  It surprises me to find my father is there, too. I’m sure to threaten me with dire consequences if I don’t rehire Kiln. Helen Sanderson comes in not ten minutes later, along with Bryn, Abby, and Parnell McCall. Georgie’s face is swollen and bruised, simultaneously being attended by an emergency tech and talking to a police officer. Crowell Daniels is hooked up to machines, still alive when he’s wheeled away.

  Between sniffles and tears, Georgie explains what happened to the cop she’s talking to. Listening to her tale of terror infuriates me. When I get my hands on that motherfucker…

  Finished with the interview, she launches herself into my arms and whispers to me details she left out of her statement to police. Details about my father’s role in Crowell’s sudden appearance.

  I hug her tightly, regretting my absence but thankful she’s such a fighter. I don’t know the reason her grandmother and father are here, and I don’t give a fuck. They can dance with Cassandra in hell for all I care.

  I’m not staying in this fucking house one more night. I’m not living under my father’s twisted thumb one more minute. He wants Georgie and Bryn dead. Fuck, waiting another week. The press is already here, rabid for the details of Georgie’s attack. “I’m having the recording released tonight.”

  She nods.

  I kiss Georgie and guide her to a seat. Abby brings Bryn to her.

  “What happened here, Georgiana?” Helen demands.

  “Helen—”

  “It’s okay, Sloane,” Georgie says steadily, despite her swelling and bruising. “Take care of your business.”