Endless - Manhattan Knights Series Book Three

by Sienna Parks

  I sing louder.

  “Shut the fuck up, Campbell! I’m sick of hearing that guitar.”

  I’m too scared to stop. Strum… strum… strum…

  He’s coming up the stairs.

  “You little shit! I told you to stop that bastarding noise.”

  I watch as the handle on my door turns and shakes. I gulp, holding my breath, happy that he can’t get in.

  “Open the door you little punk. Where the fuck did you get the key?” The door shakes again as he struggles against the lock. “Open the door!”

  My covers are getting wet. I hope mummy doesn’t get upset with me when she comes home. If I just stay in here until she gets back, she’ll make everything okay. I know she will.

  “Last chance, Campbell. Open the fucking door…NOW!”

  Strum… strum… strum…

  I hear a loud bang, right before the door breaks and I can see daddy’s foot. I jump off the bed and scramble to the corner of the room, hugging my guitar and my teddy bear, Snoopy. It smells like mummy. I try to block out the sound of the door breaking piece by piece, making myself as small as I can, hoping I just disappear.

  ‘You’re going to pay for this you little shit. I’m going to make you wish you were never born. Fuck knows I wish that. Your mum and I were happy before you came along.”

  He’s inside my room. My tummy hurts really bad, and I can’t stop the tears. “Mummy!”

  “Your mum’s not here, wee man. It’s just you… and me.” He stops at the foot of my bed. I peek out over the top of my teddy, to see him looking at my sheets. “You pissed the bed? You’re four-fucking-years-old. Are you a little girl, Campbell? Pissed your pants because mummy isn’t here to listen to your bullshit?”

  “I want mummy! I want mummy!”

  I can’t see him through my tears, but I feel it when he grabs my guitar, yanking it from my arms. “You think this is going to keep you from getting a good hiding for the way you’ve been acting?” I reach out to try and pull it back, but he lifts it too high, and a mean smile creeps onto his face. “You need to learn some respect, boy. When I tell you to shut the fuck up with this racket, you better do it. Better yet, if you don’t have this bloody thing, then you can’t annoy me all the time.”

  He pulls his arm back and hits my guitar against the wall, smashing it over and over.

  “No, daddy! No!”

  He slowly turns, dropping the broken pieces of my happiness to the floor. “What did you just say to me?”

  My tummy hurts so bad now, I’m going to be sick. My hands are shaking as a close them tight around Snoopy, breathing in the smell of mummy as I cry and cry and cry. “I’m… I’m sorry, daddy. I’ll be good. I promise. I love you, daddy.”

  “You need to toughen up you little wimp. I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

  “Please, daddy… No.” I know what those words mean. A lesson is when you hit someone. I don’t like it when daddy gives me lessons. It makes my skin hurt and makes mummy cry.

  I quickly crawl under the bed. Daddy’s too big to get under here.

  “You stupid little fuck.”

  I bite down on Snoopy to stop myself from screaming.

  “Campbell.”

  His feet are moving. I turn my face away, but all I can see are the pieces of my guitar all over the carpet. I close my eyes tight, and think of mummy. Please come home. I don’t want daddy to hit me. His hands are so big, and it hurts a lot. His fingers tighten around my ankle and pull. I try to hold onto my bed, but he’s too strong. His voice gets loud as he grabs me and throws me against the wall, just like he did with my guitar. “I’ll teach you.”

  “Campbell!” Mummy… I knew you’d save me.

  Daddy makes a weird groaning sound, and then stops shouting. He isn’t making any noise now. There are funny dots in my eyes, and it makes it hard to see mummy. But I hear her, and I can smell her perfume as she drops to the floor, pulling me into her arms. The dots get bigger, until all I see is black. Mummy sounds far away.

  “Campbell… stay with me.”

  CAMPBELL

  “Campbell, Campbell, Campbell!” The crowd is wild tonight. A collective roar of thousands, chanting my name, waiting for the moment I step out onstage. This has been my dream since I was a wee boy, and I still can’t believe I’m here. That I made it happen - I’m Campbell-Fucking-McCabe! Lead singer of Flaming Embers – the hottest band around right now. Madison Square Garden is a long fucking way from Glasgow.

