Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “I don’t have to back off from a motherfucking thing, Kiln. You just berated my dead brother for absolutely no reason. Whereas my motive for talking about your mother is she wants you to kill someone. Brother part aside, might I remind you this man left a mansion at your disposal? He allows you to live in said mansion. What he has, you seem to have.”

  “I work for what I have.”

  She laughs without humor. “Oh, I see. He doesn’t. Being a rockstar isn’t real work, right? The long tours. The hours in a recording studio. Days of rehearsals. Traveling from city-to-city. Living out of hotels. Dealing with screaming, rabid fans. Nope. Not work at all. Just easy-peasy, run-of-the-mill stuff.”

  “He had legions of women.”

  “And? You have legions of women.”

  “I don’t. On the road, I enjoy the free pussy. Not while I’m in Denver.”

  She indicates herself. “I beg to differ. I have a pussy. You’ve been enjoying it and you haven’t given me money. What does that equal? Free pussy.”

  “That isn’t true,” I snap. “I’ve thrown money your way several times. You’re the little fool who didn’t accept. Why? Because you’re too proud to crawl.”

  “You’re right,” she agrees, surprising me. “Fuckface motherfucker.”

  “Do you really want to go the stupid juvenile route and start with the name-calling?”

  “Do you really want to go the cliché murderous route and kill your brother?” she counters.

  “I don’t. This isn’t only about me,” I argue. “He’s fucking over my mother. She’s out of the will, too. That has crushed her. She went through a lot with my father.”

  “Her choice. She shouldn’t put the burden of revenge on your shoulders, Kiln. That’s fucking insane. You’re a madman to even pick up that shit-filled gauntlet. What the fuck is wrong with you?” she shouts when I don’t alter my expression.

  “You’re not talking me out of this,” I inform her.

  She stares at me, her eyes searching mine.

  “Arrangements are being put into place.” As soon as I track down Montana. “Sloane’s returning in five and a half weeks and he’s a dead man.”

  “Goddamnit! Listen to yourself. Don’t put this all on your psycho mom. You wouldn’t have agreed if you didn’t want to see him dead. You want him to die because of Dietrech, yet you’re paying her ten Gs a month to look after your mom. If you want Sloane dead, kill that bitch, too.”

  “Sloane seduced Dietrech, not the other way around,” I snarl.

  “If a married man cheats, he’s the fuckhead, so I maintain it was up to her to keep her pussy to herself as your wife.”

  “Are you really saying that? She’s a saint, compared to you.”

  Even before hurt blooms in her eyes, I wince at my words. That was uncalled for. I’m about to apologize. About to take her in my arms and beg forgiveness.

  Instead, I duck, just missing being hit by the wine bottle she throws at me.

  “You’re a fucking nightmare prick-pig-bastard! You’re too bitter, self-pitying, and hateful to realize the harm you’ll do to yourself if you kill your own brother. He doesn’t deserve this!”

  Doesn’t he, though? Then, I remember all his kindnesses to me. His generosity. The way he’s let bygones be bygones.

  Suppose there is more to the story?

  Jaeger didn’t hint at whatever he might’ve found out. He merely said, “Dad is being Dad.”

  I took that to mean that he’s playing his usual favoritism with Sloane. Yet, it could mean something else. I just can’t imagine what. Groveston showed me the papers. Sloane said he was going to be set for life.

  “Kiln?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I bark, angry that she’s placing so much doubt in my mind, that seem like such a confused prick, I don’t even care that she called Mother a psycho. “Can you drop the fucking subject? Forget I said anything?”

  “I don’t know. Can I?”

  Sly cunning gleams from her eyes. I recognize that look. She’s scheming to milk my big mouth for all it’s worth. “How much will it take to keep you quiet?”

  She sighs and rubs her temples. “You misunderstand me. I’m not looking for money. Suppose I go to the cops?”

  “I’d get a damn good lawyer and he’d get me off,” I bluster. Or I’d be locked up for years. “Do what you have to do.”

  She silent, staring at me. Judging me. Making me feel lower than dirt without saying a word.

  “You can’t kill your own brother,” she repeats in a soft voice, reminiscent of the way she talks to me late at night, after we make love. “You’re not a cold-blooded murderer.”

