“Let me guess: you’re some trailer trash little gold-digging whore who thought getting backstage and sucking one of the guys’ dicks would get you somewhere.”
Guess she didn’t want a drink. But also, “You don’t get pregnant by sucking dick. I’m not majoring in biology or anything, but pretty damn sure of that one.”
The bitch just stared at me. Okay, so this was really not going well.
“Sorry,” I said. Not sorry. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your righteous rant. Please keep going. I honestly can’t wait to hear what you have to say next.”
Beautiful face scrunched up all cat-asslike, the woman actually had the audacity to stalk toward me, her hands curled into fists. The girl was out of her god damn head. My heart beat double time, every protective instinct in me rising up in alarm. Do violence on me and my Bean? I think not. Happily, the bar had a wide assortment of weapons at the ready. My personal favorite being a bottle of Chivas. I hefted it from one hand to the other. Three quarters full. It was weighty enough. No way was I playing nice with this piece of work.
“Martha,” shouted Sam the security man, saving the day. Don’t know when he’d snuck in, but I was mighty damn glad to see him. Given half the chance, I’d cover his craggy face in kisses. “Lay one fucking hand on her and your brother will never forgive you. I guarantee it.”
The bitch froze.
“Hey, Sam. You want some Chivas?” I asked, offering the black-suited muscle man the bottle.
“Perfect. I’ll take that, shall I, Miss Rollins?” He set the bottle back in its place among the fine selection of booze.
“So you’re Ben’s sister,” I said, sucking down my apple juice once more. “Interesting.”
Sam put his cell to his ear, eyes looking somewhat worried for once. The bulky bodyguard had never shown the slightest hint of fear before that I’d seen. What a turn for the bizarre my day had taken. And what an almighty bitch on wheels Ben’s sister was. I sent up a quick prayer that those particular genes skipped a generation or three. No wonder Dave had traded up for Ev. Yikes.
“No way can he be swallowing whatever shit she’s peddling,” spat Martha.
“Mr. Nicholson,” said Sam into the cell. “Your sister has come to visit.”
“Let me talk to him.” Martha stuck out her hand.
The look Sam gave her. Whoa. It even made Martha pause again. Whatever the history was, there, I bet it was one hell of a tale.
“Yes, Miss Rollins and her have met,” reported Sam into the cell. “I just interrupted them exchanging words. The situation was somewhat volatile.”
He quieted, listening to whatever Ben was saying. Then he turned to me. “Miss Rollins, he’d like to know if you’re okay.”
“Best of health, Sam. All good.” I grinned. It’d been a good six or so years since I’d gotten into any fights. The bulk of us grew up and cut out such nonsense. If Martha was hell-bent on meeting my protective mothering instincts, however, then so be it.
Ben and Sam chatted on. Mostly the conversation on Sam’s side consisted of yes, sirs and so on. “Sir,” said Sam eventually, “I wonder if it might help resolve the situation if I had a quiet talk with your sister?” One final “Yes, sir” and he disconnected the call.
“Miss Rollins, would you be so good as to give Martha and I a moment alone?”
“Sure, Sam.” I wandered into my bedroom, juice in hand. My ear was pressed up against the closed door within two one-hundredths of a second. Listening in to others’ conversations is a terrible flaw, I know. No way, however, could I miss this.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sam began, his voice low and deadly. “I watched you fuck up shit with your brother and Dave for years. To the point where you had to be sent to the other side of the country so you’d stop causing trouble.”
“Who is she?”
“She’s the girl your brother thinks the fucking world of, and she’s carrying his kid. He was planning on introducing you to her tomorrow, after giving you a heads-up about the situation,” said Sam. “He was hoping you could help her get some maternity clothes, since you know the city.”
The bitch scoffed. “You must be joking.”
“No. See here’s the sad thing. Your brother actually believes in you, thinks you’ve just made a couple of mistakes but that you’ve learned from them and have grown up. He doesn’t get what a bitter, self-centered bitch you are.”
Apparently she had nothing to say to this.
“But then, love fucks with how people see things. And your brother, he does love you, despite all the shit you’ve pulled over the years.”
“I only want to protect him,” she said, voice trembling with fury. “She’s conning him, she’s got to be. Ben’s never been the type to settle down, you know that as well as I do. He’s basically a professional millionaire slacker. He can barely see beyond the next jam session and bottle of beer.”
“People change.”
“Well, if he’s so into her then no way is he thinking clearly. He’s soft, Sam. He’s not like us. We see the world as it really is. People are just out to use the guys, they always have been. And this girl is no different, I can tell just by looking at her.”
Like hell she could.
Sam swore fervently. “You’re right that we see things as they really are. What are you really afraid of, Martha? Worried that if your brother’s actually in a relationship for once, got a woman and a kid to look after, he won’t be inclined to keep propping up your expensive lifestyle?”
Silence.
“You’re the user here, Martha. You always were.”
“Fuck you. He’s my brother.”
“Yeah, your brother, not your bank account. You might want to learn the difference between the two one day.”
No way. Holy hell. So that’s the expense Ben talked about last night—keeping his sister in the lifestyle she’d apparently become accustomed to while living with the band. The only real family he had was bleeding him dry. What an utter bitch. No matter what he’d said, I highly doubted that anything involving this money-sucking leech was under control. Man, did I want another chance to swing a nice hard object at her pretty little skull. But it was his money and family, not mine. Therefore, none of my business really. Not that I stopped listening or dreaming of ways to make this woman disappear. Odd, caring for Bean and Ben really brought out the violent side of me. I swear I was a pacifist usually.