by Renee Rose
Since he took my pen away, I figure he doesn’t deserve an answer. I walk to the door, open it and motion for him to get out.
He walks over and slams it shut—without leaving. “I’m not finished. You have fully gone off the rails, here. Do you think this man won’t empty your house next? Threaten your life? Your parents’?”
I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you, songbird.
Yes, Tony had done those things. I believe Hugh about his record. I know he’s dangerous and the men he works for are even more dangerous. When he dropped me off at my suite, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him again.
But I can’t find it in me to believe that man would ever hurt me or my parents or anyone I cared about. He hasn’t shown me anything but hot sex and a whole lot of consideration. And that’s despite the situation I’m in with him and his outfit.
“Open your eyes, Pepper. We’re in a whole lot of hot water here, and you pick this guy to explore your bad boy fantasies with?” He shakes his head. “Uh uh. It can’t happen. I forbid you to see him again, and if I have to lock you in this hotel room for the rest of our stay here, I will.”
My head spins around and pops off with fury. I stalk over and grab my pen from the floor. YOU’RE FIRED, I print in huge block letters.
Hugh snatches the pad away from me and hurls it across the room. “You can’t fire me. We have a contract. I’m not just your manager. As of this new album, I’m you’re producer. And you owe me three more albums. So there’s no firing me, Pepper. I own you.”
Someone knocks on the door.
“And if you even try to get rid of me, I’ll sue you for breech so fast you’ll get whiplash.” Hugh raises his voice. “Your parents are already mortgaged to the hilt in that house. You’ll lose everything.”
The door pounds again. “Hey, Pepper? It’s Izzy.”
I stride over and fling the door open. Izzy’s face is creased with concern as she stumbles in.
I point to the hallway, levelling my glare at Hugh.
“I think she’s telling you to leave, dude.” Izzy positions herself beside me.
A rush of gratitude fills my chest. I have at least one friend in this fucked up entourage.
Hugh points an angry finger at me. “Stay away from him,” he snarls.
I stalk over, pick up the notebook from the floor and hold the page up to him.
“Wow,” Izzy drawls. “Looks like you’re fired.”
“No. She can’t fire me. And we’ll discuss this tomorrow.” He leaves, attempting to slam the door behind him, only failing because it has a softener attached.
Izzy snorts, then thumps me on the back. “Holy shit. You just fired Hugh.”
I feel like the floor has dropped out on me. I don’t know what to think about any of it. I write on the notepad. Not sure if it will stick. He seems to think I can’t.
“Fuck that. Get a lawyer. Hugh’s gotta go.”
I lunge forward and give her a hug. She stiffens, because she’s not really the huggy type, but pats me on the back.
When I let her go, she says, “I saw your performance with The Sores.”
I hold my breath. I don’t know why I care what she thinks, but I do.
“It was wicked, girl. So unbelievably great. I am proud to be your roadie.”
I laugh and throw my arms around her a second time.
“Even more glad now that I don’t have to work for fucking Hugh.”
Yeah, about that. That queasy feeling is back. I don’t know if I’m afraid he’ll stay fired or afraid he won’t.
It doesn’t matter though. Even if this ends my whole career. I can’t go on with him running my life.
Chapter 9
Tony
“Everything okay?” Nico asks when I step into his office the next day. “Did Junior piss all over the girl?”
I plop down in a chair in the corner and fold one ankle over my knee. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
Nico gives me a measuring look. “You talk him down?”
“Maybe.” My foot jiggles on my knee.
Nico’s lip curls. “Did he give any indication how long he’s gonna stay here?”
Nico hates Junior’s visits to Vegas. The Bellissimo is Nico’s operation. Vegas is his town. When Junior comes, he throws his weight around and acts like a big man, but really, what Nico’s created here is a thousand times bigger, better and more legal than anything Junior has going in the windy city.
“No idea. Hopefully not until she starts playing again.”
