Give Me Hell

by Kate McCarthy

I snap to a sitting position when a female shriek renders the air. Fear sends my heart pounding. Heedless of being caught coming from Mac’s room, I leap to my feet and snag my boxer briefs from the floor. I barely have them on as I fly out the door.

  I hear a fight in progress coming from Quinn’s room. I race along the upstairs hallway. Henry, Frog, and Cooper stand just inside her bedroom door.

  I push between them, my chest heaving from the rush of adrenaline. I stop and stare, blinking. Quinn has Mac pinned on the floor beneath her while the boys watch on, stupefied.

  Mac’s arm is outstretched. She’s grappling for the phone above her head. It lies just out of reach.

  “No!” Quinn yells as she claws her way over Mac.

  Our band assistant is clad in just her underwear. With her white-blonde hair, tiny stature, and brown eyes big enough to rival Bambi, seeing her in a sexy black bra is quite the jolt.

  What’s worse is Mac wearing just her slip and panties. The same pair I ripped off just hours earlier. They’re black and lacy with cream polka dots. They’re also completely visible to every eye in the room.

  Her slip rises as Quinn makes a grab for the phone. Mac’s flat, tanned belly is now exposed. The wrestling sees it rise further. Underboob is just a scant inch of fabric away, and I’m transfixed.

  “Arrghh!” Mac squeals when Quinn’s elbow catches her in the eye.

  “Sorry,” Quinn mumbles. When her hand encircles the phone, she gives a shout of relief. It’s short-lived when Mac rolls her over, pinning her to the floor. That tight ass rises, and my dick gives an almighty jerk.

  It’s then that I realise everything I’m seeing, the boys are seeing too. That’s my princess on the floor, and she’s for my eyes only.

  “What the hell is going on here?” I bellow.

  The girls freeze and both heads turn toward me.

  Cooper elbows me in the side. “Shut up, idiot. Naked chicks wrestling.”

  Right. But one of those naked chicks belongs to me. “Cover your eyes,” I mutter, avoiding their twin looks of incredulity.

  Mac ignores us. She turns back to Quinn and growls, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t ring Travis right now.”

  Quinn’s eyes flutter closed. A tear escapes and falls down her temple. She whispers something I can’t hear. Something that turns Mac’s face white. She scrambles off her.

  “I’m sorry,” Quinn chokes out, opening her eyes. They’re filled with tears and take in all of us. “I’m so sorry.”

  Mac nods toward the door. “Everyone out.”

  None of us move.

  She arches a brow. “Did I just speak Klingon? Out. Now.”

  I shoot Mac a look. You better tell me what the fuck is going on.

  She gives me a nod that no one else sees. Later.

  With the four of us leaving the room en masse, I have no choice but to return next door.

  The next morning when we board our flight to Melbourne, I muscle my way in front of Henry and Evie and snatch the seat beside Mac. With three seats on each side of the plane, she’s stuck in the middle and an elderly man has the window. It leaves me with the aisle seat.

  It judders as I sit and my shoulder accidently shoves Mac into the old man. He gives a little yelp and she tries to straighten. It’s a big fail because my shoulder now takes up half her seat.

  “What are you doing?” Mac hisses as if I’m causing a commotion that every passenger on the plane has stopped to watch.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. It’s unbelievable how airlines actually consider these things seats. It’s like sitting in a toddler chair. I’m too wide to fit them properly. My shoulders cop a hit whenever a flight attendant moves down the aisle with their food and drink cart. Aisle seats are something I avoid for that very reason, but trapping Mac on this flight is likely my one opportunity to find out what went down last night.

  Quinn comes toward us, wheeling her little carryon. Her slight body is getting shoved by careless passengers in their rush to get seated. Travis is stuck about five bodies down, brows drawn in a pissed expression.

  I stand and block everyone who’s trying to come or go. Sometimes my size comes in handy. “Where’s your seat, sweetheart?”

  Her brown eyes scan the aisle numbers above. “Ahh, behind you.”

  I snatch her carryon. Lifting it with ease, I tuck it into the storage compartment above.