  I love everything about it; the buzz from head to toe as I wait backstage; the anticipation of a great show, coursing through my veins. A tangible energy bounces between the band, like we’re connected by some invisible force. My heart races as the arena fills and the crowd begins to shout. It’s my name their screaming - a guy that grew up on the wrong side of Glasgow, fighting for everything good that ever happened to me. I’m not supposed to be the success story who gets to live their dream. I should be waiting in line for my giro, or selling smack in Possilpark. That was the path laid out for me by my parents, but I chose a different fate. I chose not to follow in my father’s footsteps.

  I choose to step into the public arena, and bask in the glow of my dreams…

  “Campbell, Campbell, Campbell!”

  I pull the guys into a huddle for our nightly ritual. Our assistant passes out shot glasses, and as I do every night, I raise my glass and everyone follows. “Slange!”

  In unison they all shout, “Slange!” and down their drink in one gulp. I set my glass upside down on the table beside me, and run out onstage, the warm liquid seeping into my veins, coating my throat in a delicious heat, making its way down to my belly, calming my nerves as I drink in the sea of people before me.

  As far as the eye can see, there are people, banners, flashing lights, and an energy you can’t find anywhere else than this very spot…this very moment. It fuels everything inside of me, it’s what I live for. I turn and watch as the lads take their places, the crowd screaming for them as they make their entrance. Each one of them has a shit-eating grin on their face, and as we glance around, making eye contact for just a split second, there’s an understanding that passes between us… an unspoken but deep appreciation for this unbelievable experience. These guys are not just my bandmates, or my friends, they’re family… my brothers.

  “Hello New York! How are you guys feeling tonight?” The crowd goes wild. “You ready to have a good time?” I wink at the girls in the front row, and watch as one of them faints, dropping into the arms of a security guard. It’s crazy, but it makes me feel… fucking invincible.

  I look to Rhuari behind the drums and give him the nod, watching him signal over to Jamie, striking his sticks to count us in. As soon as the first beat sounds throughout the arena, the crowd erupts. It’s electrifying! Song after song, we absolutely kill it. Every one of us is sweating under the lights, and the exertion of jumping all over the stage. I chat with the crowd in-between sets, telling them stories from the streets of Glasgow, getting a few fans onstage to dance and sing along to their favorite tracks. It’s brilliant to put that smile on someone’s face, if only for a few hours.

  By the end of the night, I’m exhausted, but so pumped up from the show that I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to. We do two encores before the crowd are sated and we head backstage to the VIP area.

  “Goodnight, New York! You’ve been fucking magic tonight! We love you!”

  The first thing I do is down a full bottle of water and rip off my now soaking wet T-shirt. I didn’t even notice the VIP room was already buzzing with fans, who start screaming at me and running to grab my discarded shirt from the floor.

  “Campbell! Oh my God!”

  “You were amazing tonight.”

  “I love you!” One girl starts crying.

  I hear the lads laughing before I see them. “Fuck’s sake Cam, put a shirt on. You’ll give these poor lassies a heart-attack.”

  “Fuck off, Jamie.”

  “You’d be
lost without me, you beautiful bastard! Who’d keep you safe from all these adoring fans?” I can’t help but laugh. He’s the worst of us all for getting his leg over - the definition of a fucking man-whore. I’ve seen him take three girls at a time back to the hotel. It’s one of the reasons I refuse to share a room with him on the road.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just throw me a shirt, will you?’ He’s pissing himself laughing as he riffles through my stuff. The other guys are amused as my Rolling Stones T-shirt sails through the air, along with a box of condoms. If it wasn’t so funny watching the look on the wee lassies’ faces as johnnies scatter all over the floor, I would kill him for being such a wanker.

  Rhuari ignores all of the chaos and finds a quiet corner to settle on the couch and grab a beer. He’s a people watcher, always has been. He never plays into Jamie’s bullshit pranks and bravado. They’re actually cousins, so Rhuari knows him better than anyone, and just how fucked up he can get when he’s in a dark place.