“Fanculo,” Nico curses. “That would kill us all. How are ticket sales after the cancelled shows?”
“We’re working it out still. About half the holders took refunds, the rest rescheduled. I have the first nine shows when she starts playing again mostly sold. The publicity last night helped. I told Junior it would.”
“Good. And how’s her voice?”
I shrug. “She’s resting it.”
“Junior wants you to know Pepper Heart is insured for six mil—life insurance.”
My heart stops in my chest. When it stutters back to life, I’m ready and willing to tear Junior apart, limb from limb.
Nico holds out his hands. “I’m not behind any plan that involves using it, of course.”
“Junior better not say that shit to my face or I’ll fucking kill him.”
“I don’t think he was actually suggesting it. Probably just makes him feel better knowing there’s a fallback plan.”
I can only growl in response.
“So, Tony. I gotta ask. Is Pepper Team Tony now?”
I shrug. “Not exactly.”
“But you didn’t switch camps to hers?”
I lunge to my feet. “Fuck you.” I lean forward and get right in his grill. “I know you’re not questioning my loyalty.”
Nico stands, too. When he wants to be, he can be as big an asshole as Junior—or at least he can pretend to be. But he waves his hands in surrender. “Of course not. I was just making sure.”
I stride to the door because if I stay, I might say something I’ll regret.
“Tony, wait. Look, I know she’s under your skin. That’s why I’m checking in.”
I stop at the door and turn. “She’s not Team Tony,” I admit. “But I have it under control.”
“I trust you,” he says to my departing back, making me regret my temper.
Pepper
I refuse to hole up in my hotel room on the sheer grounds that Hugh ordered me to, and he’s no longer in charge of my life. I text Izzy and the band to meet me for lunch in one of the casino restaurants. Anton follows, but sits at the table beside us, instead of with us.
It’s been a long time since we hung out as a group. That sounds weird considering we’re together every single day, but that’s usually what makes us retreat from each other. It’s also a relief not to have Hugh around.
“So where’s the boss?” Brayden, my drummer, asks when he slides into the circular booth seat they gave us.
“She fired him,” Izzy supplies. I enjoy the note of smugness she gives the words.
“Oh yeah?” Brayden appears pretty happy, too. “Does that mean we get to leave? Or are we still stuck in Vegas paying for his crime?”
I force a laugh but my chest feels like a javelin’s hanging out of it. My whole band understood the dynamic of the situation better than I did.
“So how’d it go down?” Scott asks, then realizes I can’t speak. I search for my notepad and send the pen rolling off the table. “Text me!” He lunges for it.
“Can I text instead of talk, too?” Izzy asks.
“Oh my god, yes,” Farley, Scott’s twin, chortles, a lock of his shaggy blond hair falling in his face. “Let’s all take a vow of silence in solidarity with Pepper.”
“Yeah,” Scott says, “It’s like when basketball teams shave their heads because one of the players has cancer.” He mimics zipping his lips and throwing away the key.
I roll my eyes and toss a paper napkin at his face, but t
hey all join in, pulling out their phones and starting a group text thread.
We all become the model millennials, eyes glued to our phone screens, thumbs dancing over the keys as we chuckle to ourselves over what we’re reading. The waitress is less than impressed with our antics when we order by showing her our choices on a text message, which only makes us giggle like errant students passing notes in school. By the time the food comes, my face hurts from smiling.
And of course, that’s when Hugh shows up. “Hey, guys.” He slides in beside Farley, like he was invited. “The Sores manager called this morning. They want permission to record Blue Demon. Said they’d donate all proceeds to a charity of your choice.”
My band members smirk as they all bend their heads and start texting.
Farley: Do you hear anyone talking?
Scott: How long do you think it will take him to figure out none of us will answer him?
Izzy: He’s trying to make you think you still need him.