  “Thanks, Jake,” Quinn says and takes her seat behind me.

  “No problem.”

  I sit back down. Mac gets knocked sideways. The old man gives another yelp. I sigh. “Sorry.”

  “Next time I’m telling Quinn to book business class,” she mutters.

  “Hell yes.” I tuck my shoulder in as a guy bigger than me makes his way down the aisle. We shoot each other a mutual look of sympathy before he moves on. “Surely the band is earning enough now to afford that.”

  “And then some.”

  “No shit?” I’m impressed with how quickly our star is rising in the music world.

  “No shit,” she confirms, satisfaction gleaming in her fierce green eyes. “If this keeps up, one day the band will have its own jet.”

  And all I have to do is keep doing what I love. It seems too easy. How had I managed to turn my life around? As much as it grates, I owe a lot to the lying bastard Valentine brothers. They got me out of the gang. To this day I don’t know how. All I had to do was pack my bags in the middle of the night and leave. I haven’t seen or heard from Luke or Leander Fox since. It’s hard not to search for them. Luke had been my best friend. But I don’t. It’s my past. It’s best I leave it there.

  Our plane taxies into the sky, and I turn my head toward Mac, keeping my voice low. “So tell me, what was all that about last night?”

  She shoots a quick glance over her shoulder between the gap in the seats. Clearly Mac doesn’t want either Quinn or Travis, who’s now sitting beside her, to overhear our conversation. She tilts her head close to mine and speaks quietly. “You know how David was released from prison? Apparently he’s gone underground because he owes people money.”

  “Okay.” But it doesn’t explain why the two of them were wrestling last night for the phone. “So?”

  “Well, if they can’t get their money from him, who do you think they’re turning to next to get it?”

  Quinn Salisbury. His stepdaughter.

  “Jesus,” I mutter. “How much?”

  She rattles off an impossible sum.

  My head falls back against the seat in disbelief. “What’s the plan?”

  “Plan?” Her eyes widen. For several moments she doesn’t blink.

  It’s Mac’s tell that something is going down, and that something means A: chaos and reckless idiocy are sure to ensue, and B: shit will hit the fan as a result.

  “Mac,” I growl. “Does Travis know?”

  She huffs at my question, making it obvious there’s a tight little loop and her brother is being kept out of it.

  Mac flicks her black-framed oversized sunglasses down from her head to cover her eyes, and she folds her arms. “The plan is that we’re just going to tell them we don’t have the money next time they ask. Jake, she was planning on disappearing in the middle of the night, scared of getting any of us involved or hurt. It’s lucky she even told me. I woke to the noise of her trying to wrestle her suitcase down from the top shelf in her wardrobe.” Her chin juts out. “I tried phoning Travis to tell him, and we will …” she adds hastily when she sees anger rising in my eyes, “but for now, we’re just going to take it one step at a time, and that step is to inform them that we aren’t going to play along. By god,” she mutters angrily, “they can’t just demand Quinn hands over that much in cold hard cash. It’s not her debt!”

  My eyes close for a moment as I pray for calm. It goes unanswered. I’m wholly riled. The blood in my toes is boiling upward until my head starts feeling hot. The flight attendants choose that moment to thunder up the aisle behind us with their drink and food cart. My sho
ulder is rammed hard enough to dislocate bone. “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath.

  They pause their violent march. One attendant places her hand on my shoulder. “Sir, I’m so sorry.” Bending slightly, she offers me a conspiratorial wink. “Can I offer you a beverage?”

  Mac leans in and lifts her sunglasses to rest against her forehead. “God yes,” she declares loudly. “Is it too soon to drink? I think I need a vodka.”

  “Me too,” Quinn announces from behind us.

  Travis butts in. “Quinn, what the … It’s ten a.m!” He sounds scandalised. I’m sure he’d be sounding a lot worse if he knew even a tenth of what those two girls are up to. It prompts me to ask the question, “Who else knows?”

  “Sir?”

  “Just a juice, please.” I need a sugar hit because I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day.

  “We’ve got apple, orange, pineapple, guava—”

  “Orange is fine,” I blurt, eager to get them moving along so we can continue our conversation.

