Incendiary (17 page)

The last time I saw her she was comforting
my
husband in
my
bedroom the day Georgie almost died.

I stab a piece of lettuce with my fork and shove it into my mouth. How I regret ever sending Della up to the room I’d locked Georgie in. I’d taken her food up and down myself, once a day, at three o’clock in the afternoon. That day, I didn’t want to hear Georgie begging me to release her, her dirty little fingers grabbing at my clothes.

It was just too much to comprehend, so I made Della go with the warning not to talk to my daughter and not to tell anyone she was up there. For all Parnell’s grief now, he hadn’t given much of a fuck then, too busy sticking his dick in Abby. Georgie had been imprisoned a goddamn week and he just accepted my story about her shopping expedition to Beverly Hills.

If I’d brought Georgie’s tray, I wouldn’t have returned until the next evening. By then, she would’ve bled to death.

My head hurts at the thought, and pain mingles with disappointment. I eye Abby again. If she’s noticed me or Parnell, she’s snubbing us. On the other hand, Parnell is doing a piss-poor job of ignoring her. I should be angry and humiliated. Instead, I’m hopeful. With the prospect of getting Bryn, he’s coming back to life again. He’s even slept next to me the last two nights.

All because of the reborn baby Georgie. Bryn. My little girl all over again.

Tenderness wells in me. I lay my fork aside, then dab my mouth with the brown cloth napkin. As long as we have Bryn to raise, Parnell will stay. I’ll have him, so maybe, Abby can come back to our bed. He’ll see his happiness is my number one priority and I’m not so set in my ways I can’t change for him.

I lay my hand on his arm. My silver gown and his tuxedo also thrust us back to where we once were. Lately, we’ve just gone through the motions, put on our public façade and pretended all is well.

But it’s changing, becoming the truth again. “Should we give our regards to Abby?”

Amusement lights his eyes and he pats my hand. “She isn’t interested in hearing from us, Cass.”

I adjust pieces of hair escaping from my up-do. He’s right. How silly of me to think otherwise. Thanks to Mother, Abby would blind herself before she acknowledged us.

But I
need
her.
Parnell’s double loss of both Georgie and Abby…

I scowl as the thought crosses my mind. Abby has
nothing
to do with Parnell’s grief. It’s all because of Georgie. However, until I can actually
get
Bryn—and Georgie, if absolutely necessary—I have to keep Parnell’s attention.

If Abby is fucking
us
, then he won’t have time to focus on what I did to Georgie. My biggest fear is he’ll remember his anger before I get the baby.

To add to the forbidden idea of Abby, I lean closer to my husband. It also prevents the others at our table from overhearing. “Maybe, we can invite her home with us?” I coo. “We can fuck while you watch, then you can fuck her.”

In the past, she received pleasure from Parnell and gave it to me, without missing a beat. The memories of her and Parnell together still crush me, but at least this time, I’ll be in control.

“Do you miss her?” I press as waiters arrive to refill wine and water glasses and remove the salad plates. Once the tasks are done, I sip my wine. “Do you?”

He clenches his jaw, all the answer I need. Although I want a verbal one, which he isn’t going to give.

Determined, I slide my chair closer. “Wasn’t her pussy pretty?” I rub the rim of my wine glass. “It tasted delicious. Did you enjoy eating her?” I temper my sneer and smooth my mouth into a smile. “Her cunt was hot, always ready for fucking.”

He chokes, and a flush sweeps over his skin, giving him a healthy look instead of the gaunt, hopeless one he’s been carrying around. Slowly, I slide my hand under the table and my breath catches at the feel of his hard cock

Squeezing the crown, I lick my lips. If he shoved my head into his lap at this very moment, I’d gladly take him into my mouth.

“Why are you doing this, Cassandra?” he asks in a ragged voice.

“We both need a fuck,” I answer, almost panting.

The longing in his eyes as he gazes at Abby cuts through me.

