Incendiary (10 page)

The thought gives me no sense of victory and vindication. It leaves me nauseated and empty. Our unrelenting campaign will crush her and she’ll have absolutely no one there to pick up the pieces.

As we get to the oversized SUV, a limousine pulls up behind it. Pres guides Dad to the long car while Kiln opens the door in front of me and I climb in, shocked to find my band mates already inside. The last I saw them, we were pulling a train with a bunch of groupies in a European hotel.

Kiln slides in after me and slams the door shut. We don’t move immediately and I lift a questioning brow, more than ready to get the fuck away from the jail. The sooner this place is behind me, the better for all concerned.

“Is there a reason we haven’t started off yet?” I demand, angry the asshole ignored my inquiring look.

Scrolling through his phone, Kiln shrugs. “Motorcade,” he explains, not looking up. “Dad and Jaeger are in the limo with Pres and a couple of security guys. The rest of the detail are in two additional SUVs.” He hands me the phone. “I thought this might interest you.” He’s pulled up a celebrity news site. My release and Dad’s press conference are breaking news.

Kiln reaches over and slides to another screen. Immediately, Georgie’s photo pops up along with an area hospital.

I point to the building in the picture. “What the fuck is this?”

“The place where your daughter was born,” Kiln announces.

I jerk at his dry words. My eyes shoot to the photo again, then scroll backward to a photo of Georgie. I feast upon the sight of her. She’s sitting on a porch swing, bathed in sunlight. She’s pregnant here, the first time I’ve seen her with a rounded belly. Her hair is devoid of any decorations and hangs freely about her face. Her eyes are so dull, they appear a different color, a flat purple that breaks my heart.

She looks so…lost…and all alone. And young, so very, very young. Too fucking young.

“What have you done, Georgie?” I whisper, gliding my finger over the screen as if I can touch her. Or she can feel me.

My heart aches with betrayal. With hate.

With love.

The caption finally catches my attention.
Is this young girl the mother of Sloane Mason’s daughter?

The words hit me like a boulder all over again. Part wonder and part incredulity. Georgie delivered my baby. A little girl. My shoulders heave. I’m a father. Georgie is a mother. I’ve made her a mom and she’s turned me into a dad. My identity is forever changed. I’m no longer
only
Sloane Mason, superstar. I’m Sloane Mason,
daddy.
The father of Georgie’s baby.

Lost in my revelation, I’m barely aware of another phone being shoved at me. But I grab it, hungry for more information. My eyes widen at the black-haired newborn greeting me. She’s red and wrinkled…and gorgeous.

Fuck. Why is my daughter’s photo on a gossip site? She looks so…so
new
.

“When was she born?” I ask no one in particular.

“Yesterday,” Adam announces.

My daughter is a day old. While I was wallowing in jail, Georgie was giving birth.

Now, they’re both making the news.

“How the fuck was her photo obtained?” I snarl.

Georgie wouldn’t…no, Georgie
would.
She’s responsible for my current predicament, isn’t she?

Maitland reclaims his phone. “Rand did an interview on your behalf three days ago, Sloane.”

Tone sad and quiet, he sits between Adam and Quint. Those two aren’t giving me the dignity of a look. I’m not surprised. They’ve never stuck by me. No fucking clue why they’re here, other than to kick me out the band. Do I still
want
to be in Phoenix Rising? Since my arrest, my only thoughts have been getting my hands on Georgie and appealing to my fans to believe
me
.

Now, I want to meet my daughter, see Georgie and make her suffer.

The vehicle rocks into motion, but Maitland has yet to elaborate, so I narrow my eyes. What the fuck do his words mean? “What does my father’s fucking interview have to do with Georgie giving birth?”

Maitland thrusts his fingers through his hair and curses. “He wasn’t as restrained in his name calling of her on the program as he was during today’s press conference. Georgie saw and went into labor.”

My insides freeze. I close my eyes, but anger pricks me. My emotions are worse than a fucking girl’s, vacillating back and forth. The thought of her distress eats at me. How the fuck can I want to kill that little bitch, yet also ache to hold and protect her?

Adrenaline pumping through my system burns at my common sense. “How the fuck do you know this?” I question Maitland.

“It isn’t important,” he says tightly. “I just do.”

The fuck it isn’t important.

Rage and jealousy clash inside of me. Lunging for him, I grab his throat. “Have you been in contact with her?” For how long and for what reason?             

Maitland knees me in the stomach, his fingers trying to pry mine away. We’re in tight confines, not conducive to fighting. That’s never fucking stopped me before. If there’s an inch of room for me to fight or fuck, I succeed.

“Calm the fuck down, Sloane,” Kiln orders, yanking me back.

