Strum Me

by Allison, Ketley

  Frowning, I turn to the door. The pounding stops, but after the beep of an unauthorized keycard, the door shoots open and Jess storms inside.

  “Do you want to explain this?” she says, holding her tablet up with the screen facing me, her brown eyes wide with anger behind her glasses.

  “Dude.” I gesture at her with the half-empty bottle. “What the fuck time in the morning is it? How are you in my room? And what’s with the key I didn’t know you had?”

  “You don’t get to ask the questions. I do. Read this article, Mason.” Her gaze lands on the bottle dangling in my hand, then rakes me up and down. “That is, if you’re not too morning-sauced to see words. How much have you had?”

  “None of your fucking…” I’m striding toward her as I say it, but trail off as the bold print on her tablet becomes visible.

  MASON PAYNE FEELS THE PAIN WITH NEW MADAM.

  “And this.” Jess pounds at the screen without even having to look at it, and scrolls down, her fingers sliding along the edge of the glossy screen so I can see more.

  MASON PLAYING HOOKER WHILE ON TOUR.

  PAYING FOR SEX IS THE NEW NAUGHTY NOCTURNE

  NOCTURNE COURTS A LADY OF THE NIGHT

  I inhale deeply as Jess keeps scrolling … and scrolling … and scrolling. “Well.”

  “Well? Well? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

  “Well,” I repeat. “The press isn’t very original, are they? Or creative. Except for maybe the last one.”

  “Mason!” Jess screeches. “Take this seriously. McKenna Beckley is a prostitute?”

  I flick one more millisecond of attention onto Jess’s screen, then shrug. “So?”

  Jess’s mouth drops. “You are certifiable, you know that? How could you bring a hooker on tour?”

  I toss the bottle of scotch on the bed, no longer acquiring a taste for it. “Maybe because I don’t give a shit.”

  “You may not care about your reputation,” Jess says, her finger springing forward and landing against my chest. “But give some modicum of respect to your band’s rep. Or your staff. Or this entire tour that’s cost us millions of dollars. Your label’s already breathing down my neck at this news. So are your managers, and agents, and anyone else with a Google alert on your ass.”

  My eye tics, the only sign of stress I’m willing to show. “Has anyone spoken to Mack? Is she all right?”

  Jess ignores me. “We are in the middle of a worldwide tour! If tickets suffer because of this, you are in loads of trouble, you understand? You’ll have to find the lost funds somewhere. And we can’t, let me stress again, we cannot, fumble this tour. It’s the most important—” Jess claps her mouth shut, then shakes her head at me on a growl. “You’ve sunk to low depths before, Mason, but this is a new level of sludge.”

  I say, after taking a minute to control my snap of temper, “I’ve been willing to entertain your rampage thus far, Jess, but you’re toeing the line. You are my employee. Insult me all you want, but don’t you dare go near McKenna. You do not have the freedom to insult my guest.”

  Jess laughs, but there’s no mirth behind it. “You had me draw up a contract for this.” Jess throws her hands against her head. “You’ve made me culpable in this. Goddamnit, Mason! What if the cops get involved? Hiring a hooker is illegal. What if you go to jail? Then this tour really is done and your band—”

  “Enough,” I snap. “Calm down. You’re acting like I’ve murdered someone for chrissakes. Mack is a childhood friend—”

  “Who is a call girl. I made you a contract for sex!”

  I hold up a hand. “No, you did not. She was never accompanying me as an escort, so everybody take an Oxy already. As I said, she’s a friend, she’s here as a friend, and what she does in her spare time is none of anybody’s damn business.”

  “When you hired her on as your ‘friend,’ you took her right to privacy away,” Jess says. “The whole world now knows who she is and the press will be relentless if she stays on with us. You have to cut her loose, Mason.”

  I respond without hesitation. “Absolutely not.”

  “You don’t get a choice in the matter. The higher ups demand it, and hell, Mason, grab some awareness that doesn’t involve yourself and do it for your band. This could really damage Nocturne Court, and it worries me how little you care.”