“If this ever got back to Helen,” he says bleakly, then shakes his head and looks at me. “No, Cass.” He kisses my forehead as if I’m a puppy. “Thank you, though.”

A burst of red flashes by our table. Abby. She’s being pulled by a blond man and is giggling like she does whenever she’s about to fuck.

Parnell and I exchange glances. He knows the meaning of that laughter, too.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the MC of the show says.

The models are ready to be presented. Afterward, all the board members will have to offer a few words. As one of them, I have to stay until the end. The local designer we chose to showcase will soon have his clothes on parade.

It’ll look terrible if I leave, even if I return in the middle of the show. But I
have
to get Abby, until Bryn is mine and I show Georgie, once and for all, the power of age.

I stand, drawing the attention of several people, including Parnell. “Excuse me,” I breathe out, not giving anyone a chance to question me. Specifically, my husband.

I have a few questions of my own to ask him. Such as,
‘What did Mother do to you as retribution?’

In the hallway, I shut the door and stop a passing waiter. “Did you see a blonde in a red—”

Smiling lasciviously, he nods. “Upstairs. Second bedroom to the right.”

Nodding in thanks, I tip to the second floor. The door isn’t opened, so I press my ear against it.

“Cassandra, what are you doing?” Parnell asks in a loud whisper.

I didn’t hear his approach and I almost jump out of my skin.

He gives me an exasperated look, but then a scream of pleasure interrupts anything he might say. Bleakness returns to him. I’d even say a small bit of devastation.

God, he might start thinking about everything else. Maybe, Abby isn’t the way to go. It isn’t as if she can get Bryn for me. She’s too busy pitching pussy all over to worry about a baby.

I fling myself into his arms and aim for his mouth. But he sighs, turns his head, and walks away leaving me devastated all over again.

When I walk into the music room, I almost turn around. Quint sits at the grand piano, tapping keys in a melancholy chord. We lock gazes and angry disappointment darkens his features. His hair isn’t as bright as Jaeger’s, but it’s red all the same.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he says, shoving the stool back and standing.

I raise my bottle of scotch and nod to the sofa, my destination. “No need. I won’t get in your way and you won’t be in mine.”

Clenching his jaw, he bows his head, but returns to the seat without further comment. Odd, but I want him to talk. The thought that
I
was the bait used to lure Steffie to her death invaded my sleep and I woke up in a cold sweat. I can’t imagine how I’ll ever face my sister if I’m lucky enough to see her again. With ideas of reuniting with Steffie in death one day, I knew I’d never get back to sleep, so I grabbed the decanter of scotch and headed here.

Quint taps the keys again, still sad and somber. He’s dealing with the fallout of my bad decisions. More surly than expressive, we’ve always had to tear his head open to see inside his brain when he’s having problems, so we can help him through it. My keyboardist has the least vices amongst us. In many ways, he’s like a big kid, especially when it comes to his Xbox.

“Since we have nothing but time on our hands, Jaeger is setting everything in motion for us to go to LA after your next hearing.”

I don’t comment, disconnected from reality at tonight’s revelations. I don’t want to think of my mother, my sister, or my father. Unfortunately for me, they are tied to my music.

Quint blows hair out of his face and pins me with a look of disgust. “Do you give a fuck?”

I swig from the decanter.

“You’ve walked away from all of us. What about Kiln and Jaeger? Remember them?”

“I try hard to forget those motherfuckers.”

He glowers at me. “The band will succeed without you,” he swears.

“I hope it does,” I say honestly. “You three can kickass and keep Phoenix Rising on top.”

“You were never supposed to fucking quit. You were supposed to get your shit together, man.”

Another swig. “I’ve overstayed my welcome. I was the odd man out, on probation. We’ve never discussed that time, so it’s useless to bring it up now.”

“You were so fucking pissed, who could talk to you?”

“I was,” I agree. “Now, I’m just tired.”

“No, now, you’ve given up.”

“Because I’m tired,” I repeat with the patience I’d give a two-year-old.

