After an hour of fan photos and autographs and knocking back the endless stream of drinks that were offered to me, I was dragged up to the VIP lounge where an obscene birthday cake waited for me. Dom and Coby led the crowd in singing
Happy Birthday
, and I made a big show of making my wish and blowing out my candles. I ate the obligatory piece, downed another drink, made the rounds and then decided I had had enough.
Ready to make my escape for a private party of my own, I scanned the throng of groupies panting for a chance to get their greedy little fingers inside my leather pants. Like a kid surrounded by gifts on Christmas morning, I didn't know where to start. Suddenly my plan to find one gorgeous, fun woman altered drastically. One for each decade sounded much better.
There were vamps in fetish wear, their bodies beautifully displayed in corsets and leather. Two cyber punks with neon green hair and kickass T-shirts stood close to the bar and tossed back blood red shots. A trio of gothic Lolitas in pinafores twirled black lace umbrellas and chatted with the drummer and bassist from the band who had opened the night's show.
Among the usual jet-black locks, I spotted blondes, brunettes and redheads. A flash of hot pink caught my eye. The black lace corset and too-short blood-red leather skirt set off a fire within me. Smiling wickedly, I crooked a finger in her direction. Pink's eyes widened, and she practically pranced toward me. Damn, but she was cute.
My gaze drifted back to the two vamps. I beckoned them to join me and Pink. They practically ran to my side. The trio smiled and shook hands. I didn't have to sweet talk them too much. These women knew what they wanted, and they were hell-bent on getting it.
On the way out of the club, I caught Tres dealing with a couple of kids who looked to be underage. The tall, lanky white kid with dyed black hair looked like he was going to piss his pants if Tres kept up his drill sergeant routine. The other kid, the one with impressive dreadlocks, piercings and warm brown skin, didn't seem even the least bit bothered by it. When dreadlocks spotted me in the hallway, he grinned and slapped his friend on the arm.
"What's the problem, Tres?"
"Two underage kids snuck into Slaughterhouse. I caught them snooping around backstage."
Remembering the days when I had done crazy shit like this with Dom, I motioned for the two kids to come closer. "Do you know that I own this place?"
"Yes," they answered in unison.
"Do you know what happens if TABC comes in here and finds underage kids running around?"
Now they both looked down at their feet. "Yes."
I couldn’t blame them for wanting to meet their favorite musicians. Hell, Dom and I had run away from Texas and worked our way to Sweden to find our musical idols. Dom hadn't been much older than these two.
With a sigh, I held out my hand. "Show me what you have for me to sign."
They instantly started buzzing with excitement and whipped out the memorabilia they wanted signed. The kid with dreadlocks offered me a permanent marker, and I made quick work of signing their things. After handing them back, I glanced at Tres. "Get them both shirts. Put them in a cab. Send them home."
"Got it."
I touched the chest of the kid with dreadlocks. "Don't do this shit again. Understand?"
"Yes."
"You wait until you're eighteen to come back here."
"We will."
Certain they would stay away from my club, I nodded at them and slung my arms around the three women. We slowly made our way to the SUV and driver waiting for me out back. The girls wanted to start the party on the drive to the hotel suite, and I couldn't think of a good reason to stop them. By the time we reached the VIP entrance at the rear of the establishment, the girls were panting and my lips were swollen from all the kissing.
But I wasn't even the slightest bit stiff.
Trying not to dwell on the party that
wasn't
starting in my leather pants, I guided the girls into the private elevator and up to the luxury suite on hotel's top floor. My dates wasted no time turning on some music, ordering room service and hitting the bar. I dropped down on a couch and watched them dance for me. It didn’t take long for the clothes to start flying.
I had to tear myself away from the enticing sight of the two vamps grinding together on the makeshift dance floor to answer the door and sign for the room service order. While the girls were busy picking through the order, I ducked into the bathroom and dug the extra pill I had tucked into my pocket out of my pants. I tossed it back with a long pull from a vodka bottle and gave my dick a pep talk.