  My fists clench along with my jaw and I pace the room, feeling caged. “I care. Mack’s on this tour because I care. And if the guys want an explanation so bad, where are they now? Why is it only you coming in here like a bull in heat screaming Nocturne Court’s ruin?”

  Jess sighs. “Because I’m the only one you’ll listen to. The rest of the guys … they gave up reasoning with you a long time ago.”

  My brows scrunch together. “What kind of bullshit talk is that? You all had a meeting already? Without me?”

  Jess doesn’t deny it. “It’s been agreed that McKenna has to go. Immediately. We’ll give her the funds as promised—so long as you swear on that long-swinging dick of yours that it’s not in exchange for sex—we’ll get her on a plane home.”

  “I said no.”

  “You’ve been out-voted, Mason.”

  “Are you serious? A fucking quorum has decided who I can bring on tour with me? What’s next? No emotional support animals allowed?”

  “No one’s trying to screw you over. We’re trying to save you.”

  “Save me?” I laugh, loud and open-mouthed, my chin tipped to the ceiling. “That’s fucking rich. What about the girls Spin makes sure are in our dressing rooms after shows and all the NDAs they have to sign? What about the escort service I know he has on speed dial that Wyn hits up regularly? What about all those, huh? How is Mack the bad one, here?”

  “Well,” Jess says softly, holding the tablet against her stomach. “If that’s all true—”

  “You know it fuckin’ is.”

  “Then all I can say is, decorum. Under the radar. On the down-low. All the words that mean it’s kept from the public eye. You’ve been outed, Mason. That’s the problem. Not Mack.”

  If it weren’t for the disgusted look on Jess’s face, I might believe her. “The only people that knew about Mack was me and—”

  I stop talking the instant another person’s name hits me smack in the forehead.

  “Goddammit,” I mutter. “God-fucking-damnit.”

  “Mason, where are you going?” Jess spins around as I storm past her and toss open the hotel door. “Mason!”

  I don’t listen. I don’t feel her pulling at my arm, or pressing her palms against my chest to stop me.

  I’m too hellbent on punching my best friend in the face.

  * * *

  The side of my fist cracks against the door to Rex’s suite. When there isn’t an answer as soon as I would like, I turn to Jess.

  “You got a spare stolen key on you? Or was that goodie just for my room?”

  “I’m your assistant,” Jess retorts. “Therefore, I only get access to you. Can we go back to your room now? We need to talk about this.”

  “Nope.”

  Crack-crack-crack. I’m willing to keep doing this until either someone answers or I beat the door down.

  “Jesus Christ!” The door opens with my arm mid-swing and Rex stands on the other side, clothed and showered. He wrinkles his nose at the sight of me. “Mase, you smell like a sour keg—”

  I elbow past him and swoop the door shut before Jess can wriggle her way in.

  This guy’s my friend. We’ve been through some thick shit together. I try to remember that as I seethe, my knuckles aching to punch, in his small foyer.

  “You leaked it to the press?” I ask.

  “Huh?”

  “Mack. What she does. You sold the story to the press?”

  Rex’s brows shoot up to his hairline. His neck flushes red in the V of his open-collared white shirt, but experience tells me it’s not from embarrassment.

  It’s from rage.

  I step up to him. />
  “Bro, you better fall back,” Rex says, “before one of us does something we regret.”

  “Pretty sure that’s already happened. I was just railroaded by Jess about the media getting a hold of Mack’s occupation, and the only people who knew about it were me, her, and you.” I jam my finger into his chest to enunciate my point, and he flicks it away on a growl.

  “You know what I’m gonna do?” Rex says as he falls back and strides further into his room. “I’m going to pretend you’re not accusing me of betraying you, the friend I’ve had close to twenty years despite all your shit and your shitty temperament and your generally shitty nature.”

  I spread my hands wide. “Why are you friends with me then, bro?”

