Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

She shakes her head. “On and off for seven,” she answers, lifting her chin. “Montana told me he was running away because our stepdad was an abusive dick. My brother needed me, so I left with him. Two years ago, we met Chambers and…” Her voice trails off.

  “And?” Jaeger presses from behind me, reminding me of his presence. If he wants to deal with her, he’s welcomed to do so.

  “And Montana started doing jobs for him and he convinced us working for him would be easier than the petty crime we did to survive. My brother became a messenger for him and I went on the streets as one of his girls. Then, my brainless idiot of a brother stole money we owed Chambers. Things went from bad to worse.”

  Her eyes look so earnest, so hopeful, I’m actually entertaining her bullshit. “How much do you need?”

  “Two thousand dollars.”

  That’s all?

  Instead of acknowledging the amount, I change the subject.

  “Which one of the dickheads who brought you was Chambers?” I ask.

  “Neither. They were just two guys I convinced to bring me here.”

  That’s a story for another time. I don’t want peripheral bullshit to deter me from the matter at hand.

  Jaeger steps beside me and hands her his suit jacket. Obviously, he requires no other proof to believe her.

  She hesitates a moment before grabbing the jacket and shrugging into it, wrapping up her filthy little body with it. She stuffs one hand into a pocket, then pulls it out and allows it to drop to her side.

  “If we could get to the second floor, we could borrow some of Georgie’s clothes for her.”

  At Jaeger’s suggestion, I throw him the stink eye. He’s been on my ass about my plans to betray dear Sloane, yet he’s allowing deceit to enter his mind thanks to a lying, self-proclaimed whore.

  Added to annoyance is rising anger. Jaeger’s statement reminds me how little Sloane trusts me. Even now.

  Having a grubby, little schemer to deal with, I shove the thought aside, tucking it away for when I’m alone. At the moment, I have a grubby, little schemer to deal with.

  “Are you sure you have no way to get upstairs?” Jaeger persists.

  Raine looks between the two of us. “They don’t have stairs in this mansion?”

  “Is anyone talking to you?” I snap.

  She already believes I’m a gullible asshole. If I allow her to insert herself in my conversations, she’ll really think she has me under her thumb.

  She squints her eyes at me. “You’re talking about me, jerk. Therefore, I can say any fucking thing I’d like.”

  “Wrong,” I argue. “If you don’t want me to throw you out on your ass before I check out your story, you’ll shut the fuck up.”

  “The only reason I’m listening to you is because my brother’s life is in danger. If not for that, I’d tell you to go and fuck yourself.”

  “Preferable to fucking you.” The words fall from my lips without thought. Firing off verbal shots is second nature to me. Now that those words are out there, I can’t recant them. I won’t recall them.

  “Kiln,” Jaeger says with disapproval. He turns to Raine, who’s currently trying to cleave my skull in half, with a look. “We have ways of helping you, but you need clothes. According to your timeline, we don’t have enough time to purchase clothes for you from a store. Unfortunately, Georgie’s clothes are on the second floor and the entrances are locked. They use fingerprints to enter.”

  “I don’t need clothes,” she argues. “I just need my brother.”

  “As I recall, you need money to get your brother,” I remind her, noting her flinch. Her eyes water and she blinks rapidly. Her brother is her weakness. Good to know.

  She turns to me and lifts her chin. “I can get upstairs.”

  Those are the last words I expect.

  “Unless you have Sloane or Georgiana’s fingers, you can’t.”

  Hasn’t she heard anything Jaeger said?

  “I mean I can climb to the second floor and get in through a window.”

  She says it with such confidence, I know she isn’t a novice at breaking and entering. As much as I know the problems it will cause, I like her idea. Upstairs deserves breaching, since Sloane has the audacity to bar me.

  Jaeger shakes his head. “If you break in, it will set off alarms for the security company and Sloane’s phone,” he explains, always the fucking spoilsport.

  It doesn’t matter what Jaeger says. I want on that second floor. I deserve to go up there, if only because he has no valid reason to not allow me to do so.