"Come on, you bastard. We have three sexy, wild girls waiting for us out there. Get hard—or else those girls will find a way to get what they want without you."
My pep talk given, I returned to the dining room of the suite. The food play had already started. Pink was smearing whipped cream on the nipples of one of the vamps. I decided to join in the fun. "I think you might be sweeter than my birthday cake…"
But all the nipple sucking and deep French kissing in the world wasn't making me hard. Two blue pills, three hot girls and all that vodka? I should have been relaxed and hard as a bat by now.
If the girls noticed, they didn't say anything. Eventually we were all naked. The party moved into the bedroom—and things took an erotic turn fast. The two dark-haired vamps fell onto the bed with Pink and began attacking her pussy. Soon, they were all thrusting fingers and licking and squealing atop the bed.
Head pounding and heart racing, I stroked my semi-hard shaft with one hand and gripped a tequila bottle in the other. There were men who would give their left nuts to be standing in my spot, but I couldn’t get into it. It just wasn't as exciting as it used to be.
Every single fuck had to be more depraved and wilder. It was like a competition to outdo myself. One girl. Two girls. Three girls. Sex toys. Kink. What the hell happened to slow and easy? What happened to simple lovemaking? Why the hell couldn't I find a woman who cared about me? About the real me? About the Step who existed
behind
the lead singer?
Listen to you! You're getting soft, old man
.
I was getting soft in more ways than one. My cock wouldn't cooperate, and my frustration level started to rise. I took three long gulps of the tequila I had brought into the bedroom and hissed as it burned its way down my throat. When I lowered the bottle, I noticed I was swaying on my feet. The scene in front of me—the three women writhing with ecstasy—blurred, and I blinked rapidly.
I tried to shake it off, but this wasn't going away. I swallowed anxiously and felt my knees start to shake.
Shit.
Maybe the warning about mixing the dick pills with alcohol was right.
Desperate to sit down, I took one step toward the bed—and fell forward in a dead faint.
.
Chapter Two
Jemima
Rubbing at my tired eyes, I yawned loudly and reached into the refrigerator for a cold soda. I cracked the tab and took a long drink before setting it aside and putting together my brown bag lunch. When I pulled out the plastic container where I stowed deli meat and cheese, I realized we were running low. I hastily calculated the days between now and my next paycheck and closed the box without making a sandwich. Today an extra apple and some peanut butter would have to round out my carrots and whole wheat crackers.
With my lunch packed, I returned to my bedroom and slipped into the perky pink uniform provided by the five star hotel where I worked as a maid. I pulled on a pair of low cut socks and the ugly but comfortable white shoes I had polished last night before going to bed. I styled my hair into a tightly coiled French twist—one of the three hairstyles permitted within the new strict dress code—and turned to the side to check my reflection.
I slid my hand down the front of the dress and made sure there were no wrinkles in the highly starched outfit. Our housekeeping manager was forgiving, but the new hotel manager was a real hard ass about our appearances. He was the one who had insisted we switch from the more comfortable tunics and slacks to these dresses. Apparently some hotel guests found our old uniforms frumpy and unappealing. Why we needed to look cute and perky to scrub toilets and bathtubs I would never understand!
Glancing at my watch, I snatched up my starched white apron and left my bedroom. I stopped in front of my younger brother's door and rapped my knuckles against it. "Benji? Are you up?" When I heard nothing, I knocked harder. "Benji! Come on, bro. You need to get into the shower and get moving. Benji!"
Bracing myself for the inevitable smell of dirty socks and that nose-wrinkling teenage boy bouquet of hormones and angst that seemed to linger in his room, I opened the door and poked my head inside his room. "Benji? Are you listening to me?"
My gaze landed on his empty bed. A long stream of cuss words left my mouth as I realized he had sneaked out of the house sometime after I had crashed out with exhaustion. Before I could even process how pissed off I truly was, I heard the unmistakable squeal of the back door's hinges.
I let the bedroom door slipped closed behind me and strode down the narrow hallway of the single wide mobile home.