  Rex spins on his heel and points. “Because I love you, you fuckin’ prick! How do you think it feels to have you barge in here accusing me of outing Mack’s secret? Why would I do that to her? To you? It’s fucked up, man, but it’s not because of me.”

  I ask quietly, “Was the voting because of you?”

  Rex exhales heavily. “The what?”

  “I’m told a consensus was reached to vote Mack off the island for reasons of cleaning the tarnished reputation of Nocturne Court. And that you were part of it.” I scratch the side of my head in mock confusion. “Or is that another baseless accusation?”

  Rex’s throat bobs. “Now that it’s out, Mack has to leave. A part of you must know that. She can’t stay on. She’ll be harassed, and so will we. You know she’s already getting death threats?”

  I raise my head. “Mack knows this is going on? It’s six in the morning! Who got to her before me—”

  Rex shakes his head. “She doesn’t know yet. The letters and emails were intercepted by both the hotel staff and our people. But it’s only a matter of time, Mase. For her safety, she needs to go.”

  “Don’t pretend this is all being done in her best interest,” I remark. “This is for the good of our brand.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Ah, fuck all of you.” I flick my hand, dismissing him and heading to the door. “If it were your girl who was going through this, or Easton’s wife, none of this would be happening. Security would circle, sharks would be laid in our waters, and no one would fucking get near them. But because it’s Mack, and she’s not as pure and clean as your women—”

  “Watch your words, man.”

  “She gets left behind. Because she’s not good enough, amirite?”

  Rex searches my face, despite being ten feet away. “As far as I know, Mack’s not your girl. She’s someone you brought along with you, either for her protection or your entertainment or who the fuck knows what—that’s your business. But the point is, it’s no longer private. It’s the public’s. And we have to take the steps needed.”

  “Without my input.”

  “Mase, let me ask you something.” Rex moves closer. “Are you angry because you think we believe Mack isn’t good enough for us, or are you pissed because you think you’re not good enough for us?”

  I sneer in response. “I don’t need this shit.”

  Rex digs his hands into his hair, but he won’t break our stare. His jaw moves like he’s working up nerve.

  “If you’re gonna go all Dr. Phil on me,” I say, “might as well go all the way. Spit it out, man.”

  Rex sweeps his arm out. “Can we sit?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. We’ll stand like tools in front of the door where Jess can hear everything.”

  I make a sound of annoyance. “Alright. Jesus.”

  We make our way into the small sitting room, and I fall into the nearest chair. “What?”

  “I’m not supposed to tell you this,” Rex says as he takes a seat across from me. “Not until the tour’s done. But I’m not standing for it anymore. Especially given current events.”

  “Aren’t you boy scout of the year.”

  “You’re fucking impossible.” Rex rubs at his eyes. “Easton and I are leaving the band.”

  I dart my chin forward. “Say what?”

  “We’re done, man.” Rex drops his hand from his face. “At least for the foreseeable future.”

  Rex must mistake my dead silence as an invitation to keep going and not murderous intent, because he continues, “I shouldn’t be telling you this, it’s majorly on the DL, but … Harper’s pregnant. And I want to be there. No, I fucking demand to be there for it all. I don’t want it to be like it was with my Stella. I missed so much of her toddlerhood—fuck, I still am. I gotta be with my family, man. It was a tough decision, really fucking rough, but it’s the only—”

  “How long?” I bite out.

  Rex lifts his head.

  “How long have you known you wanted to do this? Before the tour?”

  Rex screws up his face like I’ve nailed the truth.

  My first instinct is to rage. I’d like to start with the glass coffee table between us and toss it against the window, shattering glass and fracturing whatever lies down below. Then I’d like to punch through the walls and kick at the row of liquor bottles standing sentry on the side table, ready for Rex’s libations.

  But, more importantly … “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

  “Because I didn’t know what to say. Or how to approach it. This band is everything to you, Mase. It brought you out of your black hole, it sustains you, and I was gonna ruin it for selfish reasons. But they’re reasons I can’t ignore.”