  Mac leans in again. “Do you have any cranberry?”

  I raise my brows at her.

  “What?” She shrugs. “It’s for the vodka.”

  “I’ll have the same,” Quinn pipes up again from behind us. “And maybe a cookie too?” She sounds apologetic. “I can’t drink on an empty stomach.”

  The attendant’s eyes narrow. She’s annoyed she stopped to offer a solitary drink in apology and is now getting inundated with orders from surrounding passengers.

  With a quick, efficient flick, she has my food tray down and piled with juice bottles, clear plastic cups, napkins, enough plastic-wrapped cookies for all of us, and mini bottles of vodka.

  “Bless you.” Mac flicks her sunglasses back down to cover her eyes and offers a smile.

  It’s lost on the attendants. They’re already thundering the rest of the way up the aisle and away from us.

  “Who else knows, Mac?”

  “Just give me a …” She’s trying to twist in her seat to hand Quinn her requested order. It’s quite a feat considering half my body is in her way and the old man on her other side keeps harrumphing every time she takes a breath.

  Frustration has her half standing and flinging the bundle over our seats. A thunk and a growl confirm Travis has copped a glass bottle of juice to the head.

  “Mac!” I bark.

  “Okay! Fuck!” she shouts, drawing the attention of everyone around us. “I’m just trying to have a damn vodka, asshead. Is that too much to ask? I need this.”

  “Talk.”

  Her nostrils flare. “Fine.” After snatching a clear plastic cup, she unscrews the cap on the mini vodka bottle and tips in a hefty mouthful. “Lucy knows.” Next she reaches for a juice bottle. The attendant must have been completely over us because she only provided orange. Mac makes a face as she pries off the lid. “I don’t like orange juice.”

  Lucy is Quinn’s best friend, so I figured she would know. “Who else?”

  Mac’s cheeks burn red as she puts her muscle into removing the bottle cap. I snatch it before I cop an elbow in the face. It pops off with minimal effort, and Mac’s lips pinch. “I already loosened it for you.”

  “Clearly.”

  She takes the opened bottle and begins pouring.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you,” she replies primly. Setting the juice bottle down, she picks up her mixed drink and takes a sip. “Evie.”

  “Evie knows too?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  Mac unwraps a cookie.

  Christ. It’s like pulling teeth. “Who else, Mac?”

  “No one else.”

  Anger tightens my jaw. When I speak it’s between clenched teeth. “So you girls all got together and came up with this little plan of just telling them, when they approach Quinn again, that you just don’t have the money?”

  Mac nibbles her cookie before taking another sip of vodka. “That’s correct.”

  “No.”

  Her brows rise. “No?”

  “Just no.”

  Fire lights her eyes. “What, because we have vaginas we can’t handle our own shit?” I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger and count to ten. I reach five when she adds in a snide tone, “Do you think our plan requires a penis, Jake?”

  That question is clearly a trap. I change my approach. “Is Quinn doing okay?”

  It works. The fire fades as she nibbles on her cookie again. “She’s stressed, but she’ll be okay.”

  “Did these guys give a deadline for the money?”

  “She has three days.”

  It’s not ideal, but it’s better than three hours. And it’s time enough to get to the bottom of the situation.

  JAKE

  It turns out there’s no time to get to the bottom of any situation. Clearly these guys lied when they told Quinn she had three days to pull the money together. It’s hardly a surprise for two reasons: The first is that we’re dealing with criminals; relying on their word is the equivalent of making a fist and using it to punch your own face. The second reason I know they lied is because after our band finishes playing at the festival, we return to the hotel and see the evidence: a trashed hotel room shared by Mac and Quinn.

  It looks nothing like it did when we left for the venue earlier in the afternoon. Bullet holes litter the wall. Smashed glassware and furniture cover the plush carpet. Picture frames hang crooked. Empty bottles of alcohol lie tipped over across the bar. And the worst of it, Mac’s gun, Polly, is calmly resting on the dining table.

