Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Mother is lost in one of her episodes, completely insane. She’s struggling in my arms, scratching my hands, screaming and cussing. I need to restrain her and get her sedatives. However, if I release her, she’s going for Raine again.

  Despite her wildness, I get us to the sofa, sit, and hold my mother against my knees, wrapping her in a bear hug.

  “Stop, Mom. That wasn’t Georgie in there. That’s Raine. My Raine, not Sloane’s Georgie. Okay? I’d never bring Georgiana around you. I love you.”

  She relaxes and sits on my lap, hanging her head and sobbing in misery. “Kill them.”

  “Not Georgie,” I whisper, aware of Raine’s close proximity. “But we can’t talk about this now. This is our secret.”

  She faces me. This woman with wide eyes, a snotty nose, and slobbery chin, isn’t my mother. She’s just a shadow of the woman who raised me. I want that woman back, but I know she’s gone forever.

  This is my time to love her and care for her, as she once did for me.

  I hug her tighter. Wonder if I’m winning any points with Stefanie. If she even sees me trying to care for Mom.

  Mother’s forehead is hot and sweaty, and I wipe her brow with my hand. “Everything is okay,” I promise. “Everything will be taken care of.”

  She heaves in a teary breath. “You’re a good son.”

  “I try to be.” My next words will start another battle, but I can’t leave her as she is. “You need your sedative.”

  “No! Absolutely not.”

  She jerks herself away from me and lands on the floor, bouncing up like a jack-in-the-box. Rage feeds her strength, enabling her to lift a small chair and throw it across the room. Hurrying closer, I attempt to wrap her in my arms, but she wiggles free, turns, and digs her nails into my cheek and drags them down, cutting into my flesh. I growl in pain.

  “You want to drug me so you can leave,” she screams. “Leave with her. You’re so mean to me. That’s why Sloane fucked your wife.” She gives a high-pitched laugh. “I’m glad. You didn’t deserve her.”

  Ignoring my bleeding cheek, my fury, I manage to grab Mother. “Raine!” I call, although she’s sitting across the room in the dining alcove, on the floor, watching this scene unfold with abject horror. Thankfully, she hasn’t tried to intervene. “Go into the guestroom, down the hall, to the right. In the closet, there’s a locked chest. The key is in the nightstand on the left side of the bed. Get me the Haloperidol vial and a syringe.”

  The drug is for heavy sedation, to be used during Mother’s most extreme fits.

  I class the trashed house, choking Raine, and scratching the fuck out of me as extreme.

  “Nooooooo!” Mother yells. “Help me! Somebody, help me! They want to kill me! HELP!” she screeches at the top of her lungs.

  I’m so fucking thankful this condo is soundproof. That was one of the requirements and it’s come in handy several times.

  Raine rushes back into the room, holding the items.

  “Fill the syringe to two-point-five and then come here.”

  “No!” Mother hollers, trying to wriggle out of my hold. “She’s the devil. Keep her away!”

  Once Raine has the appropriate amount of medicine in the syringe, she hesitates.

  “I won’t allow her to do anything to you. We’ve got to calm her. You have to inject her upper arm.”

  My mother’s behavior leaves me no choice but to hold one hand over her mouth, wrap her tight in my other arm, and pin her to me.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” I tell Raine.

  She rushes over and slides my mother’s sleeve up. “I forgot alcohol pads.”

  My mother is screeching against my hand and squirming in my hold, and Raine’s worried about an alcohol pad? “I don’t give a fuck. Administer the medicine.”

  Fingers shaking, she presses the needle into my mother’s upper arm and shoots the medication into her body. It’s fast-acting. Within minutes, Mother relaxes against me. I scoop her into my arms and kiss her reddened cheek.

  “Rest, Mom,” I whisper, heading to her bedroom, with Raine hot on my heels.

  Inside, Raine switches on a lamp, then hurries and turns the covers down. I lay my mother on the bed. Blood from my cheek stains her dress. Besides the bright red spots, the expensive thing has tears and food stains, a symbol of the battle she waged.

