Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “Sloane has Bryn back and all of Rand’s money,” Mother spits, showing her insanity. “My Stefanie is still dead, and we’re broke.”

  “The Bryn you’re thinking of is his daughter,” I snap in exasperation. And we aren’t broke. If she’s comparing us to Dad’s wealth—Sloane’s—than, yes, we’re poor. “His wife named their daughter after his mother.”

  “That little drug addict had the nerve to use Stefanie’s name, too.”

  Mother hurries to the couch and flings herself onto it, breaking out into loud sobs. Stricken that I’ve made her cry, I follow behind her and sit on the edge, almost falling off because she refuses to give me an inch of space.

  I pat her back, much as I did when I was a boy. Unlike then, I know her face isn’t all bruised and bloodied from a run-in with my father. “Momma,” I whisper as if I’m still a ten-year-old.

  Perhaps, I’ll finally make her understand Stefanie was twenty-four-years old when she died. Mother couldn’t have barred Stef from going to see Sloane, under any circumstances.

  For my entire life, my mother has been in crisis. Abused. Defeated. Struggling. Hungry. Finally, thanks to Bryn, Mother’s material fortunes changed but Dad returned to our lives, too, terrorizing us whenever Sloane or Bryn wasn’t around. The sad part is they wouldn’t have believed us if we’d told the truth because Dad showed himself to be a prince among princes around them.

  Suddenly, Mother sits up and flings her arms around my neck, her tears soaking my skin. I return the hug, my heart hurting.

  “Take care of him, please,” she cries. “Then, Rand will love us again. I’ll be his wife and have the prestige I once did.”

  If anything shows Mother’s insanity, it’s this. “Mother…Mom,” I correct, when she sobs harder. If I call her ‘mother’, she believes I don’t feel as much affection for her. According to her, the term is hard and cold.

  Just as I mean it to be. That’s the only thing that keeps her in line.

  However, to me, the word ‘mother’ is also feminine and ladylike, befitting the side of herself she presented to the world.

  “He slept with the only woman who’ll ever love you. Took her away from you. No one could ever accept you the way Dietrech could. You’re too sharp. Too direct. Too cold for love. Dietrech didn’t care. She loved you.”

  “Dietrech loved my money,” I say flatly.

  “No! She loved you, and Sloane destroyed that. You wouldn’t give her a second chance and she begged you to. Sloane destroyed Stefanie. He killed her. Because of him, Brenda’s gone!”

  Fuck’s sake. I have to draw the line at that. “Don’t bring that bitch’s name up. Sloane had nothing to do with her destruction. She fucked her own self when she and her compadres, you included, invaded Sloane’s house to harm his wife.”

  “I hate them both! Sloane and Georgiana. They need to die!”

  “Bring up Georgie’s name again, and the entire thing is over.”

  “Why?” she asks bitterly. “By now, she should be swollen with your child. I don’t care how! I want them all dead and destroyed.”

  I shove her away from me and she plops onto the sofa, face-planting into a heap of tears against the cushions.

  “Sloane has to be enough,” I say dully. The emotion catching in my throat shocks me. I’ve spent the majority of my life hating Sloane. Only in the past months have I found peace.

  But that peace has cost my mother her sanity. Her happiness. I’ll do anything to see a real smile from her. To see her eyes alive with true joy. She’s always been so fucking sad.

  Still, that isn’t Sloane’s fault. He’s a year younger than I am. He wasn’t even born when—

  “I could’ve left Rand when I was still young and gorgeous. But I stayed for my kids, you especially. You loved Rand so much.”

  Did I? I question myself, sick inside. Sick, thinking all that my wonderful mother gave up, on my behalf. Sick, because I wonder how could I have cried for, or loved, the evil that is Rand Mason.

  No matter what else I question—and I do so because of my mother—I have no doubt that my father has a devil-black soul. Why should I doubt that he killed my sister?

  “Sloane was never abused or used. Sloane was put up on a pedestal,” she wails.

  I could never hide my thoughts from my mother. Somehow, she has the amazing knack to hit the nail on the head, every time she looks into my face.

  She throws me a puffy-eyed, pitiful look. “Please. Free me from the bonds of pain. Get us what is rightfully ours. The only way that can be done is if Sloane’s gone.”

