Bang (Hard Rock Harlots Book 5) Page 3

  We are fucked. So fucking fucked.

  Goodbye, career in management. We had a good run while it lasted.

  If I’m not goddamn babysitting, I’m refereeing. When I’m not refereeing, I’m blowing what little these spoiled, reckless children have in their bank account to bail an idiot out of fucking jail. I’m so done with this shit.

  I throw on my clothes, grab a cigarette, and shove it in my mouth. When I step into the hall, the entire band sans Rax is on the landing. Letty’s pale as a sheet. Shades is wide-eyed and chipper, looking like goddamn Jeeves on a mission to deliver coffee. Jinx’s messy blond hair hides her expression. Toombs’s scowl suggests he’s got a good damn idea where Rax might be.

  “Anybody know anything about Rax getting arrested last night?” I ask, cigarette bouncing from my lips. Next time we book a house, I’ll demand they let me smoke inside. They don’t pay me enough for this crap.

  “What?” they chorus in stereo. Yeah. My sentiments exactly.

  “Public drunkenness. I gotta go pick him up at the police station on Royal,” I say, all just another day in the life of your overworked and underpaid band manager.

  “This is New Orleans,” Letty says. “How fucking drunk do you have to be to get arrested for that shit here?”

  “Pretty fucking drunk,” Shades murmurs.

  “Stupid motherfucker.” Toombs throws a disgusted look at Rax’s closed bedroom door and heads to his own room. These two. These fucking two. Goddammit.

  “I’ll go with you,” Jinx says.

  Just what I need. More drama to give my impeding heart attack raison-d’être.

  Jinx is a sweet girl. It’s been hard watching her get tangled up with Rax and Toombs these last few weeks. They’re nothing but trouble—especially Rax. And the way they treat women … I’d hate for Jinx to end up another notch on their mutual bedpost, but it’s not my business to get involved in their personal lives.

  Sometimes I wish I could smack some sense into them. Hammer my unsolicited advice into their skin like the tattoos they’re so fond of to remind them not to lose their fucking minds over crazy shit. Maybe beat their asses like their mommas should’ve done years ago.

  I start to tell her to stay home, but Jinx’s big brown eyes plead like a beaten, starving puppy. Damn, girl. They love each other, and you got slap in the middle of it. Rax will never let this go. I hurt for her and what’s to come.

  Despite their mess, she gives Toombs something Rax can’t. Toombs has changed. I think he loves her.

  Shaking my head, I gesture to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

  I switch off the mainline to my feelings and light up as we walk toward Royal. I gotta work off some of this alcohol. The police station is several blocks away, and I take advantage of the time by giving Jinx a stern, professional talking-to. “I don’t know what went on with you, Rax, and Toombs, but I’m sick of this bullshit, Jinx. You do realize we’re set to record an album in three days, right? Three fucking days.”

  I hate being a hard-ass with her, but this is business, something none of these kids seem to understand. Tough love is all I got left.

  “Rax and Toombs had a falling-out over me,” she admits. “But I’m going to set things right. Personally and professionally. I swear to God, I’ll make it rain beats for you when we hit the studio.”

  All suspicions confirmed. I huff. We ramble on.

  “I know you’re angry at me for not being able to deliver on the new record,” she continues. “I’m mad at myself. But I had a breakthrough last night. I’m confident I won’t freeze again. If we can get Rax sobered up, I’m willing to rehearse all day, every day, until we start recording.”

  I’m not a creative type, but I get it. I really do. I’ve watched these people grow as musicians over the last few years—as two different bands at first, and then flung together into one band, thanks to Rax’s shitty choices. But even with Rax’s bad blood in the mix, they’re still amazing kids. Super talented. They deserve fame and money and happiness. None of it comes easy, especially when love rears its head and muddies it all up.

  “I’m going to hold you to that promise,” I say. “Right now, I’m more concerned about Rax’s latest fuck-up. I swear you guys and your goddamn drama are gonna be the death of me.”

  “Sorry.” She lowers her head. “Is it okay if I speak to Rax alone before we head back to the house? I have some things I need to get off my chest.”