  “Do you want to change her into bedclothes?” Raine asks.

  I scratch my head. “When Mother was first released, I had a nurse care for her. As her son, I didn’t feel comfortable dressing her. I want to leave her with some dignity. I still do.”

  She nods. “How about I clean her face up and find something more comfortable for her to wear? Keep your back turned, until I need you to help me maneuver her. I’ll make sure she’s covered.”

  “She tried to choke you,” I say incredulously.

  “And you said I mean nothing to you,” she says quietly, “so, maybe, I’m a glutton for punishment. All I see is your love for your mother and your need to help her. In turn, I want to help you.”

  She’s serious. Instead of allowing me to face this alone, she’s willing to stand at my side. Something I need right now. My mother wore me out.

  “Okay, Raine.” I shift. “Thank you.”

  Her smile is so sad. My words hurt her. The statements from her that followed were a defense mechanism. She isn’t as blasé about her former profession as she pretends to be.

  “After we get your mom settled, I need to see to your cheek.”

  “I have to sleep here tonight,” I say. “I can call an Uber and send you back to the mansion.”

  She shrugs. “Is that what you want?”

  We’re back to this, then. Normalcy. I smile at her returning determination to not have me best her. I need this. If she’s game, so am I.

  “I’m asking what you want,” I throw back at her.

  She rolls her eyes. “Forever Kiln,” she says with a sigh. “I want to stay here with you. I don’t know if I should. When your mother sees me again, she might find a gun to shoot my ass off.”

  “Mother doesn’t own a gun.”

  “Well, knives.”

  “We’ll keep you out of her sight.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “I’d like you to stay, too. With me. In the bed I sleep in.”

  She lowers her lashes. “You want to fuck.”

  Although she doesn’t ask a question, I treat her statement as one. “Yes.”

  “Do I have any other option?”

  “Of course you do. You always have other choices. You can sleep in the guestroom and I’ll sleep on the sofa, just like at the mansion. The question is do you want the other option?”

  “We’re still on unequal footing. You have the power to keep me or kick me out. You’ve given me nothing.”

  “Everything you say is true,” I concede, weary. “But I don’t want tonight to be about our agreement. I just want it to be about…” Us. That word shocks me; Raine, however mistakes my silence.

  “About fucking, right? You just want me to throw caution to the wind and give myself to you for free?”

  Her words hit a nerve and I tense. “Aren’t I worth it? Or am I just a meal ticket to you? A safety net?”

  “Don’t try and guilt me into giving you pussy. It won’t work.”

  “Guilt you?”

  My mother stirs and turns to her side.

  Raine raises her hands. “Let’s get Alexia settled and then we can discuss the re-introduction of my pussy and your dick. Deal?”

  “Deal,” I agree, then I point to the drawer my mother keeps her pajamas stored.

  I’m anxious to discover if Raine will be with me because she’s attracted to me and I’m enough. Or will she prove that all women are alike and demand something in exchange for our sex?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, I touch the bruises on my neck, unable to believe that crazy bat choked me. And not just a little this-is-all-for-show choking. No, that bi
tch was trying to strangle the life out me.

  Any other person, and I would’ve punched her to free myself. Kiln was there, though, and I knew he wouldn’t allow his too-dangerous-to-be-around-humans-rabid-animal mama to hurt me.

  I squint at myself. Am I for real? Did I really put my fate in Kiln’s hands? All because the mad almost-murderess is his mother? That’s the exact same thing I did with Montana. Left it up to him to swoop in and save me.

  Two days ago, stark reality hit me, as I listened to myself tell Kiln how Montana left me on my own because he was angry with me. Whatever my brother did for me came with a cost.

  Always.

  Usually, the price was quite high. However, he never forced me to do anything. He’d suggest it and explain how much easier our lives would be. Then, he’d coax me into giving him ninety percent of what I earned. Until I got smart because he began to blow the money and jeopardize our rent money.

  He found a way to fuck it up, anyway.

  Is that why I’ve been angry with Montana since my conversation with Kiln? Or is it because he could’ve taken better care of me as his little sister? Wouldn’t that be a cop-out?