  Handling the security company is a piece of cake and Sloane said he wasn’t going to be connected to the outside world. This opportunity is too good to let slip. “You get on the second floor, sweetheart, and open the door for me, I’ll give you five grand and go with you to get your brother.”

  Her eyes round, before they darken with suspicion. “I don’t believe it’ll be that easy.”

  “Remind me when I started giving a fuck what you believe,” I retort.

  She scowls at me. “All you want me to do is get you upstairs and you’ll give me money?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “No dick suck? No pussy? No fucking in the ass?”

  “I’m not a fucking john in need of a street whore.” The thought insults me. “Besides, getting upstairs is more important than pussy.”

  “So not only are you a dickhead but a weirdo, too?” she asks. “Is there an area rug you want to boink? A square table you want to feel up?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re suggesting that bullshit and I’m the weirdo, doll?”

  “There’s Tetris porn…” She huffs a breath then waves away the comment. “Never mind, It just seems odd that you’d want to get upstairs rather than fuck me.”

  “Pussy is pussy.” After Dietrech fucked over me, I became a firm believer of that sentiment. “It doesn’t matter who I empty my balls into, as long as I’m satisfied.”

  “My pussy is really good. It gets real juicy,” she says without shame.

  Jaeger’s face reddens. He gets groupie pussy, but he’s still a stuffed shirt, who takes the band’s leftovers. Most of the time, he isn’t around when women offer to sell their souls to sleep with one of us. Besides, he doesn’t chase fame. Like me. He isn’t envious that Sloane has most of the spotlight. Again, like me.

  He’s happy in the background.

  Unlike me.

  “Time’s wasting, Raine,” I say, instead of responding to her words, although my dick semi-hardens, not getting the message that we don’t want her. Then, again, we haven’t fucked in a few weeks. I haven’t been in the mood for women vowing to be the answer to my dreams. Is that why I feel the smallest bit of attraction for her? “You’re working on a deadline.”

  Uncertainty crosses her face and she frowns. “Are you going to beat me up?” she asks, attempting to sound brave. As if she doesn’t give a fuck.

  I see her nervousness and tinge of fear. I don’t understand her at all. She makes no attempt to curtail her smart-ass mouth, then worries I’ll turn against her and harm her.

  “You don’t have to hurt me or force me, I’m offering it to you.”

  “I don’t hit women!” I growl, not wanting her words to affect me. I don’t want to soften toward her. Then, she’d pull me into her fucked-up drama, and I’ll forget about what I need to do to avenge my honor and restore my mother’s sanity.

  “Why the fuck would you look for me, if you really think I’d harm you?”

  She sniffs, folds her arms, and taps her foot. “I didn’t think,” she admits. “Not about my safety. My only thought was, and is, saving my brother.”

  A relatable goal. I want to save my mother.

  My hand lifts, but I quickly drop it, my thought to touch her and caress her cheek, bursting.

  “I told you what I want and what I’ll give you in return.”

  She starts to wring her hands, then realizes the nervous gesture, and straightens. “Take me to a window w
ith the easiest access possible. I also need a ladder.”

  “No time for the ladder.”

  “But—”

  I raise my hand and interrupt her. “Deadline, remember?”

  She huffs out a breath. “Fine.”

  “Follow me,” I tell her, smug.

  Whether she realizes it or not, she’s placed her trust in me enough to do as I’ve ordered without question. I’ll help her, but it’ll be on my terms, allowing me to stay in control.

  Chapter Seven

  I stand in my own truths, and do what I must to survive.

  When I made the sexual offer to Kiln, I did so because it’s what I know. Whoring has been my life for two years. Either he understands, or he doesn’t. It’s as simple as that. The johns I know wouldn’t give me five hundred dollars for a fuck, yet Kiln’s offering me five thousand just for illegal entry into part of the house. That money will be the answer to my prayers. Just what I need to save my brother and to keep us off the street. Buy decent food.

  The thought soothes something inside of me, gives me the impetus to push my body up.

  As I twist my legs around a slim column, I wonder what Kiln thinks of me. We live in a judgmental, hypocritical society, one that made me stop giving a fuck about the opinion of others, years ago.