I land hard on my seat. Adam watches impassively and Quint scowls. More ammunition to drop me. I huff out breaths, almost in rhythm to Maitland’s and Kiln’s, locked in a sick symphony I want no part of.

“You said smear campaign.” Quint throws me a dirty look. “What the fuck did you think Rand would say?”

Jesus, I know what he said. He gleefully went over it with me. Now, it’s done and can’t be
undone
.

What the fuck was I thinking? Discrediting Georgie is my best defense. My attorneys told me much the same thing as the family’s retainers who’ve been on the Mason payroll for years.

I glare at each of the guys. “In case you’ve forgotten, that little bitch accused me of raping her!”

“Do you really think Georgie would do that?”

My mouth moves in stunned outrage at Quint’s question, but no words form. He’s one surly motherfucker. Sometimes, I want to cold-cock him just because of his attitude. Now, he sounds as if he’s
defending
Georgie, a girl he’s met only a handful of times when he’s known me since we were fucking kids.

“I despise her,” I say casually, in a weak attempt at a reminder.

“What the fuck ever,” Kiln responds. “You canceled part of a fucking tour for her.”

“That’s in the past,” I insist.

“One of our guys is planted in hospital security watching out for her and...” Kiln’s voice trails off and he clenches his jaw.

“Bryn,” Maitland finishes quietly.

It feels as if the world has just shifted beneath me and my head will explode. Bryn. Georgie named our daughter Bryn.

Bryn.

Anger surges into me all over again at Georgie’s audacity. She had no fucking right to take my mother’s name for the baby.

One scenario after the other runs through my head. All of them involve Georgie and it seems everyone but me is in on them. I scrub a hand over my face, tired of it all. “I’m fucking finished trying to prove my worthiness to you motherfuckers.”

“Meaning?” Adam’s stare bore into me. “You just give up on us?”

Bitter laughter escapes me. How ironic they’re accusing me of exactly the bullshit
they’re
doing. “Give up on you? You fuck’s gave up on me months ago.”

“The fuck we did,” Maitland grates. “What the fuck did you expect us to do? Let you fucking kill yourself?”

“My last chance wasn’t done for me. It was done on my father’s orders.” I point to Kiln. My hatred for him deepens at his fucking smirk. “Or, maybe, my dear brother suggested it.”

“Rand suggested it,” Maitland confirms. “Maybe, we should’ve come to you, Sloane, but we had so many fucking times before. You’d sober up for a few weeks then hit the drugs again. You fucking
OD’d
. If I had to do it over again, I wouldn’t change a fucking thing. It fucking worked. You stayed away from drugs. We put out two albums. We’ve had four songs in the top five on every fucking rock list out there. So, fuck you.”

I don’t respond, unsure if the threats kept me on the right path or a little purple-eyed goddess who I wish I’d never met.

A nurse walks into my room and I blink, groaning at the continued pain even though I delivered my daughter a day ago. Grandma left when I went into active labor and hasn’t returned.

“I’ve come for the baby,” the nurse tells me. She’s blonde and well-groomed in a cream-colored jumpsuit. In my drugged state, she reminds me more of a snooty socialite than a medical professional.

Groggy, I frown, unable to think of what, besides her clothes and attitude, makes her so out-of-place. “She’s in the nursery. Didn’t you see her?”

Without answering, she walks to the edge of my bed and studies me. If only I weren't so tired. The look in her brown eyes is strange. One moment, it’s far away and a second later, it’s wistful. Now, she seems angry.

“Let me call,” she tells me, “and check to make sure. After I get your vital signs.” Her hand disappears into her pocket.

I struggle to sit up and search for the remote so I can call myself. My door opening interrupts my intentions, and the nurse who was on duty earlier bounces in. She smiles at the other woman. I squint at the lanyard prominently displaying her hospital ID. Her name’s Lena. “Oh, hey. I just need to check her, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, um, I was just leaving.” Before either of us respond, the blonde scampers away.

Lena, my nurse, smiles. “Didn’t mean to run her off.”

“She came for the baby,” I mutter, closing my eyes.

“Really? That’s odd.”

As soon as I wake up, I’m going to ask what she means. I want to now. I’m just too tired and sink into sleep.

I stand in the entrance hall of my father’s house, as still as an armored knight in a museum. Though I grew up here, I hate this place. Every wall is painted a shade of white. For me, white is purity. But here, with the Grim Reaper as its owner, it’s death.

The death of dreams and hope and love. The death of my sister. This is where Mom and I—Dad, too—returned after Steffie was gone. Completely gone. Dad had her cremated and her ashes scattered in Galveston Bay.

He made sure nothing remained of her.

I glance up at the ceiling, where a huge chandelier hangs from the center. Mom once ordered staff to dust and shine it monthly. The crystal gleams, but it in no way resembles its former glory.