Me: I wonder if The Sore’s manager is any good…
Brayden: [Sends gif of a monkey scratching its butt]
“Oh this is very cute. So no one’s speaking to me now?” His phone buzzes and he looks down. I’m not sure who texted him, but he reads it and says, “Vows of silence. That’s very cute.”
Another text buzzes.
“Yeah, solidarity. Okay.” He looks at me. “I’ll tell them to work through the label. I doubt they’ll give permission, though.”
I pick up my phone and text him. Do nothing. You’re fired. It feels good. Every time I say it—or write it, as the case may be—I feel better.
“Yeah, that’s cute, Pepper, but it’s not going to fly. I couldn’t leave here if I wanted to. Like it or not, I’m your manager and your producer. You’re stuck with me.”
My phone beeps.
Izzy: No one talk to him.
Brayden: I took a vow of silence.
Scott: Same
Farley: [gif of Tina Fey zipping her lips]
I do my best not to snicker. Honestly, I grew up way too fast and Hugh was part of that. It feels good to act like a child for a change.
Hugh gets up and lumbers off, still pretending he’s my manager and the table busts into a fit of giggles.
Scott: I think the best thing I’ve ever seen was when your self-appointed bodyguard pinned his face to a wall.
Izzy: What happened after we left?
Scott: One punch to the gut. Anticlimactic.
My heart beats faster, remembering the moment.
Tony. My self-appointed bodyguard. The guy begging his mom to come and visit him. Standing up against his boss over me.
The need to tell him I fired Hugh swells until I’m compelled to fish out the note he sent me yesterday with his phone number. I wait until the gang has left and I’m alone with the bodyguard to text him.
Me: I fired Hugh. Want to be my manager? :P
I’m only joking, of course, although the idea sort of takes hold and sticks. Tony’s skillset might be slightly different, but he’s a helluva lot better at most things than Hugh. Of course, he already has a job. Probably a job he can only leave in a body bag.
Tony: Where are you?
I tell him and he shows up to the restaurant a few minutes later, dismissing Anton and taking me by the hand.
I want to ask where he’s taking me, but of course, I can’t speak, and fishing out my phone or the notepad would require stopping or slowing down. We get in an elevator and go all the way to the top floor.
He lets us in a suite much like mine, but with a full kitchen and a solid wall of windows overlooking the strip. It smells like him—that coffee grounds and clean soap scent that instantly comforts me.
He hasn’t spoken since we left Anton—as if he got the memo about vows of silence in solidarity. He still doesn’t speak, just turns me to face him and pulls my dress over my head.
I watch, mesmerized by him. By the moment.
I wonder how he knows I want this, or if it’s just what he wants.
His movements grow faster, more desperate, as he unhooks my bra, then slides his fingers between my legs.
“Songbird, I missed you.” His voice sounds hoarse and rough, like mine probably would, if I spoke.
“I didn’t know if I’d see you again.” His lips are on the curve of my neck. “If you’d want me.” His fingers slide into my panties. “I didn’t even have your number.”
My floor drops away and I’m floating, carried away by the hunger of his touch, the power he gives me with this admission. Tony Brando was worried. About losing me. Like he hasn’t been the boss of my every move since I arrived, like he wasn’t the one commanding me with his voice. His touch.
My folds are wet and they plump under his touch. He drags my juices up and brushes my clit.
I shiver and buck against him, hanging onto his broad shoulders. I start to undress him, but he’s too impatient. He rips off his clothes as he backs me up to a couch, pushing until my knees hit the back and I flop down into it. Then he’s on his knees—the mob enforcer kneeling for me.
He rips my panties off, delves his tongue into my folds. He licks and teases and sucks as I weave my fingers into his hair, tugging and pulling, grinding my needy pussy against his mouth.
He penetrates me with his fingers, then switches and shoves his thumb in me, reaching the pad of a finger against my anus. I resist, squeezing my ass and wriggling, but he holds me down, pumps his thumb and screws the finger in my ass.
