by Devney Perry
She has a good point.
King grabs her by the hair and yanks her to her feet, just as Kyrin spins me around by my hips, his fingers digging into my bones.
King’s eyes are on mine, his makeup taunting me, and his smirk testing the restraint of my anger. I don’t know why. It’s not like we’re anywhere near being able to call dibs on each other. My jealousy is arbitrary. Unwarranted.
He yanks the zipper of his pants down and I watch as his palm grips the length of his cock. He pulls on it softly.
“Girl,” Maya whispers from behind me. “This isn’t my first rodeo, so I apologize now.” Then her attention is on his cock, and I have to stop my chest from exploding and killing everyone in this fucking room.
I flash a smile at King that says I take your dirty blowjob and raise you a fucking pounding. I grip onto Kyrin from behind me, my fingers latching around the back of his neck. I drop to my hands and knees, leaning over my shoulder and smirking at him. “Fuck me.”
Kyrin’s eyes flash with fire, just as Killian steps up beside him, his head tilting.
“Dawg, if you don’t, I will.” Kill whistles, shaking his head.
Kyrin’s eyes fly over me, and I don’t have to guess to know where he’s looking. I turn around and face him, yanking his pants down instead. Okay, so he won’t fuck me for whatever reason, but I’ll still play, and if he doesn’t participate, I’ll go to Killian or Keaton. I grab his dick, and before he can say anything, I wrap my lips around his tip and. Fucking. Suck.
Drawing him in deeper until I feel his pre-cum latch to the back of my throat, I twirl my tongue around him.
The crowd is quiet as I suck, every single person in that audience disappearing. Kyrin pulls out of my mouth and smirks, gripping my chin and yanking me up to standing. I know he almost came twice because his cock was pulsing in my mouth.
“You play dirty, Little Bird, but can you keep it up?” His eyebrow cocks before he disappears and grabs onto Mischa, yanking her onto his exposed dick. She moans, rolling her head and sliding herself down over him.
Oh my God. Is this even legal?
Maya leaves King, and I’m left gasping, the song switching to “Nightmare” by Halsey.
Everything fades as King stares at me through his makeup.
“Little Bird, do me a favor,” Killian whispers into my ear. My attention doesn’t move from King. “See if he’ll kiss you.” He hands me a shot glass filled with white liquid, and I take it, throwing it back.
I take one step, and King’s eyes narrow.
Another step closer, and I can almost feel him around me, suffocating me without contact.
Quickly, I throw my hand around the back of his neck and pull his face to mine. My lips graze over his. “Why am I the only one not naked?” I lick his lips softly.
Just when I think he’s not going to take the bait, he leans forward and bites down on my bottom lip. “Because you’re not for them.”
What the fuck does that mean?
I grind into him, reaching down. I grip onto his cock and tug on it. Either he can get hard really fucking fast or Maya didn’t finish him off.
He hisses, biting my earlobe between his teeth and yanking on it. His fingers dig into my thighs as he lifts me off the ground. My legs wrap around his waist. “Who am I for?” I can’t believe I said that out loud.
“Not for them, but most importantly.” He sucks on my neck as his fingers slip beneath my panties. He slips between my folds, and I tremble in his grasp, my pussy clenching around him like a vise. I don’t care what’s going on out there, even though I know what is. I just hope everyone is too busy watching someone else to catch King and me.
He circles me while his thumb presses against my clit. “Not for me either.” His finger continues bashing inside of me, his thumb on my clit. My stomach clenches as familiar waves crash over me, my release gushing over his hand.
“Remember that next time you want to try to make me jealous.” He shoves me away, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking me off.
Everything disappears into the background again, like it always does when he’s around me. I panic, my heart thundering in my chest. Have I failed? Made things worse? I can’t believe I fell into Killian’s trap. After what feels like hours, the curtains slowly close with the audience going crazy, and I quickly zap out of the tent, my heart speeding in my chest at whatever the hell that show was. I know why they call them Mayhem now, and they fit it to a damn T. Just as I’m running back to the RV, I slam into a hard chest, bumping me backward until I fall straight on my ass.