When I reached the living room, I caught Benji tiptoeing across the kitchen. He froze at the sight of me. Taking in his nearly all black outfit, I didn't have to guess where he had been. The dark eyeliner smudged under his eyes? The studded leather cuffs circling his wrists? The band tee stamped with the S&M logo? He had been at the Sinister Mayhem show down at Slaughterhouse that I had expressly forbidden him to attend.
Exhaling roughly, I put a hand on my hip and waited for him to speak first. He ran his fingers along one of his dreds and nervously flicked his lip ring with his tongue. "I'm not going to stand here and bullshit you about being sorry, Jem. Because I'm not sorry about going." He flashed that mischievous grin of his. "But I am sorry I got caught."
"This isn't funny, Benji. What if you had gotten into a wreck? Or been injured in a mosh pit? What if you had been arrested for being underage in a Twenty-One-or-Over club?"
"It was Eighteen-and-Up tonight."
"And you're fifteen!"
"Sixteen next week!"
"If you live that long."
"Come on, Jem. Don't be like that."
"Don't!" I shook my head and rubbed my tired face between my hands. Feeling so much older than my twenty-one years, I fought the stressed out tears that pricked at my eyes. "Benji, we are two months into the school year, and the office has already called me three times for your unexcused absences. I get that you think this is some big fucking joke, but the school district is going to slap me with truancy charges and fines. How the hell do you expect me to pay for that?"
Not letting him answer that, I barreled on, "We are in a precarious position here with DFPS. A few more strikes, and they'll take you away from me and toss you in foster care or a group home."
Benji's expression turned serious. He gulped and glanced at his feet. "I'm sorry, Jem."
"Don't be sorry, Benji. Just do better. Okay? You've got to help me out here." I closed the distance between us and grasped his hand. He glanced up at me, and I could see the regret darkening his eyes. I reminded myself that he was still young and dumb and prone to making really boneheaded decisions. "Listen, I love you. You're my brother, and I would do freaking anything for you.
Anything
, Benji. But I need you to meet me halfway, bro."
He surprised me by unexpectedly embracing me. Crushed in his arms, I realized just how damned big he was getting. He was closing in on six feet, and I could tell where all the groceries were going. He was filling out and turning hard with muscle. Gone was the slightly chubby thirteen-year-old boy I had petitioned and fought the state to gain guardianship over. Here stood a young man on the cusp of adulthood—and I was scared to death I was going to screw him up. I struggled so hard to find the balance of firm disciplinarian to loving sister that he required. I wanted him to be a good man. I wanted him to make something of his life. I wanted Benji to get out of this trailer park and away from the cycle of drugs and violence that had put our mother in prison.
"I didn't mean to upset you like this, Jem. I just—I
really
wanted to go to this show." He released me slowly and stepped back. "I won't do something this stupid again."
I touched his cheek and smiled up at him. "You probably will."
He snorted. "Yeah. Probably."
I flicked the silver hoop dangling from his lip. "Take that shit out before you go to school, all right? And those too." I pointed at the spider bite piercings on the left side of his mouth and then the barbell in his eyebrow. "You know the school rules." He attended a magnet school for gifted students, and they had a more relaxed policy when it came to their dress code. And thank God! Because he loved pushing the line. "One nose stud and two earrings. That's it, Benji."
"Yeah, I know." His tongue piercing knocked against his teeth. "Principal Nguyen gave me a pass on this one." He flashed the barbell between his lips. "But I won't push it with these."
"Thank you." I shook my head at the mess of makeup on his face. "There are some makeup remover wipes in my bathroom cabinet. You better attack your eyes and cheeks with those first." I picked up his hand again and clicked my teeth at his nail polish. "There's some acetone in that same cabinet. Get those clean." I wrinkled my nose. "And take a shower! You stink of pot and beer and sweat and God only knows what else!"
"I stink of fun!" He reared back and started furiously grinding on an air guitar. "Man, Jem, you should have seen Leif! He was awesome! And Step? His voice was full-on last night. He's totally recovered from that surgery he had earlier this year."