I want to move but I can’t.
“Call 911,” he yells again, despite Abby’s reassurances that our executive housekeeper already has.
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll call again, baby.”
How much time has passed? Five minutes? Ten minutes. I don’t know. My limbs have atrophied. I can’t console Parnell and I can’t touch Georgie.
A voice fills the room. Abby’s voice, trembling with fear. Attempted suicide she says. She’s gasping for breath, like she’s run a marathon, instead of just fucked my husband in my bed.
Contempt fills me. “She’s a goddamn drug addict,” I snarl, furious that Georgie’s winning our competition for attention again. I want my baby back. My little girl, the beautiful child who hadn’t blossomed into this exquisite creature that I hate. Why couldn’t anyone else see Georgie for who she really was? What she’s destined to become. An international whore. That’s all she has the brains and beauty for. “Ungrateful. How could she ruin her life with coke, and humiliate us?”
My words are the attention getter I need to get through to my husband. He lays Georgie on our bed. I pray the blood is sufficiently staunched, so she won’t soil my expensive sheets and mattress.
Before I can direct one in this crowd of people, Parnell barrels to me, wearing pants now. I curl my lip at him. For the first time, he doesn’t attempt to appease me. His eyes blaze.
“What?” I snarl.
His nostrils flare and I wait for him to say something, do something, other than suggest we bring other people to our bed.
“What have you done to her?”
I roll my eyes. “As if you care. She’s better off this way. Who has time for her?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Abby choke, as if she has a right to an opinion about how I feel towards my baby.
“Paramedics are here, Mr. McCall,” Whitney calls. “Josh is out of town. He says he’ll get the next flight out. Mrs. Sanderson is also en route.”
Mother? My mother is on the way? For the first time, panic flares inside of me. I turn toward my dressing room. I hear the crackling of radios and rushing footsteps. Parnell halts me and I’m not sure what I expect. Comfort, maybe. He knows how I feel about my mother.
Instead, his fist connects with the side of my jaw, throwing me back and sending me crashing into a shelf. My head smacks against it. I cry out, but then the pain is gone and I slip into unconsciousness.
Sloane
Three hours to show time. I sink into the girl I brought home last night. Next to me, Maitland is snoring, but our combined moans awaken him. Instead of participating, he rolls over, grabs a cigarette and watches while I fuck her. She’s like a machine and gave each of us a turn in her pussy.
I close my eyes and still I see her. Georgiana. I know this is what I have to do. Move on with other women. Not move on, per se. But just continue with the course my life was on and pretend I never saw her three weeks ago.
Seven and a half days after the scene with Georgie in the hotel room should be enough time to fuck her out of my head. Although I wasn’t supposed to leave until the next morning, I flew out the same night.
I pound into the woman beneath me. This is the life. I must be a sorry motherfucker if I can’t forget a girl, more than a year away from her eighteenth birthday.
Spreading my current fuck partner’s legs wider, I shove into her brutally and she sinks her nails into my back. Pain slides into me and hisses out on a breath. To prevent her from repeating the action, I pin her hands above her head, until Maitland grabs them and I allow him to take control.
While keeping her hands secure in his grip, he pinches her nipples, then decides to join in and rises above her to shove his dick in her mouth. Fine with me. If she does any nail digging, it’ll be into his fucking ass. Literally.
My bedroom door opening doesn’t halt my strokes into her. I’m close to coming. Watching her suck off Maitland sends me over the edge, and I empty inside of her.
Maitland isn’t done yet, so I move from between her legs and snap off the condom. Her fingers push against her clit. She hasn’t come yet. I debate on eating her out, but it’s interrupted by Kiln calling my name.
“I thought ignoring you long enough would make you go away,” I grumble, lean over, and toss the rubber into a trashcan filled with them. “What do you want?”
“Abby just called.”
I’ll never, for as long as I have breath in my body, forget the shocked quality to his tone. It’s low with incredulity and filled with pain. My heart starts hammering because he doesn’t have to tell me. Abby calls to fuck with me or Kiln or…whoever, but I know this has to do with Georgie and I know it’s bad. I’m on my feet, searching for clothes.
“Is she alive?”