  “Finally, something we agree on. Don’t worry. I know my limitations. I’ve hired a hitman. I called Georgiana’s brother and he referred me to one of his contacts.”

  She squints her eyes. “You’re fucking kidding me. Georgie Mason’s brother is Sloane’s brother-in-law. You didn’t seriously do that.”

  An inexplicable feeling of doom invades me, but I brush it aside. “I did.”

  “I don’t know if I feel sorry for you if you go through with your plan or if I’m in awe of your big balls. If this brother of Mrs. Mason is shady enough to have hitmen for contacts, then you’re fucked, dude. He’s going to kill you for using him. Or hire someone to do it.”

  No, I’m pretty sure Cash would do it himself. Worse, he’d probably get Outlaw involved. “I’ll be long gone before anyone gets wind of my role. If they ever do.”

  A light seems to go off in her head. “That’s why you’re leaving in a few weeks.”

  I nod.

  “And you feel as if you’re smarter than the average brother?”

  Cash is anything but average, but I won’t dwell on that. I can outsmart him and his MC brothers.

  “This date is a fucking failure,” I grumble. Almost from the moment we arrived.

  “Definitely grade F,” Raine agrees tightly. She’s pissed. “But I’ll give you an A for effort. The stargazing part was a nice thought. So was the wine. Food and conversation ruined all your hard work. I’ve hit upon a solution. From now on, shut the fuck up and don’t talk to me, we’ll continue having a sterling time together.”

  “Raine—”

  Her raised hands stop me. “No. Just no. I’m not sure what’s worse. Your words to me or that you intend to kill your brother. Both make you a cruel dickhead.”

  “I’m cruel?” I say incredulously. “Me?” I bark a cold laugh. “Sweetheart, you don’t know the meaning of that word.”

  “If I compare you to Montana I have the exact definition.”

  Her words send me over the edge and I kick the picnic basket. “This fucking fiasco of a night started because you turned into a manipulating cunt, pretending you’re in love with me.”

  She pulls her bolero jacket closed and hugs her arms around her stomach, for once not answering. Doesn’t she know I always win?

  I’ve heard professions of love before. She needs to come up with a new line.

  “And don’t fucking compare me to motherfucking Montana,” I snarl.

  Raine doesn’t want me to say anything about his ass. She’s walking through life with fucking blinders on, putting that sleazy cocksucker on a pedestal. If she knew…my thoughts crash to a halt and I look at her.

  “I don’t want to stay with you,” she says in a husky voice. Tears glisten in her eyes. “Fuck you. Give me my fucking money so I can leave.”

  I know why she’s leaving and that makes me angrier. “You can call me names, but I can’t return the favor, doll?”

  She lifts her chin and sniffles. “You’re exactly right. Being your free whore is toxic. I refuse to remain in this environment. Therefore, give me my motherfucking money, Kiln. I want to leave.”

  Is she serious? I study her hard, dumb-founded.

  Fuck, she’s serious.

  “Raine—”

  “No! Shut up,” she cries, tears running down her cheeks. “You’ve debased my brot
her. Thrown me out on several occasions. Shared morning secrets with your ex-wife. Kept me poor. And related intentions to kill Sloane. But what you’re not doing is calling me a cunt. That’s the ugliest word a man can ever call a woman.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Shove your apology up your cockhole,” she fires back.

  Gritting my teeth, I shove my hands in my pockets. “I can’t get money until tomorrow,” I lie, not mentioning the safe in my closet. “Unless you want to sleep on the streets tonight, come back to the mansion. First thing tomorrow, I’ll get money for you.”

  The fuck I will, but I’m not telling her that. I didn’t mean to hurt her. On the heels of that thought comes a more troubling one.

  “What do you intend to do with the information about Sloane, doll?”

  Her look has never been colder. Beyond that and the hurt, I see disappointment. Raine is a very expressive woman. Since we’ve met I’ve seen annoyance, grief, anger, passion, sadness, determination, and happiness. The one emotion I haven’t seen is disillusion. Toward me. Because of me.

  “You can get back at me. This press would eat this story up. My life would be ruined.”

  “What do you want me to say? You’re always complaining about trust, but how do you expect me to trust you when you intend to have your own brother murdered? You’re not thinking of his wife or his children. Nothing but misplaced vengeance.”