  “He has children, Mom,” I say, straddling the line and halfway arguing in his defense. Maybe, I’m as insane as she is. “Dad might decide to leave everything to Bryn and Chance.”

  “No!” Mother screams, her face reddening. “No! You know Groveston didn’t say that.”

  I sigh. “By the time Sloane returns, everything will be in place to take him out.”

  She nods and her distress clears, although silent tears still slide down her Botox-frozen cheeks. Since I didn’t have breakfast, I order in for us, then spend the day moodily watching her use my credit card to order from online merchants.

  Fuck my life.

  Chapter Twelve

  Once Kiln drops me off on the corner of the street where the diner is located, I’d headed in the opposite direction. He didn’t ask me where I wanted to go, and I didn’t volunteer the information.

  Really, I have no place to go.

  I roam the streets, more alone and lonely than I’ve ever been. Food doesn’t interest me, so dumpster diving was out.

  Stupid me hadn’t taken even a hundred bucks from Kiln’s money.

  Pride can be so fucked up.

  After about an hour of walking and having stares thrown in my direction, I come upon a sea of police cruisers, two vehicles marked CSI, and an unmarked utility van on the banks of the South Platte River. Bystanders looked on as two men lifted a body bag onto a stretcher and investigators skirted the water.

  “What’s happening?” I’d inquired of the woman next to me.

  Instead of my usual reception of cool wariness, this lady smiled at me. I smelled good and wore nice clothes, so she saw me as no threat.

  “Another dead girl,” she’d answered. She shrugged. “Nothing but a prostitute. They know the danger when they get into that life.”

  Bitch. I tuned her out. Another dead girl. Just recently, one of my friends had been found all shot up. Word on the street was Sean was responsible. He was a crime lord with a medium sized operation.

  “I love your outfit,” the woman continued. “Who’s the designer?”

  My brows snapped together. Expensive clothes were that recognizable? “I’m not sure.”

  She lifted a brow at me, as if to say every fashionista knows who she’s wearing.

  Whatever.

  My attention turned away from her and the crime scene and focused on my clothes. My designer clothes.

  I need street worthy attire. I couldn’t turn Kiln down when he told me to choose an outfit, since I had no clothes of my own. However, I can’t live on the street wearing high fashion. That’s the quickest way to get myself jumped.

  Only one person who’d help me.

  Gloria. A prostitute who’s Sean’s girlfriend. Though he pimps women and sells drugs, his specialty is hits. Specifically, murder-for-hire. Montana introduced me to them. My brother had a knack for making contacts. I’m lucky to count them as friends. When Chambers put me on the street, Gloria took me under her wing, introduced me to the other girls, and showed me the ropes.

  Sean and Gloria’s house is not far from the diner. By the time I arrive, my feet are killing me. I limp through the unlocked iron door and head to the buzzer next to the elevator, ignoring the interior’s dim dilapidation.

  Since I’m known, I’m allowed immediate entry when I give my name. On the third floor, the elevator opens to gaudy luxury. The receiving hall, as they call it, has red velvet walls
and gilt trimmings.

  It’s the tackiest shit I’ve ever seen. Two of Sean’s goons usher me inside the apartment, stopping me when we reach the living room.

  Gloria waltzes out in a flimsy negligee, exhibiting her big boobs and shaved pussy. One time she had her assistant wax my cunt. She said I’d make more money.

  Chambers hated it. My eye throbs in memory from the punch he gave to me. Besides, waxing hurts like hell. I’d prefer to have pussy hair reaching my toes, than to ever go through that indignity again.

  “Nice outfit.” Her gaze sweeps over me as the two goons leave us alone. “Someone has been splurging.”

  “Actually, I haven’t. This was a gift from a john. He was into girls who wore expensive shit.”

  Gloria grins. “You have a protector then?”

  “Nope. It was just for a couple of nights.” I finger the shirt. “I need to hand these off for clothes suited to the real me.”

  “Just a minute.”

  A few moments later, she hands me a pair of ratty jeans and a torn top. I decide to keep Georgie Mason’s panties and bra. No one can see under my clothes, unless I take them off.