Like me and my life. I cover my face for a moment. Like Georgie.

My bitterness toward her might be misplaced. I don’t know. Maybe, I deserve what she’s done. I abandoned her and then flaunted meaningless affairs to her. Not to her, specifically, but I knew a woman in my life would be reported upon. I hadn’t had a public
‘girlfriend,’
or my version of one, in years.

I hurt Georgie, so she hurt me.

I recoil from the idea. Though I have proof each time I remember her words, the Georgie I know isn’t vindictive. She’s sweet and innocent and in need of my protection.

Not much makes sense right now. My days have suddenly gone from every hour being filled with activity to aimless waiting. The tour has been canceled. The new album put on hold. Even our trip to LA to make nice with the record execs and studio heads I fucked off is up in the air. For me, anyway. I’m sure the guys will go on their merry way once they kick my ass out of the band, a move they’ve wanted to make for months.

All because of that little bitch.

I never thought anyone would surpass the depths of my hatred I have for my father. Despite how much Kiln’s a fucking asshole, not even he has managed it.

Georgie has. I want to fucking kill her.

Still, I mourn her loss and what I believed I meant to her. Hypocritical of me? Fuck, that answer escapes me, too. The only thing I’m one hundred percent sure of is I
want
Georgie. I want her to suffer, cry, and beg my forgiveness.

Headcase that I am, I also want to protect her from whatever threat she faces. The public. The attorneys.
Me.

Dad barrels past me as he walks into the house. “We need to talk,” he throws over his shoulder.

“I need a shower.” I have nothing I’m interested in saying to him. Repayment for the assistance he gave to me to attain my release will come later when I jump through hoops on behalf of the music.

My music. But never really mine. Dad owned it the moment he got control of me. Young and arrogant and stupid, I never thought about
not
giving my all. Even lost in drugs, I did the best I could. Had I used sense, I would’ve sabotaged it all. My band. My career. That’s the fuck-you Dad deserved and the justice Steffie required.

I don’t have it in me anymore. Not music. Or inspiration. I’m lost and empty.

Kiln, Jaeger…all of them are staring at me while Dad’s barking out words to a helpless maid. It all flies over my head. The place I’ve pretended
not
to be for so long has caught up to me—at Rand Mason’s whims. I’m truly at his mercy. There’s not only manufactured photographic evidence to taunt me with. This time, there’s statements to police, radio interviews, and a
baby
.

I paid my bail, but Dad vouched for me. His lawyers did what mine were unable to do. Got me out of fucking jail.

“Tomorrow is soon enough for us to talk.”

“My lawyers won’t be here tomorrow,” Dad bites out, nodding to the three attorneys, although Joe Groveston, the lead attorney and my father’s friend, isn’t around.

I need to move, get the fuck out of this entrance hall and away from all these motherfuckers. My aunt’s here somewhere. Her car was parked in the driveway. I’ll hang out with her.

“The attorneys are here
now
, so they can begin unraveling the fucking mess and keep you out of jail.”

I hate him and myself for never finding a way to get out from under his thumb. My life has never been
my fucking life
. It’s been
his
since I was sixteen. And still…still…my world is crashing around me.

There’s no escaping fate. I’ve run, but not fast enough. It’s caught me. As karma. Newton’s law. Fucked up the ass. Whatever. It’s happened.

“You’ve gotten yourself in over your head because you couldn’t keep your cock out of that little slut.”

Dad calling Georgie
a little slut
snaps my sanity. I’m as tightly strung as a taut bow. Fists swinging, I connect with his stomach. Another one and another and another. I don’t care where the hits land. I fucking hate him.

Kiln starts toward me but halts at my mad-dog growl. He raises his hands, conceding though he has every right to shoot me. Supposedly, he’s my bodyguard, not Dad’s. I’m of no value, so he should want this opportunity to get me out the way. Maitland and Quint grab me from behind and tackle me to the floor. I wrestle away from them and spring to my feet. They’re fast, latching on to me and holding me back.

“Why the fuck would you get on fucking television and accuse Georgie of sleeping with several fucking men?” I fume, struggling to free myself from my drummer and my keyboardist.

The thought of her with any other man but me drives me insane.

Dad’s lip is bleeding and a laceration is above his right eye. The old, stuffed-shirts he has for attorneys are watching the scene with avid interest. It’s obvious they think
I’m
the bad seed, the ungrateful son of the awe-inspiring Rand Mason.

“You’re out of your goddamn mind. As far as I knew, someone—other than me—would be chosen as the paternal match.
One
person, not a bunch of different assholes. I didn’t agree to that. Do you know what that makes her look like?”

Dad dabs at his split lip. “What she is. A drug addicted whore.”