  I hold on for dear life as I use the strength of my upper body to drag my lower half up. Rough concrete scrapes my inner thighs. This shit isn’t easy, especially wearing only a man’s jacket. My pussy has no protection and I’m concerned about the screwdriver in my pocket. But he wants to get on the second floor and I want my brother.

  By now, we’re down to about two hours before Chambers kills him.

  I grunt, thankful the column isn’t one of those huge ones. I’d never make it to that balcony, looming above me like my saving grace. Finally, my fingers find the edge of the iron railing. Somehow, I need to release my tenuous hold on the column and grab onto it. If I miss, it’s lights out. My ass will literally splatter on the brick patio below me.

  I inch up a little more, until I can firmly grasp the railing posts. Goddamn, I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Or, I should’ve waited for him to get the ladder, which is sorely needed. I’m sure the dickhead knows the disadvantage I’m at, too. He’s just too much of a jerk to find the ladder for me and I’m too stubborn to request it again.

  Finally, I lurch over the railing and land on the balcony, near a pretty wicker chair. There are two, situated across from one another. In between, sits a glass and wicker table. Baby stuff is strewn about. In one corner, there’s a swing and, in another, a play yard.

  Drawing in deep breath, I rest for a moment, grateful that I didn’t fall and break my neck. I turn toward the vista and gasp. In the distance, a mountain range looms, while the property seems endless. A huge, beautiful lawn leads to a stable and yard. Beyond, are stands of trees and…land.

  I stuff my hand in the pocket containing the key and breathe a sigh of relief when I feel it tucked safely inside. If I lose it, Chambers will punch me.

  Glancing at the dainty table again, I decide the lady of the house chose this. Georgiana Mason.

  Georgie Mason. I know her. No, I know of her. Sometimes, I’ll read about her in one of the magazines I run across in convenience stores. Every time I see her picture or her name, I steal a moment from whatever I’m doing, to read the article or see her photo layout. She’s such an inspiration.

  Her past drug abuse is well-known, but she overcame to become the woman she is today.

  What the hell am I doing? I’m about to break into the house of a woman I greatly admire. She and Sloane Mason had a rough start, but, for them, love prevailed.

  “Minutes are wasting,” Kiln calls, his voice traveling upwards from the ground level and ringing with bored amusement. And authority. “We don’t have much time to save your brother.”

  Instead of answering, I try the door. Perhaps, it’s unlocked.

  Not.

  Sighing, I pull the screwdriver out of the jacket pocket and kneel down. Once I insert the flathead, I jiggle it from side-to-side, and then, up-and-down, before turning. I’m attempting to engage the tumbler. Once. Twice. I maneuver the screwdriver. My heart pounds. Breaking and entering is always an adrenaline rush.

  I’ve almost been caught several times. I know I’ve been captured on numerous home surveillance cameras, but my face and hair are always hidden.

  Finally, I feel the give and turn the screwdriver. The beautiful sound of the door creaking open makes me grin.

  An alarm peals through the air and I almost jump out of my skin. I’ve never heard such a hideous sound before. It makes me want to search the sky for an impending air raid and then cover my ears from the loud, dizzying whir that morphs into a police siren. I grit my teeth.

  Jesus, intruders would piss themselves if they broken into this place. Normally, breaking into the second floor is the easiest. Besides, second floors are my thing. Normally, security sensors aren’t on the second floor of a house.

  I scope my hits by looking for the owner’s last name, curbside. Sometimes, I check mailboxes. If mail’s piled up, or if I notice “neighbor” checks, I strike. When we have burners, I might find a phone number connected to the property, to call and see who answers, if anyone.

  Montana even taught me to use his wire cutters. We know just which wires to cut to disable security systems, if it comes to that. Now, of course, I can’t do it, since the cutters belonged to my brother, and I don’t know where he kept them.

  In retrospect, and in spite of the hideous noise, this task is much better than laying on my back to earn the money I need.

  Those noises cycle through again. Air raid. Whir. Police siren. I haven’t even set foot in the place.

