Warlord Metal (30 page)

"No, silly," Sonny said with a slight grin. "We'll just call a cab."

Freezing in the process of pulling her shirt on, Jordan stared at the younger woman. "Whaddya mean 'we'll' call a cab?"

Here it comes. Sonny shrugged, buttoning up her jeans. "I'm coming with you."

Jordan's breath caught in her throat and her pulse quickened. No! She'll find out! Another voice, the one that sounded like her step father, spoke up with a snide tone. Well, hell, Jordie. Isn't it about time she did? Found out exactly what kind of animal she's been sleeping with for over a year? Exactly what kind of damage you can do? The guitarist shook her head and continued pulling her shirt down over her torso. "You are not going," she intoned.

A dark brow raised. "Yes, I am. You can ban me from the meeting, of course, but I will be there when you get out."

Stomping on the panicked babbling voice, the redhead gave her lover a stern frown. The dark teenager stood before her, her hands on her hips and reflecting the look back at her, determined. The whisperer said, She should be told. And for once, Jordan listened to the quiet little voice, agreeing. Maybe that'll send her packing. Nothing else has. There was a dry chuckle. Oh, yeah, Horny Jordie. If that doesn't do it, nothing will.

Sonny raised her chin in defiance, knowing what her lover's response would be, knowing she'd have to put up one hell of a fight. Knowing she'd probably have to get a separate cab and meet the guitarist at the White Horse offices. Her mouth dropped open in surprise at the response.

"Okay."

The dark woman watched her lover stooping to pull her boots on in shock. That was too easy, she considered, a trickle of fear mixing with the elation of winning the goal.

Sonny sat in the meeting room with Jordan, two of the White Horse lawyers and the vice president, Jonathon Allen. "I still think we should wait for Tamara to get here," she murmured to her lover.

The redhead shrugged. "What's gonna happen's gonna happen. Ain't nothing she can do about it."

Pursing her lips, the teenager refused to respond to the doom and gloom.

"Well, I'd like to thank you for coming in, Jordan. Sonny," Allen said with a smile. "We just want to go over our bases here before they call you in for a court appearance."

Jordan nodded. "I understand. Have you been in contact with the Mueller's lawyers?"

Lawyer Number One nodded and handed over some papers. "Yes. They're suing you for half of your income on the sales of this album as well as any future recording projects you might be involved with."

"Also, I believe a lump sum is asked for," Lawyer Number Two mentioned, rooting through a manila folder. "Ah.... Yes. Three hundred thousand."

Sonny looked dumbfounded. "Three hundred thousand? Plus half her royalties!? Isn't that a bit extreme?"

"And what happens to my contract with White Horse?" Jordan asked, ignoring the teenager's outburst.

The trio of men looked from one to the other. "Uh, well, that depends on the public relations aspect," Allen finally allowed.

The guitarist regarded him coolly. "Give me some examples here, Jon."

The VP blew out a breath, obviously uncomfortable. "Well, if the Mueller family insists on going to court and refusing a lump settlement, we can count on quite a bit of bad publicity." He fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. "Frankly, Warlord is too new a band to handle that kind of negativity. Granted, your first CD has been going like wildfire but, until you have a successful second recording, you're still considered a flash in the pan."

Sonny stared blankly at the executive, her mind refusing to wrap around what she'd just heard. "So... what? You'll drop the band because of this?" she questioned, her brow furrowed in growing anger.

"No," the guitarist answered for the men. "They'll drop me. The band can go along just fine."

Realizing that the redhead was taking everything in stride, Allen nodded, relieved. "Yes. The contract was signed by each individual member. The remaining members of Warlord will still be on contract for the required four recordings." As the storm clouds gathered over the dark woman, he held up his hand and smiled winsomely. "That doesn't mean we'll have to resort to that, however! We could still get a settlement out of court !"

"You can't do that!" Sonny insisted in a loud voice. "You can't just throw her to the wolves out there! She's the best thing Warlord has got!"

"Sonny..." Jordan growled warningly.

"No!" The teenager turned to her lover. "You can't let this happen without a fight, Jordan!" She lowered her voice, trying to sound calmer. "If you have to go to court, we'll find the best lawyer around. This has got to be a mix up. I know that the charges were dropped against you! You shouldn't have to pay guilt money to a greedy family! You didn't do anything!"