  “Talk to me,” Gloria encourages me as I slip on the jeans. “You’re being too quiet.”

  Where do I begin? With the probable murder of my brother? With Kiln and his assholery? The prospect of being on the streets alone is daunting.

  “You know if you need to, you can crash here, honey.”

  “Thanks, girl,” I say, with a half-smile. Gloria is kind to me as a friend. If I end up on Sean’s payroll, that might change. “But, no. If I desert Chambers, that’ll start all kinds of shit. He’ll see it as a betrayal and come down hard on me. And Sean,” I add. Chambers might very well have a price on my head.

  The thought pops into my mind, and I shift, weary. On the other hand, Montana’s death might’ve cleared up our debts. With Chambers, one can never know.

  Gloria lights a cigarette and takes a puff. She’s a lot taller than me. I don’t know what she’ll do with the clothes I gave to her. Not that it matters.

  “Fuck Chambers,” she says. I heard he booked it out of town early this morning.”

  A part of me is relieved. His departure means I’m safe. On the other hand, if he’s gone, I’ll never find my brother. Or his body.

  Remembering the earlier crime scene, I swallow and turn to the chiseled mirror, hanging above a wood table that has a huge bouquet of colorful flowers. Chambers has killed more than his fair share of men and women, then dumped their remains in water.

  “I’m not sure why he left,” Gloria continues.

  “A couple of his girls have disappeared recently, as well as two of his associates.” She sucks in a breath.

  “Oh, shit. Look at the time. I need to get my face on. It takes me forever to make up. Sean and two of his boys have an emergency meeting with a customer in an hour.”

  Our gazes lock in the mirror, and she cocks her head to the side.

  “Why don’t you stay? We can service the boys and their guest afterwards. I’ll give you a couple hundred dollars. Since I trust you, Sean trusts you. We’ll wait in the background, unless they need drinks. Easy-peasy,” she promises.

  “What’s the meeting about?” I ask, out of curiosity. Tonight, I’m not in the mood to be a fuck-for-hire. It’ll be quick money and will afford me a way to rent a cheap room, since I was too fucking angry with Kiln to take his.

  The worst kind of idiot is a dummy who hurts herself to get back at a dickhead.

  However, although Kiln’s the biggest dickhead on the planet, he pleasured me as I never have been. Nothing special in the scheme of things, or it shouldn’t be. To me, however, it is. I want to hold onto the memory of a man concerned about how I felt during sex, a day or two longer.

  “I see your wheels turning. Are you going to stay?” Gloria asks me with a sly grin.

  “Nope. I’m just nosy. That’s why I wanted the deets on the meeting.”

  We break out into laughter. Then, she comes closer, looks over her shoulder in dramatic fashion, then turns back to me. “Sean has a big job coming up. Some dude wants to bury somebody and is willing to pay major bucks. I’m talking mid-seven figures.”

  My eyes round. “Holy shit!” I squeak, my mind wandering. “Can you imagine, Glo? If I had low six figures, I’d be set.”

  Her smile deepens. “I can get you that money, babe,” she swears. “Talk to Sean. I’ll see to it that he only sends you to high-end clients. We’ll set you up in your own apartment. All expenses paid.”

  “What’s the catch, cuz, girl, I know there is one, or ten. Don’t bullshit me.”

  “Just trust me.”

  Rolling my eyes, I laugh. “Famous last words.” I plop onto the floor, then lean over and grab the sneakers she gave to me. My pretty backless heels sit forgotten in a corner.

  However, not only are they expensive and my heel sticks out half an inch, they’re worthless to walk long distances. Dumb move number two on my part. I should’ve chosen a pair of flats to squeeze my foot into.

  I lift the flap, then start to work my foot into one of the sneakers, raising my gaze to Gloria. “’Fess up. What else do I have to do? Lick your pussy? Let my freak flag fly and have some guy fuck my ear? What?”

  Once I tie the laces, I grab the other shoe.

  “Run kilos,” she answers. “Then let whoever you deliver to fuck you for a day or two.”

  “No fucking way,” I say adamantly as I stand and dust off my backside. “I’m not running drugs.” Especially without Montana.