“Ouch,” I groan, massaging my temples. I think I would rather they kill me than put me through all of this. This is a special kind of torture. One I will never survive.
“Jesus, Aeron!” A girl’s voice breaks through my haze before hands are reaching underneath my arms. “Are you okay?”
I’m on my feet when my brain registers what—or rather who—is in front of me right now. Aeron Romanov Reed—as in the famous rapper and mafia prince, Manik. I almost want to yell his name because that’s pretty much how everyone else says it.
“Yes,” I mutter, looking at the girl who helped me up. She’s beautiful. I think I know who she is, though. I’d seen her on TV whenever Rich would have E! playing in the bar—which was never, but that’s saying how often she’s in the media.
“You were amazing up there,” she says, and then wipes her hand on her jeans, bringing it out to me. “I’m Beatrice, but you can call me Beat, and this is my husband Aeron.” First impression of her is that I like her instantly for the mere fact that she hasn’t introduced her husband as “this is my famous husband, Manik.” It’s an instant turn-on for a lady friendship if the other woman isn’t constantly stroking her own ego.
“Thanks.” I can’t help but stare at her. He’s handsome, but everyone already knows that. Beat is something else. Long raven black hair and olive skin, she’s everything every model wishes she was made from.
“Are you doing anything right now? My grumpy husband is on his way home because, well…” She grins at Manik, who rolls his eyes at her. “He’s grumpy, but I’d love to have a chat with you? Are you free?”
I open my mouth to answer. To say no and that I’m tired, when Delila’s voice interrupts me. “Beatrice, how lovely for you both to show up.”
Beat’s smile instantly falls as she spins around to greet Delila. “Delila.”
“I hope you’re talking to my favorite lead girl to see if you can dance for us again and not because you’re trying to poach her.”
Instantly, that makes me smile. Delila and Beat don’t get along? Maybe I will take her up on her offer.
“Actually,” I interrupt Delila before Beat can say anything. “Neither. We were just about to go for a drink. You know, to celebrate my first successful act.” I try to keep the sarcasm out of my tone but fail miserably when I notice the twitch in Delila’s eye.
“Great!” Beat claps her hands. “We’ll meet you at the limo when you’re ready. We’re parked on the curb.”
I nod, offering her a small smile, as she and her entourage disappear into the darkness.
It’s not until Delila clears her throat that I realize she’s still standing there. “Be careful, Little Bird. Not all that glitters is gold.”
I roll my eyes, heading back to the RV and quickly changing out of my scandalous clothes. I ignore my phone vibrating in my hand and I quickly grab my fur coat and dash back out the door, before any of The Brothers come back. I don’t want to see any of them right now, and to be honest, I feel like a drink.
King
The music hums around me, as my thoughts remain fixed on a certain red-haired girl who won’t stay the fuck out of my mind. You can’t have her. No matter how many times I replay that same sentence over in my head, it seems the dots just won’t connect in my brain. I know why I’m drawn to her, and I made peace with that a long time ago. It’s part of the deal. Some sick game I like to play with myself, like
a damn masochist.
Most of the Midnight Mayhem crew is buzzed as fuck from all of the alcohol being passed around. It’s the after party, but we have one after each damn show. It gets old pretty fast when you’ve been on the road since you were fifteen fucking years old.
My phone pulses in my pocket, and I reach in, thinking over whether or not I want to answer it. My mom calling at this time of the night should be worrying—had my mom been a normal mom, which she’s not. I hit ignore just as Val drops her bony ass into my lap.
“Awww, where’s your cute little toy gone?” Her hand runs over my cheek, the scent of expensive champagne tainting her plump lips.
I whack her hand away. “You of all people should know how my toys are treated.”
Her eyes darken as she brings the bottle of Moët to her mouth. “Don’t I ever.”
I glare at her. “I’m not interested.”
She wiggles in my lap. I clench my jaw and spread my knees out, so she drops between them, landing on the dirt ground. A few people around us stop to look, but not for long, when she snaps at all of them to mind their own fucking business.