  “Sloane has had it coming a very long time,” I mutter.

  “I doubt that,” she responds. “I don’t know him, but even I can see he gives you a lot of leeway. You have a lot of perks.”

  “Enough, goddamnit! Fuck Sloane.”

  “Yeah, whatever, dude. It’s your life. Your conscience. Your soul.” She starts to turn away, then halts and faces me. “Silly me, I expected better from you. For what it’s worth, I’m so very disappointed in you.”

  As she speaks that last statement, she pins me with a look. The bleakness in her eyes, on her face, the downward turn of her mouth, twists my gut.

  Without another word, she backs away and heads to the car, leaving me standing alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Kiln intends to kill his brother. For absolutely no reason at all. If I could, I’d stay and convince him all the reasons not to go through with his plans. I just can’t take him anymore. He could’ve called me a bitch. A motherfucker. Anything but a cunt.

  It’s humiliating and the word my stepfather used most often to address me and my mother. I don’t know why she stayed with him, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not staying with Kiln. Under any circumstances.

  Even when he intends to kill his brother.

  I bet Jaeger knows about Kiln’s plans. That’s why he asked me to help. I wish I could. I want to. At what cost, though?

  Being called a cunt. Being compared to his ex-wife. If he doesn’t see I’m different from her, he never will. I refuse to convince him of my worthiness. He either recognizes it or he doesn’t.

  Just like my love. The past few days have been a whirlwind for me. A magical fairytale that put stars in my eyes. Maybe, I don’t love him and am just infatuated with him. Whatever it is, they are my feeling and that asshole can’t take them away from me.

  That’s his entire fucking problem—his need to control. He wants to bend me—break me—because of my circumstances. When, in reality, I’m in a much better position. I know the meaning of loyalty and family.

  Fuck him, and all his goddamn bitterness and self-pity. I should go to the press to save Kiln from himself. I’m not, though. Kiln says Sloane will return in five and a half weeks.

  He needs to be warned in some way. It’ll destroy his relationship with Kiln, forever, but I believe the jackass will regret killing Sloane, if he goes through with it.

  Last night, we didn’t speak again. We rode back to the mansion in silence. He left the entire suite to me. When I came to the family room this morning, the house was silent. Coffee was brewed and a cereal bowl and spoon sat in the kitchen sink. Of Kiln, there was no sign.

  Hours later, and there’s still no sign of him. He’s making me wait for my money.

  The front door opens and the alarm chimes, followed by a mechanical voice announcing, “Front door open.”

  I stand from the sofa in the family room. It’s as if I’m waiting for my execution. However, I want this over with, so I march to the front hallway and skid to a halt.

  Kiln isn’t back, but Sloane Mason is.

  His eyes widen in surprise. “Who the fuck are you and why the fuck are you wearing my wife’s clothes?”

  My brain tries to catch up that I’m in the presence of this rock god. He has the most brilliant blue eyes I’ve ever seen. If they’re beautiful in magazines and on TV, they are indescribable up close and personal. He’s wearing hoop earrings and a bandanna on his head.

  “Who are you?” he demands again.

  Before I respond, a woman breezes in, carrying a baby, and guiding a toddler into the house, by her hand. She looks at me up and down. Her purple eyes widen. She’s simply breathtaking and reminds me of a little fairy with those unusual eyes and long, black hair.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Sloane Mason snarls again, placing himself in front of his wife and kids. “Why the fuck do you have Georgie’s clothes on?”

  “How do you know it’s her clothes?” I blurt.

  He growls, and those blue eyes narrow.

  “Sloane, stop it,” Georgie Mason says from behind him. “I think that’s Raine.”

  “Who the fuck is Raine?” Sloane barks,

  “Jaeger told me Kiln has a lady friend staying here. That’s who called just as we were about to come inside.”

  Sloane stares between us, before his face reddens and anger darkens his eyes. “Motherfucker,” he snarls. “I knew there was no goddamn malfunctioning alarm!” Veins pop out on his temple and in his neck. Dude’s about to burst with anger. “He broke into the second floor to steal Georgie’s clothes to give to you.”

  Georgie releases the little girl’s hand and shifts her son to her other side. “Is that true, Raine?”