Emerald eyes flashed and the rage boiled just beneath her surface. "You got a copy of the original police report?" she asked of the lawyers. At their nod, she waved her hand, asking for it. A rather thick folder was removed from a briefcase and shoved towards her.

Sonny studied her lover as she flipped through the file, concern on her face. She's just gonna roll over on this. She thinks she deserves it! She doesn't!

Looking through the file brought back a rush of memories howling through her mind. Oh, yeah, Jordie! Wasn't this fun? Oh, man! They've even got the photos here! She glanced up at the lawyers, noting that they looked away quickly from her manic gaze. Betcha it's been the talk of the company for the last week! Deep inside, the swirling maelstrom of buried memories reared its ugly head.

"Jordan," the dark woman began, preparing to state her case.

"Shut up," the guitarist snarled. Irrational rage, screams of pain, blood and leather. Laughing voices, crude speech, begging whispers.

Shocked, her lover became stared at her.

Jordan laid the file open on the table in silence, spreading the glossy eight by ten color photos. Watching eyes, smeared crimson on white cloth, grunts of rape, pain. "Remember how I told you that I'd hurt you?" When there was no answer, she snapped, "Do you remember!?"

Swallowing, scared, instinctively not wanting to go through this door that was yawning open before her, Sonny nodded.

"Meet Sylvia Mueller," the redhead said harshly, holding up a photo. The sound of flesh on flesh, ripping cloth, metallic taste.

The face of a woman staring dully out of the picture was almost unrecognizable. The skin was blue and red and mottled, one eye swollen completely closed, the nose broken and bloated. There were marks around her throat, almost black in their color and stains of blood trickling from her scalp and ear.

Sonny winced and looked away. And then a strong hand was grasping her neck, pinching the nerve there and causing pain, forcing her to look back at the pictures. No no no no no...

"And this is Sylvia Mueller." Another vivid picture, a hand and forearm that was abraded from ropes and sliced up. "And this." Cigarette burns on thighs. "And this." Bleeding, oozing welts on thighs and buttocks. "And this. And this. And this." With each photo, Jordan held her lover's neck, forcing her to witness the destruction of another human being. The smell of burnt flesh and fear and death and decay.

"No!" Sonny whispered, trying to shake her head in denial.

"Yes!" the guitarist insisted. "I'm the one responsible for this! I'm the one who did the damage!" Her grin was feral and an insane light seemed to glow from her green eyes. "I put her in a fucking mental institute, Sonny! She's a fucking vegetable!"

Wide blue eyes rolled to catch sight of this woman, this stranger that was smiling at her from the depths of hell. "But...."

"No buts, Sonny." Jordan released her and leaned forward, forcing the dark woman to lean back and away. "I enjoyed it," she hissed. "Watching her scream and bleed and beg. It was one of the best things that ever happened to me." Grey eyes reflecting nothing, and nothing, and nothing....

Horrified, the teenager tried to fight back the wave of nausea at the magnitude of the redhead's statement. Her head was shaking numbly, a part of her refusing to believe the evidence she saw, the confession she heard. Feeling her stomach roll, she stumbled out of her chair and ran from the room, tears flowing freely down her face.

There was quiet in the emotionally charged room.

You go, Jordie! I'm impressed! Chip off the ol' block! Jordan took a deep, calming breath, fighting the beast back down and returning it to its cage. It was the only way to get rid of her. Now she'll be safe. The whisper returned. Will she? Or will you be safe?

Shaking off the voices, the guitarist looked up at the three men still in the room. A red gold eyebrow raised at their open gaping. She began gathering up the photos and putting them back into the folder as the two lawyers looked away and shuffled papers, flushing.

Allen cleared his throat cautiously. "Um, Jordan. That's not quite what the report said."

Jordan shrugged, a nonchalance evident that she didn't feel. "It was something that had to be done." Now she can have a life. Deep inside of her soul, she curled up into a little ball. And you can come back to hell, where you belong.

There was a knock on the door and her lawyer, Tamara Hampton came in, a puzzled look on her face. "What happened to Sonny? She just ran out the doors and wouldn't stop when I called her."