“Do you want to know how I feel?”

“No.”

He scowls at me. “Tough shit. I’m telling you anyway.”

“Somehow, I knew you would.”

“Our band won’t be the same without you, Sloane.”

Swigging more scotch, I narrow my eyes. “Really? It would be the same band without me had I fucked up again and you kicked me out.”

He huffs out an agitated breath. “No one worked harder than you to put us where we are and we didn’t make the decision lightly to threaten you.”

“Yes, Maitland already told me you did it to save my life. Lucky me.”

“You’re a cock sucking sonofabitch,” he snarls, frustrated at my sarcasm. Insults are his answer whenever he feels on the losing end of an argument. “You founded the fucking group. How can you be satisfied walking away from it? You straightened the fuck up with the threat of expulsion.” He shoves his hands through his hair. “Jesus Christ, Sloane.”

My cell phone rings and I debate on taking it from the pocket of my pajama bottoms to see whose calling me at three o’clock in the morning. It can only be an emergency, so I snatch it into my hand and recognize the number immediately.

“Georgie, what’s wrong?” I ask, getting to my feet and setting the decanter on the sofa table.

“My stomach hurts,” she whispers, almost as if she’s embarrassed.

Turning my back to Quint, I walk closer to the door and lower my voice. “That’s normal, I’m sure, although I don’t know. I’m not familiar with pregnancy and childbirth, sweetheart.”

She’s quiet a moment, then she sniffles and I know she’s crying.

“The stitches hurt, too. I walked a lot because of…Bryn,” she mumbles, her voice trailing off.

“Stitches?” I thought she had a vaginal birth. “You had a C-Section?”

“No.” More silence and a little hiccup. “I had an episiotomy,” she explains, her voice even lower.

“What the fuck is that? It sounds like fucking torture.”

“It’s when…down there…the baby…” She bursts into sobs, but pushes out, “Never mind. I have to go,” and hangs up on me.

I stare at my cell phone, waiting for her to call back, but she doesn’t, so I return to the sofa and open the web browser. Quint doesn’t ask questions. He starts to play a melody I’ve never heard and it thrums through my blood. I can almost imagine adding a riff to it, although it would work better with a predominant bassline from Adam.

“Cool groove,” I comment, Googling babies and childbirth. Tapping my foot and humming, I open a link to
episiotomy
. “Fuck me,” I blurt, my eyes almost crossing when I read up on it.

“Something the matter?” Adam asks, strolling into the room, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans. He fucks a lot and sleeps very little.

“Do you know what the fuck…?” I can’t even say it again. It isn’t their business. Georgie would be mortified. As it is, she sounded beyond humiliated to talk to me. But she has no woman in her life to question. She’s also scared and I know she’s damned tired. Yet she called me.

Me.

She trusts me enough for guidance in this. As much as my pride demand I ignore her, I just can’t. Besides, the part of me stubbornly clinging to her guilt is being undermined by my belief in her feelings for me.

“Later,” I tell Adam and Quint and head to Georgie’s room, one floor up. I unlock the door with my key. Dim lighting bathes the sitting room and bedroom.

As I near the bed, she sits up. Her hair swirls around her, contrasting with her blue frilly nightgown. Lips trembling and nose red, she’s a tragic figure. She glances uneasily toward the baby bed where Bryn lays, revealing her doubt over my intentions that wars with her need for me.

Ignoring my irritation, I scoot her over, then slide into bed and pull her into the crook of my arm. She holds herself tense for a few moments, before relenting and curling against me.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

She’s so soft against me. I tighten my hold on her. “You didn’t,” I assure her. “I was in the music room.”

“I interrupted a session?”

“No. I quit the band.” She gasps, but I ignore it. Considering everything, my resignation is the least of my worries. “I…my father used me to get Stefanie to the boat.”