  Am I angry because he got himself killed? Or is it myself I’m furious with because I feel as if I failed him? As if his death is my fault.

  How can I be so angry but still so broken up?

  I don’t have answers to those questions. Perhaps, I never will. For the time being, they aren’t even the most urgent considerations. That belongs to Kiln and whether or not I should sleep with him.

  He has been so kind and considerate the past few days. Even when I was vomiting like a drunken donkey, he stayed at my side. He’s done what I asked of him. Opened himself up so I can get to know him better.

  True, it hurt me when he told Mad Mama that I didn’t mean anything to him. After our dinner and time in the home theater, I thought we’d reached a turning point. Obviously, I was wrong, and only my feelings had shifted for him.

  As only his amusement, shouldn’t I demand payment for him to enjoy my body?

  Of course! But…I won’t.

  Giving myself to Kiln will be for me. Not him. When we part, I’ll have a lifetime of recollections to hold onto, although to create these memories, I have to concede to Kiln.

  I want to have sex with him because I want him. That alone tells me that my feelings are veering out-of-control, and must be reined in before I face more heartache.

  Tonight, though, the poor man has been to hell and back. And he looked so…so vulnerable when he asked if he was enough. Even a strong man like Kiln needs to be desired, wanted, for who he is, and not for what he can do.

  Stepping back from the sink, I smooth out the pajama top I’m wearing. My post-shower hair has gone from soaked to damp. I’ve washed away the bit of blood that got on my hand from Kiln’s cheek and the line of drool from Alexia.

  I got her cleaned up without incidence. Shocking. We left her happily snoring. Kiln showered first because of his cheek, then he allowed me to use peroxide to disinfect it, in case his momma had rabies. My thought, not his. Since the deep scratch had stopped bleeding, he wouldn’t allow any ointment or bandages.

  Afterwards, he shooed me off and told me to relax in the shower. I’d already washed my hands from the drool and used hand sanitizer before I tended to Kiln. I didn’t know what germy DNA from Alexia refused to die.

  So here I am. I’ve been in this bathroom at least an hour. Mostly thinking about Montana. Not wanting to face—own up to—any feelings for Kiln. Or any curiosity on how it feels to have my pussy licked.

  Therefore, I’m ceding control to my body. I can allow my cunt to guide me for one night. All the other times I’ve had sex wasn’t for me. Even losing my virginity. Kiln wants to show me pleasure. I’ve already had a taste of what he can do. Now, my feelings for him are deeper, stronger. Wouldn’t that make the pleasure that much greater? How would sex—lovemaking—compare to the fucking I’ve always engaged in?

  I want someone to make love to. Just once. That man is waiting for me. Who knows? Maybe, he needs tenderness, too.

  Decision made, I nod at my reflection in the mirror, take a deep breath, and remove the pajama top, leaving me naked and exposed. I turn, my movements akin to a soldier in formation.

  Butterflies tickle my belly. Goosebumps run along my skin. The hand I bring to the doorknob shakes.

  Closing my eyes, I lean my forehead against the still-closed door. Kiln is used to groupies and rich girls. My pussy hair isn’t shaved. On more than one occasion, I’ve been told that’s the ‘in’ thing. Since I’ve been with Kiln, I have shaved my legs and under my arms.

  I didn’t bother with pubic hair. Kiln takes me as I am, or fuck him.

  That was then, though. Before he declined by pussy because I was drunk and made me feel something for him.

  Now, I’m worried. Now, I care. About him. His opinion. How he sees me.

  And here it is, staring me right in the face. This moment will tell all. Can I truly be the independent, bad bitch I project myself to be? Or will I always seek approval and acceptance?

  First from Montana, and, now, Kiln. When he leaves where will I find it then? The answer is easy. Inside of me. Just as I must do now.

  Gathering my courage, I yank open the door and step into the room. Kiln looks up from the file he’s reading and his eyes widen. His sweeping gaze makes me rock on my feet.