Her eyes cut back to mine. “Jeez, King. When did you get extra moody?”
Keaton kicks my chair. “About the time someone decided to sleep in our RV.”
Val stands, dusting off her pants and picking up whatever self-respect I’ve left her with. “You’re such an asshole.”
I look over her shoulder, dismissing her, just as Keaton takes the seat beside me, chuckling. “Any idea where the little bird has flown off to?”
I take a sip of my whiskey, allowing the liquid to burn in my mouth before swallowing. “She’s gone with Beat.”
“Beat as in Manik? She’s hanging around again?”
I shake my head, reaching for the pack of smokes on the ground and banging the end onto my thigh. “Naw. They just come to the New York shows when we’re here. Seems this time, Beatrice has found a liking to Dove.”
Keaton doesn’t answer, so I look over at him just as I blow out a cloud of smoke.
He smirks.
“Don’t fucking say it, Keats. Unless you want me to rearrange that pretty little face, I wouldn’t fucking say it.”
Keaton chuckles, resting his head back against the back of his chair. “I wouldn’t, but I would get a handle on that before it gets out of control. You’re losing focus.”
“The fuck I am,” I snap, flicking the ash off my smoke. “She’s not the fucking one.”
Kyrin must have sunk into the chair on the other side of me because his voice cracks through next. “They come in twos.”
Dove
Beat orders two vodkas and then rests her eyes on me. Her two bodyguards are probably outside waiting for us, but Aeron went home. “Where did you learn to dance like that?” she asks, stirring the olives around in her martini.
“Ah,” I lean back in my chair, “my mom ruled her expectations with a heavy foot, and that foot usually had a ballerina slipper attached to it, so…”
Beat laughs, flicking some peanuts into her mouth. “I get it. I mean, I don’t really get it. I—my mom and—”
“Oh!” I shake my head, thankful for the drink when it finally arrives. I take a sip before answering. “No, I mean, it was great, but they died when I was young.”
“Oh.” Beat softens her tone, her shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I wave her off, not because I’m unaffected by their death anymore, but because after all these years of having to explain or say the same thing, almost like a rehearsed script, it’s easier now. “It was a long time ago.” Lie, you’re still affected by it. Shutting out bad memories doesn’t help you cope. It’s the easy lie that we blanket ourselves with for a false sense of security.
“So how has Delila been?” Beat changes the subject.
I shrug. “A total bitch at the best of times.” The alcohol is warming my blood and fueling my confidence to speak.
“So, still the same then.” Beat rolls her eyes.
“You used to be in Midnight Mayhem?” I ask.
Her shoulders sag. “Yes. A long time ago, but essentially, yes. For a couple shows anyway.”
“How’d you find it?” I’m intrigued by her on a level that I’m not sure I can quite grasp yet. Fascinated. I want to know her in a way.
“Well.” She exhales. “I was running away from my husband because he kidnapped me. Then there was this whole ‘he might kill me thing’ and I didn’t feel like dying.”
I laugh, throwing my head back. I laugh so hard my belly tightens. When I finally come down from my fit of giggles, she’s watching me with surprise. “You’re not freaked out by what I just said?”
I swipe at my eyes. “No. I mean, if you knew how I came about my current position.”
Beat searches my eyes. “Oh, I think I have an idea. Maybe. Though I’m not sure.”
I shake my head, sighing. I feel relaxed for the first time in a long time. Being around so much testosterone has taken its toll on me. “I swear you could write a really creepy book about my life.”
Beat snorts, leaning into her bag that’s near her ankles and dropping a book onto the table. She points. “Join the club.” My eyes fall on the cover, the bright green title catching my eyes first. The title is simple. MANIK. The cover image is of Aeron’s chest, but where his face is supposed to be, there are ravens flying out.
“Wow! You have a book?”
She waves me off. “I didn’t write it, but yes. It’s the story of how Aeron and I met. I’m all for creepy stories. I wouldn’t recommend this author, though. She drinks too much, procrastinates a lot, and is easily distracted.”