“Your father is a wicked fucker,” she fumes, once I finish the story. “Blaming you for his crap, knowing the guilt you suffer because you couldn’t save her. Fuck him, though. He would’ve found another way to kill her.”

“I’d like to believe that, but I don’t think Steffie would’ve put herself in a situation to be around him, if not for me. I never knew about her sexual proclivities. That day? I’d been determined to find a man for her. I teased her for being a virgin. Dad killed her for being a lesbian. She died without ever knowing I wouldn’t have cared who she loved. She must’ve felt so alone. Everyone wanting to change her. No one loving her for her.”

Georgie lifts herself up on her elbow and stares down at me with a grave look. “You loved her for her, and she knew it, Sloane. Do you think she wanted to burden you?”

“We were family. We looked out for each other.”

“And you thought your parents could do no wrong,” she counters. “Your sister loved you enough to not want to burst your bubble. She wouldn’t want you to fall for Rand’s tactics. I know it and so do you.”

I’m used to my father’s fucked-up mind games. Usually the same bullshit with a new twist. This new information aims right at the burden I’ve carried around since my sister’s death.

Georgie caresses my jaw and gives me a sweet smile, though her eyes are sad and teary.

“How many stitches do you have?”

“Why’d you quit your band?”

“Does it matter to you if I’m a famous singer or just a regular guy?”

She shakes her head. “No,” she answers, then settles her head back into the crook of my arm. “I’m still your number one fan.”

“I’m no longer sure why I quit,” I admit.

“When you figure it out, tell me.”

I smile and ask again, “How many stitches?”

“Six.”

Keeping her head on my arm, I turn my body to hers. “What about the lochia?”

She frowns. “What?”

“A Greek word.”

“Meaning painful and fucking disgusting?”

Laughter rumbles from me, though she’s dropped several f-bombs in the past twenty minutes. Besides, she’s covering her embarrassment over this conversation with a smart-ass comment.

I thumb her chin and brush my lips across hers. They’re warm and dry. “Thank you for her. The baby,” I whisper, caressing her hip. “You kept her safe inside of you. Are you having a lot of pain?”

“Bad cramping.”

I kiss her again. With her head still on my arm, I use my other hand to slide her nightgown up, baring her legs, thighs, and finally, her panties.

Tearing her mouth from mine, she stiffens. “Don’t. Please.”

Before I explore her body, I know what I’ll find, after reading about it online to arm myself with the knowledge to help her. The information also helps me to understand her reaction. I nip her lips and rub my nose against hers. “You’re beautiful, Georgie.”

Nothing I say will ease her shame. Laying my hand against her thigh, I swirl a finger on her soft, sensitive skin.

“Have you noticed an increase in anything?”

Dancing around the direct question as much as possible, I lick the pulse point on her neck. Her heart pounds between us and I know my touch affects her. She’s a very sensual girl, another thing I love about her.

“I don’t want you to start hemorrhaging,” I tell her when she doesn’t answer. “I never realized how hard a baby is on a woman’s body.”

She blinks, her eyes filled with vulnerability. “I don’t know what to say. The changes in me are mortifying and—”

“I know your body as well as I know mine, Georgie,” I remind her, biting her earlobe. “You gave birth because of me.” Possessiveness overwhelms me. I’ll never tire of repeating that to her. My words make her even shyer, so I go for an X-rated tactic. “I sucked your cunt.” She inhales and melts into me a little more. “I tongued your clit until you came all over my lips. You spread your legs for me and let me explore your pussy with my fingers and my mouth.” She mewls like a little kitten, but grabs my wrist when I begin to pull her panties down. “Shhh, sweetheart. It’s okay. I promise. Let me look.”

Her small, white fingers hesitate, but I’m giving her the choice, not ordering her and adding to her humiliation. She squeezes her eyes shut, a little sound of distress escaping her. Her belly’s still stretched and misshapen, expected since she just gave birth several days ago. I kiss around her navel, down to her bare pubic mound. Her body flushes. She knows where I’m looking and what I’m looking at.