  Shame wrenches through me. I’ve long been a fan of Georgie Mason and now, she’s caught me wearing her clothes, standing in her house as if I own it. For the first time in ages, I don’t know what to say.

  “Um…Yessss?” I don’t want to lie but I’m afraid if I just outright admit to it, I’ll go to jail.

  Sloane grows angrier. “Is it yes or not?”

  Sloane Mason seems angry enough to kill Kiln.

  Irony at its finest.

  However, no one is dying, if I can help it. Yet, even I have sense enough to know that I can’t just blurt Kiln’s intentions to Sloane Mason. Luckily, whatever stupid motherfucker a stupider motherfucker hired, isn’t set to off him for five weeks. I have time, right?

  If only.

  “Uh, what’ll happen to Kiln if I tell the truth?”

  “The same fucking thing that’s going to happen to him now,” he shouts. “I’m beating the fuck out of him.”

  I wince. “You know, bodyguarding is his profession.”

  Shit, why is that coming out of my mouth? Am I really defending that prick? Fuck it. I’ll just roll with it. He has no friends. True, it’s hard for jerkboys to keep a posse, but the poor little man needs someone to defend him.

  “He might beat the fuck out of you,” I finish.

  Sloane snorts. “Been there, didn’t happen, so I’m not concerned,” he tells me.

  Georgie frowns at me. “Are you defending Kiln?”

  “No, she’s trying to protect him,” Sloane answers with authority. “Raine, or Sun or Moon…whatever the fuck your name is, it’s too late for that. I had to cut my vacation short because I knew that motherfucker was up to something once my goddamn alarm went off again. Fuck. I thought this bullshit was behind us. I’m going to fucking feed him his goddamn balls.”

  This behavior won’t sway Kiln from wanting to kill him.

  His thr
eat really pisses me off. Kiln’s a douche pipe and somewhat of a bully, but Sloane is showing himself to be as arrogant as Kiln claimed.

  “You started this years ago, by sleeping with his wife.”

  Fuuuucccckkkk me. Did I really just say that in front of his wife?

  It doesn’t matter. He shows no remorse. My words only increase his fury.

  “He told you that?” he snarls, sounding like Satan’s little brother.

  Georgie doesn’t say anything, just stares at me.

  I answer her husband, my stomach doing flip-flops. “Yes, he told me.”

  “Did he tell you I was in a fucking drug-fueled haze?” Sloane demands. “Nor is it your fucking business, but since he opened his fucking mouth, I’ll say this: My drug use is no excuse. Had I been sober, I wouldn’t have touched Dietrech. As a matter of fact, I apologized to him about the affair. Did he tell you that?”

  Georgie sets the baby on his feet and he runs off, squealing. She touches her husband’s arm, whose regret is clear in his eyes. She whispers to him and he nods, then breaks away and storms past me.

  “You must be more than a band groupie if Kiln has confided in you,” Georgie tells me, her tone cool and distant, her friendliness gone.

  “I’m nothing to him anymore.”

  “You can be his wife, Raine, and I’d give you this warning. Do not fuck with my husband. I don’t care if Kiln told you every, intimate detail of his life, leave Sloane alone. He’s gone through enough guilt and heartache, and I refuse to allow you or anyone else, to throw bullshit in his face. Am I clear?”

  Is she ever! “Yes.”

  “Did Kiln break and enter into the second floor?” she asks, switching gears on me.

  Since I’ve so thoroughly pissed her off, I have to lay my cards on the line. “In my defense of Kiln, I brought up matters that aren’t my business. I’m the one who climbed onto the balcony and broke into the second floor and—”

  “At Kiln’s direction,” she presses.

  I don’t respond.

  “You don’t have to admit to it. I’m well-acquainted with Kiln’s assholery.”

  “I had nothing to wear.”

  “You came here naked?”

  She sounds as if I’m spouting a crock of shit. Still, she’s giving me a chance and not kicking me out. Besides, this is the last woman I want to think badly of me. I’m pretty sure her opinion toward me isn’t the best. However, in a bid to right the wrongs I’ve committed, the entire story escapes me, from the way I met Kiln to when he found me eating from the dumpster, to last night, minus the small matter of Kiln wanting to kill her husband.