Incendiary (39 page)

Biting my neck, he shudders and warmth spreads inside of me, his cum cascading into me.

A little while later, Sloane rises from the bed. I sit up and draw my knees to my chest. He walks toward the bathroom, then pauses. “Get dressed. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Who?”

“A friend of mine,” he answers cryptically.

“Okay, I’ll see to Bryn—”

“No, it’s just you and I.”

“Umm—” My panic on any separation from my daughter hasn’t changed.

“You left her to go on your fucking date,” he challenges. “You can leave her to come with your husband.”

“You’re so childish.”

He’s also remorseless because he shrugs. “And you’re stubborn. How can you ever learn to trust me, if you don’t give me a chance to prove myself trustworthy?”

Cheek against my knees, I wrap my arms around my legs. He’s right, but if
I’m
wrong I lose my daughter.

“Fuck, Georgie, fine. Get them ready. We all go.”

Two hours later, I stand with Sloane inside a photography studio. We won’t be long, so Abby and Bryn are still in the car with Jason while Kiln is inside with us. Ignoring him, I gape at the photos of all the famous people.

“Sloane, love,” a female voice gushes from behind me. I think I recognize her, confirming it when I spin around.

Photographer to the stars and one of the women photographed with Sloane a few years ago as a rumored lover. She’s a former model, older than Sloane, and as gorgeous as my mother, with a self-assurance both Mom and I lack.

I scowl at her.

“Oh my God, she’s gorgeous! The photos I’ve seen of her don’t do her justice.”

I frown between the two of them.

“I’m Sedona—”

“I know who you are,” I interrupt, unable to stop the bitchiness in my voice. “Why am I here? Why are we meeting?”

“Georgie, the camera loves you.” Sloane kisses me. “I’d like Sedona to take a few photos of you. Afterwards, she and Jaeger will contact a few people and we’ll see what happens.”

I blink. “You’re suggesting I become a model?”

He nods. “Yes. If you agree. We can open doors for you, but it’ll be up to you to do the rest. The moment you’re tired of doing it, walk away.”

“Legitimate modeling?”

“Yes,” he answers, his eyes flaring in surprise. He doesn’t know about Kiln’s suggestion that I do porn.

The thought makes my skin crawl. “You think I can model?” I repeat for absolute clarification.

“Yes. You’re fashionable and beautiful. Perfect for print modeling. You’re too fucking short for the runway.”

A thrill shoots through me at his teasing tone and his belief in my abilities. I squeal, bouncing up and down. Laughing, he hugs me.

“When do we do the photos?”

“Sedona won’t be free for a few days,” he answers, bursting my bubble.

“I’ve penciled you in for next Tuesday, five days away,” she assures me.

I’m still stoked though disappointment tempers my excitement when we leave the studio. I wait patiently while Kiln goes to the sports car parked behind the Lexus. Jason, who’d been guarding Abby and Bryn, joins him. Abby and Bryn are still safely in the back seat and I settle in the front.

This morning when we were hustled to the car, I expected to see the Escalade. The Lexus SUV, equipped with a rear-facing car seat threw me off.

Although this is a rented vehicle, Sloane’s taste in cars fascinates me. I had an expensive sports car, but my family sticks to normal people’s cars. Mercedes and BMWs. Lexus is within reach of someone who isn’t a superstar, able to afford cars lavish enough to buy a small house or feed a couple of hundred hungry people for ten years.

Mom and Grandma think no one’s more elite than them. But Sloane and his family are the elite of the elite, famous for talent and business and
wealth
.

Sloane pulls into valet parking at a hotel, thirty minutes later.

“This won’t take long,” he says. “We’re doing a press conference. The guys and I,” he clarifies, then points to where the paparazzi waits a few yards away. “They aren’t part of it.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t have time to bring you back to the house. I’ll reserve a room for you, Abby, and Bryn until we’re done.”

“It’ll be fine, Georgie,” Abby promises, handing Bryn to Jason, and then stepping out.

“For your eighteenth birthday, I’m going to throw you the biggest party ever,” Sloane says gruffly. “I’m going to do a jig that you’re finally legal.”

“Will you perform at my party?”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yeah.”

He winks at me. “Then yes, I’ll sing happy birthday to you.”

“Let’s get this day over with so I can start planning my party.”

“After we spend a few hours in bed,” he counters, opening his door.

Giggling, I gear up for the press and follow his lead. Sloane is already at my side of the vehicle and holds out his hand.

I’ve lost even more baby weight and I’m wearing a sapphire blue romper that Abby chose for me, as a fashion statement. The designer is a really good friend of hers. Her insistence that if I’m seen in his clothes, dude will catapult to fame instantly, is hysterically funny to me. When she wanted me to wear a pair of stilettos, I overrode her and put on my Chucks. I’m still me.

The moment I stand, a big
pow
resounds and glass explodes around me.

Bryn!

