“I’ll do what I can.”
Meaning, now that my location is known, the guys who pick up the car will also get my exact address. It’s going to be a fucking madhouse, sooner rather than later.
“Go to your room, Georgiana. Keep the blinds closed and don’t fucking come out unless you’re invited.”
She doesn’t object. Instead, she scampers away, head down.
I vow to find a way to make this up to her.
I pull out my cell phone and scroll through numbers. “Get rid of these cameras. Through them in the Bay.” Burn the motherfuckers, for all I care.
“Jaeger’s on it.”
“As usual.”
“You could be out.”
My finger lingers over the number I need. “And?”
“Don’t you give a fuck?”
I feel washed up and dried out, when I know I’m anything but. Where’s the fire inside of me for my music? The passion? I agreed to their terms, I fought for another chance, because it felt like a lifeline. Now, it’s just meaningless. A responsibility instead of a thirst. I’m quenching the beast out of necessity.
If they kick me out, I can take Georgie to Nevada, to Europe, and care for her as she should be. I can make her mine and be hers.
“They understand.”
“What?”
“Maitland. Quint. Adam. They know you needed to protect her.”
It seems as if the fight was discovered before I got in the doors good.
“Story’s going to break if those two don’t agree to Dad’s offer. It’ll be our word against theirs. They were accidentally caught in our brawl. We were fighting one another because I tipped everyone off. You’ll add brownie points to your image.”
Jaeger and Dad’s deep pockets. I don’t respond, although I grit my teeth at how low we’ve been reduced.
What the fuck happened to the good old days of a barroom clash just because someone looked at us wrong? We’re reduced to scuffles in fucking trees on the Back Bay of Biloxi.
“Before you bring the car back, I need to order a few things for Georgie’s disguise. Call and extend the rental. Buy it outright. I don’t care. Just keep this place clear, so I can get the shit I need for her.”
“You need to hire a secretary,” he mutters, stomping off.
“Why, asshole? You’re so proficient at it.”
No response. Once I make the call, I get up and head to my room to finally take a shower and see to all my cuts and bruises.
Chapter Seventeen
Georgie
Kiln is hustling me through a massive crowd. The screaming is beyond insane and, frankly, I’m unnerved, but the guys are taking it in stride, even stopping to sign autographs.
After ten days of cancellations, Phoenix Rising is finally making a public appearance again. The paparazzi, or the paps as Sloane refers to them, are as rabid as the fans. There’s been all types of rumors swirling about the band’s sudden cancellations, even with all the drama of those stories. I’m not sure what happened with the photographers that Sloane caught up to, but, just based on the anger blowing from him and his cold eyes, it wasn’t anything good.
Another story breaks about a fight between Sloane and Kiln, but there’s minimal fallout. Most fingers point at Sloane, still claiming he has fallen off the wagon again and had to return to rehab.
He takes it in stride, but I see the pain in his eyes whenever he reads a headline that comes in from around the world. Half of the foreign languages I don’t recognize and I understand none of them.
For the remaining days in Ocean Springs, he continued to deny me access to my phone or my iPad. Going near anything other than a stupid, old radio earned me a harsh, “No, ma’am,” and a nod to Kiln, who ushered me back to my room.
They never locked me in, though, and for that I was grateful. I still didn’t see the necessity of Sloane’s nasty behavior towards me and I decided Kiln was a sadistic motherfucker, who got off on my discomfort and depression. The days crept by, until I was told the band had a concert in Raleigh. The entire Midwestern leg of their tour had been cancelled. They’d lost a shitload of money and the press was eating them alive. I knew they wouldn’t stay locked here forever, but, then I panicked.