I narrow my eyes, not quite believing my ears. Unless, my gut feeling is wrong? “When did she leave?”
He shrugs. “Last night.”
He has her. I know he does. He’s taken her. I hate her. I hate her so much my stomach turns. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I bite out. “She’s sixteen years old and it sounds as if it’s no big deal that she spent the night out.” I don’t add with him. Then, he’d know why I’ve gone so crazy. I think of Abby, the younger woman Parnell has brought to our bed three times now and I scream again.
He moves his body off of me and I realize we’re in our bed. “What do you want me to say to her? Since when are we giving her rules?”
Since, now. When she’s stolen the youth away from me that I’d intended to recapture. I glare at him. “Since she’s attending Phoenix Rising concerts and ending up backstage.” My words tremble, I’m so angry.
A lift of his brow and a shrug. “She’s a good girl with a good head on her shoulders. Just like you. A younger version of yourself.” He smiles as if this should soothe me.
The younger version of me? I was fucking by the time I was fifteen. I hop off the bed and stalk toward my dressing room. “Get her back here,” I throw over my shoulder. “By the time I return from the brunch, I expect her in my office.”
I intend to ground her—lock her in a room upstairs—for the next two weeks.
Sloane
I scrub my hands over my face. Georgie’s still asleep next to me, just as she was when I arrived last night. Just as she has been for most of the morning.
She slept through my changing her out of her clothes and into another one of my tee-shirts.
She hasn’t moved much. I should know. I’ve watched her most of the night, wrestled with my cock just as long. Her skin is like satin. I wish I’d never attempted to make her more comfortable. The feel of her coupled with my knowledge of her cocksucking skills are a dangerous combination.
In sleep, her lovely face clear of the makeup, she looks so fucking peaceful and young. She also looks injured with the bruise on her cheek. I ask Kiln about it and he tells me it was Crowell.
I stare at the ceiling, breathing through my nose to control my fury. I’m so fucking frustrated right now I can’t think straight. Tomorrow, I leave Houston. As much as Georgie keeps up with the band’s activities, she should know. Last night, though, she was drugged out of her head.
Perhaps, her plea for me to keep her stems from a subconscious knowledge that I’ll soon walk away.
But, fuck, if I want to. Once I go, what’ll happen to her?
This same refrain has been pounding through my brain all fucking night, because I’m a stupid motherfucker. From the start of my personal quest to become Georgie’s protector, I knew it wouldn’t last. With so much shit going on, I didn’t dwell on it.
Now, the time has arrived and I need to figure out my next move.
She’s sixteen months from eighteen. At the rate she’s going, she might not be alive by then. We need to have a heart-to-heart. She’ll be sober once she awakens, so I’ll play it by ear, explain to her that we can keep in touch only if she stays clean. Unlike her fucked-up parents, I’ll know if she’s high and I’ll break all contact with her if that ever happens.
I squeeze my temples to sooth my pounding head. I don’t know if that’ll be enough to keep her from Crowell. He supplies her with drugs and orgasms. My gaze flicks over the bruise…and slaps. Most important, he’s in the same city with her, so while I’m ordering her to adhere to my rules, I’ll be travelling from place-to-place while Georgie will be here with no one.
But Crowell.
Fuck.
Georgie’s little purse shudders against the wooden dresser and my music peels through the air. I realize she has her phone in there, too. I never checked when I grabbed it from my dressing room last night. I just wanted to get to her and check on her.
Discovering her asleep sent equal parts relief and disappointment through me.
The phone stops, the awareness barely crossing my mind before it rings again. Georgie stirs and I scowl at the dresser. I want her to sleep another twenty minutes before I waken her and send her on her way. There’s nothing more I can do. I’m not meant to spend my life babysitting Georgiana McCall.
I’m not meant to worry about her, and ache for her, and dream of ways to be with her.
I have to get rid of her. I believe in love, but I don’t fucking believe in instant love, so what I feel for Georgie isn’t that. I’d like to say it is just protecting a girl who needs it from herself, and all the assholes in her life. I don’t believe it’s that either.
I don’t understand what the fuck it is. Each time I try, the answer is more elusive. If I can’t understand it, I don’t deal with it, so she’s gone.
Georgie’s phone rings again and, this time, she bolts up. Her hair is wild around her. She’s blinking, rubbing her eyes like a sleepy child.