  “So this is actually happening. Nocturne Court is ending after this leg of the tour.”

  Rex doesn’t say anything. He folds his hands between his spread legs, leaning forward, always fucking searching my face for emotion.

  “What’s East’s excuse? He knock Taryn up, too?”

  “Mase, c’mon…”

  “No, man.” I stand, the chords of muscle in my body tensing and tangling. “Let’s get it all out in the open. You’re both breaking up the band for your girls. Good for you. Such upstanding men. I guess it didn’t occur to you that leaving me and Wyn in the dust, your best friends, would destroy us. Jesus, does Wyn know, too?”

  “He does. We wanted to wait to tell you as a group. As a brotherhood.”

  “Becoming a family man has really gummed up the plumbing up there.” I point to his head. “You guys just don’t want me fall apart during your last great memory. Rage against you on stage. Let the cat out of the bag and break our fans’ hearts by publicly outing your plans to ditch. Yeah, I guess I’m fucking unpredictable like that.”

  Rex stands. “You are, Mase.”

  I stand so we’re nose-to-nose. “Then here’s some predictability for you.”

  I punch him in the side of the face. “Fuck you, bro.”

  24

  McKenna

  The shower doesn’t clean me.

  The water droplets only make me dirtier.

  Mason’s marks linger on my skin, his nips and sucks turned into reddened, sexual reminders of what we did last night and scattered across my neck, breasts, and inner thighs.

  At each juncture, I picture him, leaning down, his mouth claiming that part of my body, and I shudder.

  Not with disgust, but with desire.

  The escalating conflict in my head makes me scrub harder in an attempt to erase him. Coming to his room as Jane was meant to prove to Mason how fucked up the situation was, he was, for asking it of me.

  I’m not supposed to remember the orgasms fondly, or crave the taste of him again. I’m definitely not supposed to stroke my clit, pretending it’s his fingers at my core and not my own.

  It’s all too much, and I step out of the shower, toweling off like I do every time I finish with a client despite my failure at thinking Mason could be categorized as the same.

  I catch my reflection in the mirror, my cheeks pink, my eyes bright, my hair soaked tendrils sticking to my face. In no way should sex with Mason have revitalized me, but here’s the proof.

  I look enlivened, even after a night of no sleep.r />
  He used you. Just like he used you before. You’re nothing but a novelty to him.

  It’s all true. There’s little point in reminiscing over something that will never become my reality.

  I comb my hair back and dress in tight jeans and a loose-fitting blouse, unsure of what the day will bring. Mason has sound check in a few hours, then one last concert in London before flying to Iceland. With everything that went on last night, we didn’t talk of any plans for me today.

  Staring at my luggage that I never fully unpack, my duffel bag sagging sadly on the ottoman in the corner, I know what I should do. Pack up and leave. Take a stance. Last night went over the line.

  But I can’t.

  I need the money too badly. I have to save my father. Maybe even myself, though I’ll never admit it to Mason.

  My cell rings the moment I’m perusing the room service menu, thinking Jess wouldn’t scream too much if I ordered up some scrambled eggs and fruit. I put the menu down and glance at my phone’s screen, but don’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?” I say once the phone’s against my ear.

  “You are receiving a collect call from the Otisville Correctional Facility—”

  “Dad,” I whisper. I lose the will to stand and fall back against the bed.

  A knock sounds at my door right as I’m about to accept the charges.

  “I don’t need cleaning right now, thank you!” I call, not getting up.

  “It’s not the maid service.” Mason’s voice, muffled but maintaining its potency, comes through the door. “Open the door, Mack.”

  “McKenna? Honey?”

  Dad’s voice sounds tinned through the speakers, but I hear him clearly.

  “Dad?” I answer, my voice choked with tears. I ignore the continuous bangs against my door and Mason’s increasing threats.

  “Oh, honey.” There are multiple puffs of air after he says it. At first I think it’s laughter, but then I realize he’s crying, too. “I can’t tell you how good it is to hear your voice.”