  Before we can continue our conversation, the door swings open and Sean walks in. Once upon a time, I had a small crush on him. He’s charming, well-dressed and is quite handsome with dark skin and gray eyes. Every time I smiled at Gloria, though, guilt washed through me, so I forced thoughts of him away, until eventually, he became just another guy.

  He grins at Gloria and her eyes light up. Her alabaster skin pinkens.

  After kissing her, he smiles at me. The two goons who greeted me are back. They stand straight, arms folded, poker faces in place.

  “Stormy Weather,” he greets.

  God, I get more shit because of my name. I’ve lost count of how many different nicknames I have. “Stuff it, Sean,” I say with a laugh.

  The first time I told him off, he threatened to choke me. Although his boys size me up, he grunts.

  The White one with a long scar running down his cheek gives me the once over. “Blow me and I’ll give you ten bucks.”

  “Fuck off.” I don’t take less than fifty. Even if he offered me a million tonight, however, I’m not interested …Okay, I won’t go that far and tell that fucking lie. Turn down a million dollars? I’m not that sentimental.

  He opens his mouth to speak. I raise my hand to stop him “My pussy is not open for business.”

  Draping an arm around Gloria’s waist, Sean laughs. “Don’t fuck with her, Vince. She’s tough.”

  High praise from Sean.

  He kisses Gloria again. “Almost as tough as my woman.”

  “I was trying to talk Raine into staying for the meeting. Let her crash here.”

  It’s his turn to size me up. Dropping his hand from Gloria and walking to me, he takes my face between his hands.

  I withhold my glare. I may have some leeway because of Gloria but I’m not stupid enough to shove him away, while I’m alone and vulnerable. No matter how friendly Gloria is to me, when it comes down to it, she’ll side with him. He’s her lover. Her pimp. Her meal ticket.

  He bends down and brings his lips toward mine. Out of instinct, I turn my head.

  Gloria giggles and Sean laughs.

  “What?” he murmurs, thumbing my lips. “Not into Black dudes?”

  “I’m not into fucking my friend’s man,” I say sharply.

  Gloria peeps around his shoulder and winks at me. “If he’s your pimp, he has to fuck you. Make sure you know how to service clients.”

  Don�
�t I know it. Chambers loved pounding into me.

  “You don’t have protection out there anymore,” Sean tells me.

  “Of course, she does,” Gloria interrupts. “Montana will give his life for her.”

  “We don’t know if Chambers really left town,” Sean announces. “What we do know is Montana is dead.”

  Gloria squeaks and I stumble back. Tears fill my eyes and I shake my head. Whatever small hope I had that my brother was still alive, disintegrates.

  “Are you sure?” I whisper. “It might not be Montana. How do you know? Take me to…to…” I can’t finish my statement.

  “No. He’s in pieces and his head’s gone. I just know his tattoos.”

  His head is gone? He’s in pieces? I gag, but my stomach is empty, so nothing comes up, leaving my stomach churning. I howl. If Gloria didn’t rush to me and wrap me in her arms, I would’ve fallen to the ground.

  I cling to her, sobbing bitter tears. I knew he was gone. Didn’t I? That’s why I was in such pain yesterday.

  Yet, a part of me still hoped. Without confirmation, there was still a chance…no solid proof counted as good news.

  Now, though…

  “Montana!” His name leaves my mouth on a scream.

  Gloria pats my back. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she whispers. “So sorry for your loss.”

  Her words are meaningless. They aren’t bringing my brother back. And the way…the way…Oh my God! Chambers dismembered him.

  Yanking away from Gloria, I turn from her. My stomach churns. I fall to my knees, dry-heaving and sobbing.

  Sean looms above me. “Survival is only for the fittest. If you fall apart, you’re as good as dead. You won’t listen to your instincts. Montana has to be as dead to you as he actually is. Never coming back. Cut to pieces.”

  “You fucking bastard,” I yell, lunging at him and toppling him. I land one good punch before he drags me to my feet, and slaps me to the ground.

  Grabbing me by the neck, he balls his fist, aiming it at my face.

  “No, Bae!” Gloria cries.

  She wraps her fingers around his wrist. He loosens his hold on me, allowing her to insert herself between us.