Before I can ask about my daughter, an egg splatters against my head and, as I turn, Sloane jerks me back. More booms shatter the day. Gunfire, I realize. Agonizing pain seizes my upper shoulder and arm. I cry out, landing on the ground, Sloane braced above me.

Screams are all around me. My face is wet and sticky with egg stuff and my arm and shoulder are hurting like crazy.

“Where’s Bryn?” I pant out, not sure why my head is so foggy. “I need Bryn.”

“Georgie, baby, you’ve been shot. Keep still. You’re losing blood.”

“Shot? I haven’t.” I struggle against him. “I want my daughter.”

“Sloane, all clear,” Kiln says in a rush. “Let’s get the fuck inside.”

He moves off of me and I sway to my feet. A wall of bodyguards surround us. Bryn cries and I smile in relief.

“She’s fine,” I mutter, before collapsing against Sloane.

“Open your fucking eyes, Georgiana,” I demand, unable to move. If someone aims at me now, I’m dead. Georgie’s limp and blood blooms on her shoulder and arm.

She’s not listening to me.

I have to put her back in the SUV.

I hate to let go of her.

She’s shot, and I know it’s because of
me
. No, it’s
for
me. A crazy fan sought retribution on my behalf. I made everyone believe the worst of her and she’s suffering now.

I’m sick and nauseated, my limbs frozen. I hold her and stare at the interior of the car. I swore to her I’d keep her safe.

“Fuck, Sloane! Georgiana’s shot,” Kiln yells at me. “Get her the fuck in the car.”

Despite Kiln’s harsh order, I keep my wife in my arms. Her blood is warm against me, but her skin is pale and she’s silent. She’s still.

Kiln yanks her from me, moving away from the SUV.

“Where the fuck are you going?” I snarl, grabbing his arm.

He shrugs me off. “Taking her to the ambulance that’s just arrived, asshole.”

I hurry behind him, barely aware that both Georgie’s and my details surround me. Police are swarming. News crews covering our arrival are fighting for space.

Georgie is laid on a gurney. I want her to fucking move. Open her goddamn eyes.

“We’ll work on her en route, Mr. Mason,” one of the EMTs tell me, sliding her into the ambulance. I start behind them, but he shakes his head. “You can sit with the driver, sir. Sorry,” he rushes out. “We need the space.”

I’m not arguing. Turning, I almost collide with Maitland.

“What the fuck’s happened?”

“Georgie’s been shot,” Kiln answers.

“Police escort have arrived, Mr. Mason,” Pres informs me.

“Where’s my daughter?” I demand.

“Jason is with her and Abby,” Pres explains quickly, seeing I’m on the verge of unhinging. “He’s securing a location for them to remain in until we can transport them back to the house.”

I nod.

The ambulance doors are slammed closed and I don’t bother with anything else. Before I’m left, I slide into the passenger seat. As we pull off, two motorcycle officers take the lead.

I don’t know if it’s on my behalf or hers. Not that it matters.

Whatever it takes to get her to the hospital faster and save her life is fine with me.

Mother, Parnell, and Josh sit in the media room, desperate for any breaking news on Georgiana’s condition. We aren’t big television watchers. That pastime is for ordinary, mundane people with no lives, only interested in a built-in babysitter to further dumb down the country.

I’m not sure who received the call about the shooting, but my mother, my husband, and my son all swooped to my house at the same time. The moment I saw Parnell in tears, looking as if the world had ended, I knew whatever they needed to relay to me pertained to my daughter.

As usual, I was right.

They
were wrong. Did they really expect me to care? My biggest complaint is her life’s become breaking news because she gave birth to Sloane’s brat.

Just as Sloane’s arrest, dropped charges, announcement of his fatherhood and news of his marriage has been recycled ad nauseum, the moment Georgie was shot is, too. Two bullets hit her. One in the arm and one in her upper chest, right side. Or as I see it, the wrong side. Too many times to count, I’ve had to watch Sloane throw her to the ground and shield her with his body.

“Mother?” Josh settles himself next to me and covers my hand with his. I sit in my theater seat, rigid with anger and shock. He’s mistaking it for concern.

“She’s in surgery.”

His voice is trembling and hesitant.

“How bad is she?” I ask, my tone faraway.

I can’t believe this is happening. Mother paces and her cheeks are wet.

She’s crying.

For Georgiana
.

Has she ever shed tears over me?

“Mom?”

Nostrils flaring, I glare at Josh, nausea churning in my belly. “Don’t call me that! That’s what
she
calls me.”

Heavy silence descends at my snarl, and the blare of the huge screen becomes white noise in my head. Dislodging my hand from Josh’s, I rise up and look at all of them in disgust. Parnell doesn’t allow me to speak. He steps forward and hugs me, shaking, searching for comfort.

“Sloane’s sending his plane,” he says in a broken voice. “It’s making a stop in Hortensia, so Bryn and Abby will be under the protection of Cash and his biker friends.” He kisses my lips. “Georgie’s critical, but she’s expected to pull through, Cass.”