  My gut tells me not to leave her, but she’s a big girl. She’s gotta handle this battle herself. “Fine. Just no more fighting. And he doesn’t need to be in the same zip code as any alcoholic beverages until this record wraps.”

  She nods. We reach the station and pause before going in. I say, “You and Toombs, huh?”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “You’re much better for him than Rax. That guy is poison.” There’s good buried inside him somewhere, but he’s the only one who has the power to dig it out. Until then …

  “So you knew about the two of them?” Jinx asks.

  “Gaydar. One of my many superpowers.” I smile.

  “You ever been so in love with someone, you’re blinded to all the … uncomfortable stuff that comes along with the package?”

  “Who hasn’t?” I toss my cigarette down and squash it like a bug. Too bad suffocating emotions isn’t as easy as snuffing out a smoke. God, I miss Miles. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me.

  I miss Miles.

  “Once upon a time, I was married,” I say. “He was a great guy. Loved him like crazy. Turned out he was gay. It devastated me, but we remained friends after the divorce. I clung to this image I had of him in my mind—someone he absolutely wasn’t—the person I needed him to be.

  “We meet for dinner one night about a year after we split, and he says to me, ‘When are you gonna come out?’ What the fuck? Out of nowhere. ‘I’m not the one who’s gay,’ I say, all defensive and pissed off. He just smiles and nods at the waitress, and I realize I’ve been following her ass every time she walks away from the table. ‘Bullshit,’ I call on myself. Bullshit. I’ve been gay ever since.” Or, so I tell myself. I’m not even sure I have a sexual preference anymore.

  “What I’m saying here is sometimes the one you love introduces you to the person inside—the real one you’re so close to, you don’t even recognize her. Sometimes the one you love knows you better than you know yourself. They bring out the best in us when we least expect it.”

  She seems to think about that for a minute. I hope I’ve said the right thing. Toombs is a decent guy. All the tattoos and shit are just a cover for the true soul underneath. Perfect contrast to Rax. Maybe that’s why they were so hot for each other. Darkness and light transposed onto angel and demon.

  I shake the mush out of my head and smack Jinx’s arm. “Come on. We’ve got an asshole to bail out.”

  It’s only ten in the morning, but the police station is already a freak show. Prisoners protest with threats and curses down the hall. A squad of singing drag queens prances past the main desk. Visitors cry their sob stories for wary cops. This city never sleeps.

  I fill out a mound of paperwork, pay the $300 bond out of pocket, and promise to have Rax in court tomorrow for arraignment.

  When they haul his ass over, I frown. His face is a black, blue, and bloody mess. His mane of loose curls is matted. The alpha lion defeated by his beta. Maybe Toombs isn’t quite the angel I pegged him for. “You look like frosted shit cookies with a side of rancid milk.”

  “Thanks. I feel like a million bucks.” Defeat owns his voice. It’s about time he got knocked off his high horse. Violence seems to be the only language his base instinct speaks.

  “You owe me a fucking million bucks. That’s two strikes, buddy. Alcohol poisoning was numero uno. Public drunkenness, numero dos. One more fuck-up, and you’re out.” I don’t want to make good on my promise, but he’s forced my hand. I have four other people to look out for, and the needs of the many far outweigh his alcoholis
m.

  “Yeah, thanks for the lecture, Mom. I got it.” He blows me off.

  My heart shoots off like a machine gun. I rush him, stand toe to toe, and nail him with the hardest stare I can muster, inches from his face. “I’m glad you understand. I’d hate to see you lose out on the music deal of a lifetime because you let your childish desires get in the way of good business decisions. Now, we’re going back to the house to work on some new music. You’re gonna clean up and meet us downstairs at noon, wearing your happy face. You’ll be pleasant and attentive. You’ll be eager to work. And you’ll behave yourself. Got it?”

  He curls his lip. “Yep. I damn sure do got it.” His breath reeks of booze, and it’s all I can do not to turn away.

  “Excellent.” Eager to be done with him, with this place, with this shitty part of my job, I face Jinx. “Jinx has a few things she’d like to talk to you about on your walk back, so I’ll see you there.” I leave before my racing heart makes good on its threat and explodes Alien-style out of my chest.