  Police…siren…Police…Oh my God! Kiln’s set me up. Cops are going to come and—

  “The hallway goes from the balcony door to the door that leads to the first floor,” Kiln yells at me. “It’s a straight shoot. Run! I’ll meet you inside. Open the fucking door. Hurry.”

  I don’t waste time nor do I ask questions. I haul ass and follow his directions, the sound of the alarm more frightening than anything I’ve heard in a long time.

  Puffing out air, I skid to a halt at the opposite side of the hallway and pull open a huge door. Polished wooden stairs greet me. I rush down the steps and enter a small foyer that looks like a holding cell. Trying to wrap my head around this Pentagon-level of security, I yank the door open.

  As suddenly as it began, the alarm stops. Kiln strolls in, cell phone to his ear. He pauses to shove a stopper under the partially open door.

  “Ummhmmm.” Kiln nods then winks at me, his eyes twinkling. His smile lights up his face. He has dimples in his cheeks and chin.

  “Yeah, Sloane,” he says, starting up the stairs. “I understand. I’ve checked. Nothing’s out of order. The system just malfunctioned.”

  I sag against the wall, wiping my sweaty brow.

  Pausing mid-way up, he turns and looks at me, crooking his finger, while still talking to Sloane Mason.

  “Relax. Your kingdom is safe. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Later.”

  He hangs up, but I still haven’t moved. Panic assails me.

  Suppose he’s back in Denver and on his way? Then, we’re all in trouble and my brother’s a dead man.

  “Are you coming or what, Raine?” He shoves the phone in his pocket. “Jaeger? Are you coming? What’s wrong with you two?”

  “What’s wrong?” Jaeger fumes, walking into the little holding cell and removing the door stop. “We’re fucked. That’s what’s wrong.”

  He stomps up the stairs, meeting Kiln halfway up and shoving him against the wall.

  Kiln finds the fact that his brother wanted to toss him down the stairs hilarious. Holding onto the railing, he throws his head back and laughs. “No, we aren’t, pussy. Sloane’s on an island,” he responds, following Jaeger up.

  “Can we please hurry?” I ask. “I don’t have much time.”
/>   “Then come up and find clothes that you’d like,” Kiln orders, standing at the top of the staircase. “Take a quick shower, dress yourself, and we’ll be on our way.”

  In control of my nerves again, I jog upstairs.

  Kiln is in the middle of the landing, as if he’s never seen a hallway before. Or that the plain white walls and dark floors are masterpieces. He takes in the windows marching down the hallways, allowing sunlight to shimmer through. The closed doors match the color of the floors. Yet, he stares. And stares.

  And stares, at each nook and cranny, like the walls will divulge secrets.

  Slowly, he walks to the door facing us. A linen closet big enough to be a small room greets us.

  Kiln draws in a deep breath and slams the door, cursing.

  Jaeger folds his arms and scowls at Kiln. “See? He has no secret arsenal up here. No room filled with gold.”

  “We haven’t explored the rooms yet,” Kiln answers, undercurrents of ugliness wafting from him. Envy, maybe?

  The thought jolts me. The man seems too cocksure to be jealous of anyone. Even a hot rocker, sex god like Sloane Mason. No. Kiln can’t be riding the green monster.

  When he starts down the hallway, I follow. He throws open the first door we come to and peeks in, flipping the light on. I slip underneath his arm to have a look for myself. The most gorgeous pink and white room I’ve ever seen appears.

  “Bryn’s room,” he mumbles, backs out, pulls me away, then slams the door shut.

  Bryn. I know that name and search my memory, reaching a conclusion. If I’m correct, then the pretty room belong to Georgie and Sloane Mason’s daughter. Oh my God! I got only a small snapshot. From what I saw, though, it’s every little girl’s dream. Pink and frilly and private.

  Kiln walking into the next room pulls me out of my awe. This place is clearly for an adult with dark red walls and cream décor. We don’t linger.

  Door number three reveals a blue and white room, almost identical to the feminine one. Except the furniture is made for a younger child. Under two, perhaps. Not having much experience with children, I’m not too sure.

  “Chance. Fuck.” Kiln slams the door closed.