  Lachlan and Callum are already working their Scottish accents to their advantage with a room full of over excited girls. I admire them. They’re enjoying every minute of this new life we’re living, and never stop to think about the work that needs to be done behind the scenes. That’s left to me for the most part.

  Ring! Ring! Ring!

  I reach for the phone – disorientated in unfamiliar surroundings. “Hello.” I rub my eyes, fighting to wake up after getting to bed… three hours ago. Fuck. After parties are the devil. My head is banging, and I’m rethinking my request.

  “Mr. McCabe. This is your 6 a.m. wake-up call. Do you need me to call back in fifteen minutes?”

  “No. I’m up. Thanks. Same time tomorrow, please.”

  “Yes, sir. Have a great day.” I drop the receiver, trying to find my bedside table in the dark. I’m so tired, I can’t even remember what city we’re in. We’ve been in five different cities in the past seven days.

  I feel around the bed for my phone, the glare of the screen blinding me as I swipe my finger across the display. I dial Jillian’s number and listen sleepily to the international ringtone.

  “What were you doing?” Her voice is cold and accusatory.

  “Hey, Jill. It’s nice to hear your voice too.”

  “Don’t treat me like an idiot. You’re two hours late calling. What… or who were you doing?”

  I’m not in the mood for her unfounded jealousy today. “It’s 6 am. here. I always call you at this time. Why are you so pissy?”

  “It’s 2 p.m here. You were supposed to call at noon.”

  Fuck. I’m so out of touch with where the hell I am, I didn’t factor in the change. “Honest mistake. I thought you were six hours ahead. I forgot that I’m on Pacific-time now.”

  “You don’t just forget the city you’re in, Campbell. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me? Knowing that you’re going from place to place – girls throwing themselves at you.”

  How hard it is for her? “I’m working my fucking ass off, Jill. Trying to build a future for us. I offered to fly you out to come travel with me, but you said no!”

  “So I could be the pathetic groupie? No thanks.”

  “How is it pathetic to see the world and share in your boyfriend’s success? Jesus Christ, Jilly. I don’t know what you want from me. I’ve never given you any reason to doubt me, and yet we keep having the same fucking conversation, week after week.”

  “Well I’m sorry to waste your precious time, rock star.”

  I scrub my hand over the stubble on my jaw. “I’m still the same guy. I’m still me. Born and raised in the same neighborhood as you. I’m trying to make a life for us that doesn’t have to begin and end in a fucking scheme in Glasgow.”

  She begins to sob. “We’re growing apart, and you won’t want to come back to me. You’re a celebrity now, and I’m just…me.”

  “Jilly-bean, I love you. I’ve always loved you – you know that. It’s only ever been you. Nothing will ever change that. Please, pack a bag and come be with me. I want you here. I can have a ticket waiting at the airport.”

  “This is exactly what I mean, Cam. Money is no issue to you now. I work in an office for £20,000 a year. We live in different worlds.”

  “Look. I can’t do more than I’m doing. I want you to come. I want to share this with you. I’ll have an open-ended ticket waiting when you decide you’re ready to be a real part of my life. I can’t walk away from this opportunity – the guys are counting on me. I hope to see you at the show on Thursday. You have my itinerary. You know where to find me.” My phone starts blowing up with incoming calls and texts. Something’s wrong. Shit. “I have to go, Jilly. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  Before I can ask what she meant, the line goes dead. I throw the covers off in frustration, pacing the floor when my phone starts ringing. It’s our manager, Logan. He’s become a good friend over the past few months, and he’s having some serious problems of his own. His girlfriend was injured while travelling with her ballet company. I was with him last week when he got the call. It was fucking gut-wrenching to witness. I’ve been holding things together on tour while he’s been out, but I’m stressed out and clueless. I can rock the stage, but everything else that comes with it – is a fucking nightmare to navigate.

  “Hey, man. Am I glad to hear from you! Please tell me you’re at the airport, heading this way. The lads have been impossible without you. Can’t keep their trouser-snakes under control.”

  “I wish. I’m so sorry that you’ve had to take on so much because of my mistakes, but Vittoria needs me right now. I can’t leave her.”