Sep 23, 2002

Oh, god! What am I gonna do?! That poor woman!

Jordan sat hunched over the bar, nursing her drink. She'd been here ever since the meeting was concluded at White Horse, not wanting to go home. Not knowing if she had a home to go back to. Horny Jordie, the Wonder Whore! Shoulda known better than to hook up with the kid anyway, an oily voice stated. She wasn't your type.

"Got that right," she muttered darkly, tossing the remainder of her whiskey down her throat. She rapped her knuckles on the wooden counter, gaining the attention of the bartender. Pushing the glass away, she ordered another.

The older woman studied the redhead carefully as she removed the empty glass and put it in the sink. The kid apparently had an amazing tolerance level. She'd already had seven doubles and it didn't look like it was affecting her in the least. Shrugging and shaking her head, the woman poured another and settled it on a fresh napkin before the kid.

Jordan took a swallow, enjoying the burn down her throat, and glanced around for the first time in an hour.

The Egyptian was a small establishment, lesbian owned and operated. Being a Monday night, things were pretty quiet. The television over the bar was showing the game, though it wasn't apparent that anybody was paying attention. Beneath it, the relief bartender/cook was slouched on a stool and playing the video poker game, the soft bells and music at odds with the roar of a television crowd as a team scored.

Further past the bar was an alcove that held a pool table. There were three women smoking cigarettes and enjoying a game, chattering and laughing among themselves. The only other occupants of the main bar were the couple that were behind Jordan at a small table against the wall, engrossed in conversation.

The guitarist was antsy. She needed something, something to help her forget the fiasco at the meeting, the pain and fear in Sonny's eyes, the memories welling up from inside. But she'd left her stash at home and didn't know anyone here. And the alcohol wasn't touching her. With your tolerance, it'll take so much booze, you'll die from alcohol poisoning. There was an idle thought that perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing, but Jordan dismissed it. Like you deserve to 'get away from it all', Jordie. Schyeah, right!

Seeing the pictures at the meeting had opened up memories inside, memories that she'd thought were locked up forever. Hell! I thought the whole thing was done forever. Disjointed flashbacks kept occurring, derailing her train of thought, interrupting a perfectly good pity potty session.

Heavy leather restraints around the thin wrists, the flash of metal as the chain was attached, hanging the woman from the ceiling. Louis watching, directing.

"Well, hey there, sexy!" a voice insinuated itself into her musings.

Jordan turned her head and watched a woman settle down on the stool beside her. The mask fell into place and she grinned at one of the many women she'd bedded over the years. "Hey, babe, how's it going?"

The brunette tossed her hair back with a smile. "Pretty good. How's fame treating ya?" She waved the bartender over to give her order.

Shrugging ruefully, the guitarist said, "It's been a roller coaster." Unnatural rage overcoming her. The heavy strop rising and falling, over and over and over. The drink was delivered and she told the older woman behind the bar, "Put it on my tab."

A dark eyebrow arched and the groupie smiled. "Heard you're not available anymore," she said, fishing for information. "Something about somebody's kid sister...?"

"Old news," Jordan responded, taking a swallow of her drink and looking away. Visions of Sonny's face, twisted in passion just before an orgasm. Sylvia's grey eyes fearful and needing.

Sensing a recent rift, the groupie scooted a little closer. "I think I remember her. Dark hair, blue eyes?" At the agreeing nod, she looked down into her own drink. "Didn't think she was quite your type, ya know?"

Steeling herself, Jordan muttered, "She's not." The voices in her head roared and sighed in a maelstrom. It won't give up. It wants me dead. Goddamn this noise inside my head.

A tentative hand reached out, gently caressing the musician's thigh. The hand became bolder when it wasn't rebuffed. "Want company tonight?"

The redhead considered the question. It's been a long time, Horny Jordie. You remember how to play the game? She covered the woman's hand with her own and squeezed. "Yeah. That'd be nice." You'll never forget, Jordie. You were born and bred to play this game.

The groupie was able to refrain from crowing in delight. Barely. To bed Jordan Smith of Warlord now that she was famous? Definitely a major coup in the rock and roll world! "Ya know, I've got some stuff. Didn't you like downers?"