I lose control, the room spins, I writhe and pant and bite back the scream in my throat. When he lowers his mouth and adds his tongue to my clit, I hurtle over the edge. Lights and colors explode behind my eyes, my body convulses in my desperate climax.
I want to return the favor this time. When he removes his fingers, I launch at him, attempting to push him to his back. Of course, I’m half his size, so he just catches me and fills his hands with my ass, kneading and squeezing. I shove again, and he gets the idea. “You want to drive, baby?” He falls back, an indulgent expression on his face. I’m thrilled when I watch it fall away to bald hunger as I free his erection.
I may not have that much sexual experience, but I have given a lot of head. Since I didn’t love intercourse—well, I guess I now know it’s just missionary position I hate—I made up for it with blow jobs. Anyway, Jake said I was amazing, although he’s just one guy. I grip the base of Tony’s cock and watch it surge toward my mouth.
Right now, I’m feeling wild and abandoned, and ever-so-grateful. I show it with generous licks around the head, a long slow dip into the pocket of my cheek.
Tony’s thighs are rock hard, his cock even stiffer. I suck the silk-wrapped granite of his length, loving the grunts and harsh breaths I draw from him. He fists my hair and releases it, then fists it again, like he’s having to hold back from taking over. From forcing me to take him deep into my throat.
I know he was worried about me hurting my vocal chords by giving head, which I think is very sweet, but pretty unlikely. Of course, I don’t know how rough he usually likes it. Maybe he’s the shove it down your throat until you can’t breathe type. And that shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. My pussy clenches on air and I suck harder, bob my head over his cock faster. I slide my hand in concert with my mouth to take up the length that doesn’t fit.
I squeeze his balls, run my fingertip along the vertical line in the middle of his sac. He makes an urgent sound. I rub my finger over his perineum—the place between his balls and anus—and his balls tighten up.
I hum and he thrusts up into my mouth. “S-stop it,” he tries to order, but he’s clearly lost all authority. I pump fast with my hand and my mouth as he takes my hair in both fists and tugs. “I’m coming,” he warns me.
I pop off and fist his cock. He shouts as I pump my fist and let him come all over my breasts. I would swallow, but honestly, sometimes it does give me a sore throat and he has me playing it safe.
He sits up and pulls me to straddl
e his lap, rubbing his spunk across my breasts, up to my shoulder with the butterfly tattoo. I run my nails across his hairy chest, admiring his hulking physique.
I want to talk now. To lie on our backs and share secrets. In this moment, I hate the limitation of not speaking.
“You okay?”
I smile and nod.
He gets up and takes me by the hand to the bathroom, where he lifts me to the counter and cleans me up with a washcloth. I watch him move, his huge body graceful and sure. “Now what?” he asks. “Want to get into more trouble?”
I grin and nod.
Tony
I want to DJ at your club. Pepper beams at me like her face is lit by a 1000 watt bulb. She just burst in my office after I left her a couple hours ago to rest up for the evening and is holding her notepad up for me to read.
For the last three days she’s let me show her all over Vegas.
Hugh’s still hanging around; I guess he doesn’t exactly consider himself fired. I would throw him out, but I think his nuts should still be on the line for the money, so I figure I’ll let him stay here like the scared little rabbit, sweating the money and her shows and having no control over how it’s gonna go.
Her parents started calling yesterday, even though she texted that she can’t talk. I gather they disagree with her decision to axe Hugh.
I took her to see Sondra’s art gallery, the giant Ferris wheel, Cirque du Soleil, Penn and Teller. I’ve also fucked her every chance I can get—before we go out, after we get back. In fact, I had her bent over the arm of the couch before I left her last.
Now we’re full circle, with her bursting into my office, looking like sex on a stick.
She’s in a triangle-shaped halter, or whatever the scraps of fabric that tie in the back are called. She’s wearing a black mini-skirt—emphasis on the mini—and the requisite Doc Martens on the bottom, and despite the fact that my cock has already been in her three times today, I’m ready for another round.