“The more it seems she gives up her pussy, the better it is for you,” Kiln points out, unperturbed I’m losing my shit.

Why should my killing rage matter to them? They don’t expect any better of me. This is what I do. Fuck or fight.

“Do you want exoneration, Sloane?” Jaeger asks curiously. “Or do you want her?”

Both. I want cleared of all charges, and I want my hands on Georgie.

When I refuse to answer, Quint seizes the opportunity to speak.

His grip tightens on me. “You told us you wouldn’t touch her.” Betrayal rings in his voice. Even as I said it, so long ago, I knew I lied. I didn’t know what else to do, not trusting them to understand and not wanting to implicate them in my reckless behavior.

“It’s no longer your problem.” It isn’t. I’ve done this. Not them.
Me.

Snatching a cold cloth from the same maid he was snarling orders to earlier, Dad clears his throat. “Crowell Daniels has an interview lined up, to tell the world about her exploits. Her fake IDs. How she convinced him she was eighteen. He signed a sworn affidavit, attesting to her coke habit. What she did to pay for those drugs. Little cocksucking whore,” he growls in disgust. “I’ve promised he’ll be safe from retribution from her brothers.”

From her brothers, huh? What about from me?

My eyes narrow. As angry as I am, as bloodthirsty as I was, it’s incomparable to the acceleration of my heart, the black fury possessing me at hearing that motherfucker’s name. He kept Georgie strung out. He licked her pussy and stuffed his dick in her mouth. Plain and simple, his actions toward her is murder worthy.

Now, he wants to go on national television, capitalize on Georgie’s bad judgment and fuck her over even more?

She refuses to recognize what a motherfucker Crowell is. I’ll bet, despite everything, she still,
to this fucking day
, considers him her friend.

On the other hand, he wants to humiliate her. He also expects to live after he’s through.

Attempting to control myself, I jerk away from Maitland and Quint. I’m
not
what Rand Mason accuses me of being. I’m not a fucking murderer. A fighter? You bet your fucking ass. During brawls, the skulls of motherfuckers are accidentally bashed in all the time. Every now and then, knives appear and somehow end up in throats. These facts need explaining to my father so Crowell can utilize his fifteen minutes of fame with the full knowledge of imminent fucking death.

“Listen to me.” My voice is calm and my eyes flicker between my bandmates to Dad’s attorneys. I scowl at them. “If you don’t want a
real
murder charge pinned on me, call Crowell and tell him to fucking hide. If he goes through with this bullshit, he’s a fucking dead man.”

Dad pales, as if he has a fucking conscience. As if he loves me and wants to save me from the sin of killing.

“Do you understand me, Dad? He’s a dead man if he does this to her.”

Dad recognizes I’ve reached my limit on what he can do to or say about Georgie. I’m at the point where I don’t give a fuck about much. I’ve cracked and I need a hit to glue the remnants together once more. I intend to get one, as soon as I break away from this group.

“Okay, son. Okay.” Dad raises his hand. “Call Mr. Daniels, Jaeger. Do what you have to, so Sloane’s directions can be followed.”

Outrage drops onto Kiln’s face. “Are you fucking kidding me? Prince Sloane doesn’t want his little girlfriend’s past exposed, so Prince Sloane gets it?”

I bare my teeth. “And the two peasants have to follow what the fuck I want, or else.”

“You finally stuck the wrong cunt,” Kiln snarls. “Comeuppance, little brother. The way you fucked over me with Dietrech is haunting you in the worst way.”

Dad’s face reddens. “Kiln!”

Jaeger steps between us and searches our faces. “Shut the fuck up, Kiln. We have to put up a united front if we hope to recover our losses. Without Sloane, Dad will be fine. He has money. We don’t. Our fucking asses will end up broke. We need to fix this, to protect our lifestyle.”

All the fuck I am to these assholes is money. Nothing new, but I’m sick of this bullshit. I wanted to be a rock superstar and I’ve succeeded. It was good while it lasted, but what the fuck did it mean? Not a fucking thing in the end.

Inside, where it counts, I’m broken. I don’t fucking care. Dad can pin Steffie’s murder on me or not, but I’m done.

“I quit,” I announce. “I’m resigning from the band. I’m done. Do what the fuck you will, Dad. I’m done,” I repeat, unable to see any other face in my head but Georgie’s, unable to feel anything but grief.

The day my father changed my entire world, I lost myself in that water and the essence of me died.

For a moment, I had Georgie and found my soul again.

If Steffie had just drowned, her death would’ve been hard. I would’ve grieved just as deeply and as profoundly as I have. Nothing would’ve been the same without her. Nothing
has
been
the same without her.

Her accidental drowning would’ve been horrendous. Her death wasn’t an awful calamity, however. Not only did I lose my sister in a horrible way, I lost my hero, too.