  Mac is seated in one of the remaining chairs, hair a little wild, calmly chugging a shot like it’s just another day in paradise. I scan her for injuries. When I find none, I survey the damage a second time. “What the fuck?”

  She lets out a breath. “You know the guys who want that money from Quinn?”

  I step inside the room, my shoes crunching over broken glass. “Uh huh.”

  “Well they sent a guy to collect it a little early.”

  “I see that,” I growl, even though I don’t see at all because my eyes are blinded by anger. “And you thought a gun fight and hand-to-hand combat would be the best way to inform this guy that Quinn doesn’t have the money?”

  Mac’s lips purse in a pissy expression. It doesn’t make sense. If anyone has the right to be pissy, it’s me. “I took care of the situation.”

  “Would you care to explain how you took care of the situation?”

  “Well …” She draws in a breath. I’m expecting the explanation of a lifetime and know I need to brace accordingly, so I walk over to the table, pick up the vodka bottle, pour a shot, and down it fast. “It started when we got to our room and found three drunk guys partying by the corner bar.”

  “Three drunk guys were …” I need another shot. I pour it. “How the hell did they get in your hotel room?”

  “Jared is downstairs dealing with that particular issue right now.”

  “Okay.” Good. I down the second shot. “And?”

  “They were trying to meet the band. Mostly Evie. So we yelled at them to get out, but they wouldn’t go. Quinn threw a chair because in the self-defence training Travis gave us last month, he said to use whatever weapon we happened to have handy. They reciprocated and started throwing bottles of rum.”

  “Just …” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Where was Sean? Didn’t he check your room before letting you go in?”

  Sean is the newly hired security with Jamieson and Valentine Consulting. He comes with high credentials, having been a bouncer at the Florence Bar for three years. It’s one of the best and most high profile venues in the city of Sydney.

  “No, he didn’t check our room.”

  My eyes flatten. “He’s fired.”

  “Would you …” Mac sighs, clearly exasperated. “That’s not your call.”

  “It seems you’ve forgotten, but I’m a part of this band too, Princess. That means I get a say in who handl
es our security, and I’m saying that Sean is no longer welcome.”

  “Fine.” She pours another shot and lifts it to her lips. I snatch it from her hand and swallow it down. The burn of alcohol spreads swiftly through my chest and leaves my legs weak. I pull out the last remaining chair beside Mac and sit. “What happened after that?”

  “One of them managed to tackle Quinn to the floor when the sound of a gunshot ricocheted through the room. That’s when we knew shit just got real.” Right, I think to myself irritably. Because drunk guys trashing your room and tackling you to the ground isn’t real enough. “There was this guy in the doorway wearing a hoodie and baseball cap with sunglasses covering his eyes. He had a gun and was demanding that Quinn leave with him. Well, I wasn’t having any of that, and I told him so. He pointed the gun at me, threatening to shoot me if Quinn didn’t go with him right that very second.”

  “He pointed a gun at you?” Rage blinds me. I want to find this guy and throw his bloodied body into a cage of lions.

  There’s no mistaking my fury and Mac nods, indignant. “He did.” She pours another vodka shot, and I notice the bottle shakes in her hand. My rage recedes. I take the bottle and set it on the table. Then I take both her hands in mine. They’re ice cold. “Are you okay?”

  “No! I’m angry! All I could remember was Jimmy shooting Evie and seeing her bleed out on the floor. There was no way in hell I was letting something like that happen again. Not on my watch.”

  MAC

  “So I grabbed my gun and threatened to shoot him if he took one more step toward Quinn.”

  “You what?”

  Jake’s high tone makes me wince, and his hands squeeze mine so hard they turn purple. It’s exactly like I told him before. I took care of the situation. “Was I supposed to dither about a bit before calling in the people with penises to handle the crazy gunman?”

  “Jesus, Mac, will you let it go?” He drops my hands, eyeing me with aggravation. “It’s not because I thought you couldn’t take care of yourself. I’m freaked out because it’s you, and I happen to care about you a lot.”

  It’s possible I believe him. Slightly. “Well, anyway, Sean must have heard the noise, and he came in from behind and tackled the guy to the floor. There was a scuffle and he ran.”