  I stumble past the wrought iron gates of the station and make my way down the street. I can’t breathe. Gonna pass out. Need a cigarette.

  Copping a squat in a vacant storefront entrance, I drop my head between my knees and throw all my depleted energy into inhaling and exhaling slowly. I imagine hands smoothing my hair, rubbing circles on my back, whispering sweet, calming words beside my ear.

  Miles. He used to do those things. He always made shit better. Even after our relationship went tits up.

  I should never have let him go. I should’ve begged him to stick it out. Maybe we could’ve made a more unconventional relationship work. Anything would be better than this longing for some kind of companionship—male or female, I no longer care. Just need someone.

  “You are losing your shit, Jillian,” I choke out between breaths.

  Something’s gotta give. If I don’t find a way to effectively manage my stress, I’ll end up in the hospital. Or worse.

  Pull yourself together. You’re stronger than this. You are in control.

  Yes. I am.

  Angling my face to the sun, I absorb its warmth and will the rushing blood and spiraling worries to ebb. Nothing is okay, but I’ve been here before and survived. It’s all about finding an outlet. A distraction from the hard stuff.

  Miles pegged me wrong. I’ve always been better suited to dishing than receiving. Never thought about owning someone else’s ass before, but it’s rather appealing. If his little club caters to kinksters, I might find my new calling there as a tough-as-nails Dominatrix.

  I stand and dust myself off. Nah, I don’t have the balls. I have a better chance of picking up a hot lesbian at a bar than I do a kink club. That shit just isn’t for me.

  Continuing toward my temporary home on Chartres, I fire up a smoke and savor the burn flowing in and out of my lungs. Tourists rush to and fro. Anticipation of Mardi Gras next week leaves a thick residue of magic in the air, the tiny patches of grass, the piss-stained streets. Wild, old energy permeates every nook and crevice. The history living in this town carries weight. It’s solid. Full of promises. And threats.

  A mask shop looms. As each step draws me closer, the pull of the purple, yellow, and green sign strengthens. Keeping my feet pointed forward, I pass the store without giving it the pleasure of a glance.

  When I reach the corner, I turn around.

  And damn it if I don’t go back to that shitty shop and buy a laser-cut metal mask with rhinestone accents and black-satin ribbons.

  Big Fat Tuesday

  A few days later, we have a demo.

  Jinx pulled her shit together as promised. She and Toombs flew home to see her family for the weekend. Rax has been obedient, if distant. He spends most of his time away, probably in bars or strip clubs, which is fine by me, as long as he stays out of jail. Letty and Shades are Letty and Shades. Fuck, fuck, goose.

  Pumped that my efforts in power management paid off, I’m itching to celebrate Killer Buzz Float’s big win with the record company. As soon as the bus is clear on Mardi Gras morning, I dial Miles.

  “I want to break a bitch tonight.”

  “Well, that’s … unexpected.” He laughs. “What brought on your change of heart?”

  Stress. Relief. Need. All of the above. “I thought about what you said, and I’ve decided it can’t hurt to give it a try. But I’ll do it my way. That submission crap—no offense—isn’t for me. I need the control.” He must understand. The two of us spent most of our short-lived marriage fighting for dominance over finances, interior decorating, and where we’d go on vacation.

  He pauses. “Okay.”

  “You know I hate neutral responses. What’s the reticence for? Don’t think I can handle it?”

  “I didn’t say that.” There he goes, blowing me off like he knows what’s best for me. He’s infuriating.

  “It’s not what you said. It’s what’s hiding behind the words. I’m a big girl, Miles.”

  “No doubt,” he agrees. “I’ll pick you up at seven. That’ll give us five hours to play until the world ends and New Orleans falls back to sleep.”

  “That suits me fine. I have to be at the airport bright and early anyway.”

  “Leaving so soon?”

  “No, picking up a couple of the band members. We’re staying in town for a while longer.”

  A smile fills his voice, “Good. If you like the club, you can come back. Got your mask?”

  “I’ve got it all.” Boy, do I ever. “See you tonight.”