I laugh, running my hand over the book while sliding it back to her. “So why did you want to have a drink with me tonight? Or this morning?”
Her focus drifts. “Well, I was really just hoping to pick your brain on how you dance. I run Aeron’s backup dancers now, and they’re driving me crazy. That’s saying a lot, because my crazy threshold is high due to who I’m married to.”
“Ask away!” I gesture with my hands as she peppers me with questions about my technique. I tell her that I not only have been dancing since I was able to walk, but I had lessons growing up, too, which she understood. Once we’re finished going back and forth, an hour has passed easily, and empty glasses are sitting in front of us.
“Wow.” She leans back in her chair. “I wish I could poach you.”
I’m barely keeping my eyes open. “I wish, too. Oh, how I do.”
“Where are you based?” she asks. “Your home base. Do you have one yet?”
“I don’t have one yet, but I think Delila likes us all to stay very close.”
“Yes, she does, so you’ll be close to the mansion. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was sorting your own house to be built on the property.” Beat pauses, emptying the rest of her drink into her mouth. “Tell me. Do you want to do this?”
I think over her question, wanting to give her an honest answer. “I want to stay alive.”
After a couple more drinks, we swap numbers, and Beat drops me back at the grounds, also called a “compound,” when Midnight Mayhem are on the road. My head is dizzy, and my thoughts are wavering. The vodka has long since left its claws inside me. I swing open the RV door, stumbling to the back of it toward my room. After wrangling my clothes off, I pull my phone up and grab my earbuds, hitting play on my playlist in hopes that music will make my head stop spinning. “Far Away” by Nickelback starts playing. I softly sing the words, tying my hair into a high ponytail and slipping beneath the sheets. I need to go out and grab some more supplies and do some laundry if I don’t want to start wearing the same clothes. I’m singing the chorus when my curtain is pulled open, and Keaton is watching me carefully, a drink hanging between his fingers. He pulls out his phone, so I remove my earbuds.
“What?” I don’t mean to be snappy to Keaton. It’s not like he’s been exactly rude to me, if you don’t count acting li
ke I don’t exist as rude.
He presses play on the song again, pointing to me with his drink. “Sing it again.” When I don’t budge and the opening starts, he rolls his eyes and starts singing it lazily. Even lazy, he’s nailing it. I had no idea Keaton could sing at all. He doesn’t look like a singer, even if that does sound like a shit judgment for me to make. When the chorus comes in, I power it out, and our voices merge together in perfect harmony. As the guitar plays, he drops down onto my bed, dropping his drink on the floor in the process. He continues the song, and I come in again on the chorus, hitting the high notes with him merging through the rough notes.
He tilts his head, watching me with a new fascination. “Who taught you how to sing like that, Little Bird?”
“I was born with it, and then my mom had me take singing lessons every day after my ballet classes.”
“She sounds like a bitch,” he bites out, stumbling up from my bed and reaching for his bottle.
I lean over, snatching it out of his reach. “She wasn’t. She was just…driven, and I think you’ve had enough.”
Lying backward on my bed, he lets the bottle slip to my fingers. I catch it just in time. My head spins, but I curl my lip beneath my teeth to stop my laugh.
“What’s funny, Little Bird?” he murmurs, shading his eyes with his forearm. He kicks off his shoes and removes his shirt, before climbing up my bed and dropping down into a comfortable position.
“Yeah, you’re not staying in here, Keaton,” I say, shaking his arm. But it’s too late. It’s like shaking a corpse. He won’t move.
I sigh, climbing off my bed. I make my way into the kitchen when I pause in my steps at Kingston perched on one of the chairs, a drink just short of his lips. I ignore him, moving further into the kitchen. I pull open the fridge, pausing when I see it’s fully stocked again, reaching for a bottle of water.
“What’d you think of the show, Little B?” Kingston’s voice is cold, bitter. It leaves his mouth sharp and swallows down mine like a bitter shot of tequila. My hand comes to my mouth briefly at the thought of tequila.