  Desire washes over his face. Our surroundings are hushed, only us, with the world shut out. Heat sweeps through me. I don’t know if I’m more embarrassed or aroused. It doesn’t matter. Kiln is looking at me as if no one and nothing else matters.

  My world tilts, readjusts, and tilts again. This is foreign to me.

  “You’re nervous,” he says.

  “Yes.” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not sure what to do. Transactions are cut-and-dry,” I mumble.

  A half-smile curves his mouth, and he crooks his finger. “Come here and follow my lead.”

  “You do realize I’ll commit a crime against nature by doing what you tell me?”

  His grin eases my nerves a little more. My footing rights itself and evens out.

  “Come on, Stormy Weather,” he teases, unknowingly using Sean’s nickname for me. “Listen to me for once. You’ll be a very happy woman.”

  “Right.” Forcing myself to move, I reach Kiln’s side. Bed linen cover his lower body, though his stiff cock teases the material.

  He holds out his hand and I stare. He’s patient. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t rush me. He merely waits, in silence, for me to make up my mind. Finally, I give in and place my hand in his, breaking down the last of my defenses and showing him, by action, the amount of trust I have in him.

  Instead of pulling me onto the bed, he swings his legs to the floor and situates me between his parted thighs. His fingers skim my chest, my breasts, the indent of my waist and the curve on my hip. Wherever he touches, he leaves a trail of electricity sizzling inside of me.

  We stare at one another. Tenderness overwhelms me and I lay my palms against his cheeks, lean down and kiss his mouth. My finger runs beneath the line of the wounds his mother inflicted upon him.

  Our mouths fuse together. Sip. Taste. Devour. I caress his chest, his abs, and groan against his lips. He’s careful and gentle with me, driving me insane with his kisses.

  He lifts me onto his lap. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around him. When I do, he turns and lays me on the bed, the awkward position tangling our limbs.

  We pause and laugh, each in tune with the other, sharing a small moment that breeds intimacy.

  “Move up, sweetheart,” he instructs.

  Without hesitation, I listen, watching as he follows. My head lands against the pillow and I open my legs.

  He rolls his eyes. “Would you relax and let me do this?”

  “Yep.” What else is there to say?

  “First, push the covers down, Raine.”

  My brows snap together. “Why?”
/>   “Because I’m telling you to.”

  “I don’t do it that way. I fuck on top of the covers.”

  He rests his chin on my belly and pins me with a look. “Me, too, but tonight we are fucking this way, so shut the fuck up and do what I’m telling you to.”

  I poke his forehead with my finger. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “I would be if you follow my orders.”

  “We’re not going to continue until I do, huh?”

  He smirks. “Nope.”

  “Asshole,” I sniff, knees to shoulders to use my feet as leverage to kick the covers down.

  “Fuck, I think I’m giving you a medal. You actually listened to me for once.”

  He pushes the comforter and top sheet to the bottom of the bed, then resettles himself between my open legs. Instead of my stomach, his chin now rests on my bush.

  He caresses my hip, places a kiss on top of my mound. His mouth moves to my inner thigh. The touch of his fingers and lips is barely there, tiny flutters against my skin. Wrapping a hand around my calf, he pushes it up and raises my knee, then his kisses whisper against my other thigh. Lifting that knee, he pushes my thighs open and thumbs my clit.

  I gasp, never before knowing how sensitive my pussy is to gentle strokes.

  Moving down, he opens my pussy lips and presses his nose against me. The first lick of his tongue surprises me and tension stiffens my entire body.

  “Relax, Raine.” His warm breath fans over my pussy.

  He tongues me again. The drag is longer, hotter, from the top of my mound down to my ass, where he parts my cheeks. Twirling his tongue against my rosebud, he slips a finger into my pussy.

  My back arches and my head buzzes. He’s licking my ass and massaging my pussy. I forget everything, except the pulsing heat in my core that juices my pussy.

  He pushes my legs further open, still eating my ass and adding another finger inside my pussy.

  The pressure building inside of me tightens my stomach and harden my nipples. I don’t think I can hang on if he keeps doing this.

  “Stop!” I demand. “I don’t want to orgasm, yet.”