  I return to nervously pacing the floor of my hotel room. “She comes first. I get it. You’re doing the right thing. So where does that leave us? Do we need to cancel the rest of the tour?”

  “Fuck no! You guys are crushing it. I may not be there, but I’m getting calls 24/7. Every network and venue in the country wants a piece of you.”

  “That’s some good news at least.”

  “Listen, Cam. I’ve organized a replacement to get you through the end of the tour and back into the studio. She’s excellent. Best person I could hope to step in.”

  “She? Not some bossy fuck buddy for Jamie.”

  “Ha ha. No. She wouldn’t give him the time of day. Trust me. She’s the best there is. She’ll take the pressure off, and you can focus on writing me a new album. Give her a shot.”

  “Fine. I trust you. When will she be here?”

  “Tomorrow. You have a meeting with her at 11 am. Make sure the guys aren’t too hung over – I want them to make a good impression on Emy. I’ll call you after, and see how it went.”

  “Sure thing. Talk to you then.” I fall back onto the bed, exhausted and irritated. When did my life become so complicated? This is not what I signed up for. And Jilly… who the fuck knows what’s going on with her. We’ve been together since high school, and I’ve always been faithful, even when I really didn’t want to be. I get offered blow jobs at least three times a night after gigs. I could fuck any woman I want right now, and no one would blame me for indulging.

  Just the thought of a beautiful woman wrapping her warm mouth around my cock and sucking on it like a fucking lollipop, has me hard and frustrated. I glance over at the alarm clock – I have time to rub one out before I meet the guys for breakfast. Taking yourself in hand is a shit alternative to the real thing, but it’ll have to do. I wrap my fingers around the shaft, moving my hand slowly up and down, my cock growing in my palm. As I stroke the length, my breath becomes a little ragged. I feel guilty when an image of one of the groupies from last night flashes through my mind for a split second. Her tight T-shirt with my name emblazoned on it pulled tight across her breasts, a hint of her nipples showing through the sheer fabric. Fuck she was hot. I spread the pre-come from my tip with my thumb, before tugging harder. My balls ache. I don’t remember the last time Jill and I had sex. I concentrate on her - her curves, the sounds she
makes when she comes. The way she looks on her knees in front of me. Fuck! I’m so close.

  The door bursts open. “I need some condoms. This lassie can fuck for Britain. I’m knackered!” Fucking Jamie. “Oh shit! I did not need to see that. What the fuck are you doin’ tuggin’ your own dick? Want me to send this chick in when I’m done?”

  I jump up off the bed - naked, hard, and really pissed off. “No I don’t want your sloppy, slutty seconds. I want some fucking privacy.”

  He completely ignores me, going straight to my bathroom in search of johnnies. I quickly grab some boxer shorts and painfully wrestle my cock inside. When he emerges from the bathroom, he gives me a disappointed stare. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but you need to cut Jill loose and enjoy yourself, mate.”

  “I love Jill, ya stupid arsehole. When I need the advice of a man-whore, I’ll ask for it.”

  He slaps me on the shoulder as he heads towards the door. “You’re better than this, Cam. She’s holding you back. You know it, I know it, and she knows it.”

  “Get the fuck out. And shut up before I make you.”

  “Fair enough. But ask yourself this – why isn’t she here?”

  The door slams shut behind him, and I’m left in the silence of my room – alone with the truth.

  EMERY

  My life has been in disarray recently. None of the bands I’ve been managing have given me that feeling… you know the one… when your insides flip with the excitement of being involved in something big… something epic. I’ve been living in my dad’s shadow since I found out he was my dad - at the age of fourteen. He’s been a great help getting me into music, and I love my job, but I’m tired of being known as “Dash Levitt’s daughter.” I want to make a name for myself as a manager on my own merit, and my friend, Logan Fitzgerald, has just given me the perfect opportunity to do that. He discovered one of the hottest new bands, Flaming Embers. I already have their album, simply because it’s a work of art. The lyrics and melodies are so perfectly matched. They make music seem effortless, and as someone who’s been in this business for ten years now, I understand just how much talent and dedication is needed to pull that off. It doesn’t hurt that they’re five stunning looking guys all the way from Glasgow, and every female in America is completely infatuated with them.