  When we enter the parlor, my eyes bug out behind the metal filigree hiding my identity. Thank goodness this thing has lots of holes. My skin feels like it’s suffocating.

  “Welcome to the Strip and Whip Krewe’s fourteenth-annual masquerade.” Miles’s chest heaves proudly beneath his kinky leather twist on a Civil War soldier costume. Gold buttons line both sides of the gray jacket and streak down the middle. With a white glove, he gestures widely and follows the bare ass of a horse-man, complete with life-size head and a horsehair butt plug.

  “I—” I scan the eclectic crowd and can’t think of a single thing to say.

  “I know.” Miles’s cheeks plump into a grin. A pair of crossed shotgun accents sparkle above the bill of the gray cap shadowing his simple black mask. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Servants in crisp tuxedoes, balancing trays of champagne, crudités, and condoms on the tips of their fingers flit among the dolled-up attendees. One woman prances around in a green southern belle dress with a bustle and a ridiculously tight bustier. Only difference between her and Scarlett O’Hara is this lady’s tits are on full display. Like, all out, pierced nipples included.

  Swallowing, I run a hand across my décolleté under the unbuttoned trench coat. “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

  Plush, thick carpet springs under my high heels. Heavy, red-velvet drapes over floor-to-ceiling windows hide the club’s activities from the rest of the world. Persian rugs, high ceilings, tinkling crystal chandeliers … it’s an antebellum interior decorator’s wet dream.

  “Ah, here’s Red. Let me introduce you.” Miles slides my arm under his and escorts me to a tall gentleman with long red hair. He’s wearing a stunning onyx mask complete with a rack of bold antlers, a black webbed harness, and leather pants. He smiles as we approach.

  “Miles, love, you are deliciously tempting. Can’t wait to play war with you later.” Oozing testosterone, he grasps Miles’s uniform and leans in for a kiss. I look away.

  “Red, meet Jillian,” Miles says after catching his breath.

  Red snags my hand and kisses the backs of my fingers. His lips are soft. His eyes are hard. So is the tight body. “A pleasure, young lady. Miles has told me so much about you. Manager of a band, I understand? Must be a fascinating life.”

  “More fun than a barrel of monkeys,” I quip. “Pleased to meet you, Red.”

  “We should show you around,” he says, turning toward a squeal rising from the far corner where
candles provide the only illumination. Shadows dance on the velvet royal and canary fleur-de-lis wallpaper. Predators stalk prey with bared claws, their grotesque beast-heads twisting upward as if howling at the moon. Or begging for a sliver of its waxing crescent power to feed emerging primal needs.

  The smell of sex hangs heavy in the air despite the strong scent of melted candle wax and savory pastries. Flashes of breasts, restrained penises, and chastity-belted pelvises blink here and there—always subtle, but always present. Taunting.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  I turn to Miles. “You know what? I should go. Thanks for the invitation, but … I made a mistake. I can catch a taxi—”

  “You can’t leave yet. We just got here,” he pleads.

  In my peripheral vision, Red crosses his arms and narrows his gaze like laser beams slicing through the slits of his mask. I keep my body facing Miles and lower my voice. “This isn’t my scene.”

  He leans closer and whispers in my ear, “That’s fear talking. Give it a chance. There’s a burlesque show. Or I can take you to the dungeon if you want to jump right in and see the good stuff …”

  “No. No dungeons.” My throat is parched. My hands are clammy. I’m in way over my head. I start to tell him to forget it, but his pleading eyes stop me. This is his world, and even though we’ve gone our separate ways, he’s still an important part of me. I can humor him for an hour, then I’ll politely excuse myself. “Fine. Burlesque. Let’s try that.”

  His face lights up. “Back shortly, Red,” he says. Red nods. He’s giving Miles permission. My skin crawls. The notion of ownership, possession of another human being really pushes the limit for me.

  We amble through the crowd. Images of things I’ll never unsee bombard me along the way. Masked animal trainers form a ring in the center of the room. They teach their “pets” to do tricks, rewarding good behavior with chocolate-dipped strawberry treats, and punishing bad with cracks to the ass from a riding crop. Barks, pants, and howls rise up like offerings to ancient sex gods.