Raw: The Ultimate Mc Collection (143 page)

“Not impossible.  Just too much work for you, right, Seth?”  I was disgusted by this guy.  Obviously, he cared not one bit about Jett or her safety. “Did you ever think to put her in a different, less obvious room? Like, just maybe, this fucking Crazy Jack, might be intelligent enough to know that she’s staying in the goddamned penthouse every time?”

“If Jett stayed anywhere else, once again, the media would hear of it, and then they would wonder if her career was failing.  We have to keep up appearances, Colt.”

“This is fucking ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” 

I wanted to punch him so badly.  I wanted to break those stupid glasses and shove them up his ass.  Was he really such a great manager that Jett couldn’t find someone else better? Someone who could do the job and still find a way to keep her safe?

No fucking wonder she called me.  

“Look, Jett gave me a copy of her schedule for the next several weeks. Now, I need you to give me a complete report on everything this Crazy Jack has done so far, and where he’s shown up.  I want to know where she’s playing, and where’s she staying and any other engagements she has.  I’m taking over as head of security.  If you have a fucking problem with that, then it’s too bad. Whatever you’ve been doing up till now hasn’t worked.  From now on, you can consider Jett’s safety my responsibility.”

“You can’t —,”

“Watch me,” I said, interrupting him before he could even begin protesting.  This little weasel of a man wasn’t going to put Jett at risk ever again. 

Not if I could help it.

CHAPTER NINE

CRAZY JACK

I put on the long, black wig, adjusting it in the mirror until it was perfect.  Jett’s MAC lipstick was the perfect shade of whore red, and I spread it across my lips, smacking them together the same way I had seen my mother do when she was getting to ready to go out every single night of my childhood.  Her eerie red smile was always the last thing I’d see before she locked me in that dark shed.

I have to make some money, she would say.  But I knew what she was doing.  She would come home after dawn, after I had shivered all night in the darkness waiting for her, giggling to herself and smelling like a vile mixture of sweat and aftershave once she finally brought me in to bed and kissed me goodnight.  Her red whore lipstick would be smeared across her face, her mascara in clumps on her eyelids.  

It was disgusting.  I would have left, but I had nowhere to go.  No father to complain to.  Just me and my whore mother, for better or worse. And it always got worse.

After a while, she began bringing her tricks home, and instead of silently waiting for her to return, I was left there all night, or brought inside and forced to lie there trying to find away to muffle the sounds of their hideous moaning and whimpering.   The headboard pounding against the wall my room shared with hers.  No amount of pillows over my head would do the job.

So, I listened. I heard it all. And I felt every thrust against the wall.  I knew things about my mother that boys should never know.  The sounds of her getting fucked by a different man night after night echoed in my head even today.

The only thing that could successfully drown it out was Jett’s music.  Like now.  

Right now, it was easy to forget.

I wasn’t Jack Anderson, I was Jett.  Beautiful, talented, amazing Jett.  Singing at the top of my lungs, I twirled around the room in my favorite outfit.  The black leather pants that I ordered online laced up the front, even though it took a huge effort to keep my cock tucked between my legs and still lace them up.  A lacy, black padded bra made it look like I had real tits, and they were almost as spectacular as Jett’s.   And the boots.  I had the hardest time finding them and I had ended up ordering them from a cross dressing website online to find them in my size.  Made of shiny black leather, they zipped up the back and walking on the five-inch heels made my leather covered ass perk up fabulously.

I stopped dancing and finished applying my makeup.  Heavy, black rings of eyeliner and thick mascara were the final touches, and I delighted in the end result, just as I always did.

There was just one thing missing.  

I pulled the sleek black leather from my closet, and slid it over my shoulders.  The arms were too small, and they pinched the skin around my biceps, but I didn’t care.  

The fringe flew out in a circle as I twirled around again.  The sound of loud guitars and the voice of my angel washed over me as I danced around the room, lost in ecstasy as I imagined the moment I would finally touch my beloved Jett.

My hands trailed down my stomach, sliding under the laces of the leather pants, and gripping my now hard cock.  

Soon, she would be all mine.  I stroked my cock, looking in the mirror.  If I squinted my eyes, I could almost imagine it was Jett touching me.  Jett, stroking me faster and faster as she pressed her gorgeous, freshly cleansed body against me, her voice singing in my ear as waves of shuddering pleasure wash over me.  

Just as I was about to spill over the edge, I was interrupted by the loud shrieking of my cellphone.

I looked at the caller ID and smiled.

“Hello?” I answered.

“The Hilton. Century Boulevard. Los Angeles.”

CHAPTER TEN

JETT

“Seth, I need a fucking vacation!”

“It’s just a bad time, Jett, and you know it.  You’re booked solid for the next eight months.  And then you’re in the studio after that.”

“I don’t really give a fuck, Seth.  This isn’t fun anymore.  I don’t know if it ever really was.”

“Well, you’re stuck, Jett.  This is your life now.  Be grateful.  A lot of people would kill to be in your shoes.”

“Yeah, right.” 

I hung up the phone and turned around to see Colt watching me. Once again, we were in another hotel room.  They all looked the same to me, and if I hadn’t checked the schedule earlier, I wouldn’t even known we were in Los Angeles.

“You know, you really are the one in charge,” Colt said.

“Yeah, sure,” I replied, sighing heavily and sinking into the white, silk couch.  

“Where’s your Mom, Jett?  You haven’t mentioned her much at all.”  Jett’s dad had never been in the picture, and she had always been especially close with her Mom.

“My mom? Who fucking cares?”

“Wow. What happened?”

“You mean what happened after she pushed me into all this bullshit?  After that ridiculous television contest and all the shit that happened, she was actually pretty supportive when I decided to change my image and play my own songs.  She didn’t give a shit what I was doing, as long as the money was coming in.  One day, she left her bank account open on a computer in my room. She had been checking it online, and was interrupted by a phone call.  I looked, and it was then that I realized she had been funneling money from my production company into her bank account.  We had long ago decided on a salary for her, even though she didn’t do a goddamned thing but nag me.  Apparently, she decided that wasn’t enough for her, so she gave herself a raise of about a thousand percent.”

“No fucking way.  You own Mom was stealing from you?”

“Yep. And you know what? Nobody would have known if I hadn’t seen it for myself.  She had herself set up as the administrator for the company, and there was nobody else looking at the books.”

“When I confronted her, she broke down crying.  It was pathetic.  I put her on the next plane home, and I haven’t talked to her since then.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About six years.”

Colt whistled under his breathe.

“Goddamn, girl.  Is there anyone you can trust in this business? Don’t you have any friends?”  He looked at me tenderly, and I melted under his concern. It was nice to have someone who wasn’t out for my money.

“I do now,” I said, softly smiling at him.

“Damn fucking right you do,” he grumbled, wrapping his massive arms around me.  His warmth enveloped me, and I sighed against his chest.  I had never felt safer in my life than I did at that moment.

****

When I started the last song that night, I looked over to the side of the stage and saw Colt standing there.  He was quite a vision, too.  His arms were folded across his chest as he scanned the crowd. Rex stood behind him, pissed off that Colt was still around. When he saw me looking at him, he gave me a nod and a wink before I turned away, my fingers striking the guitar to begin the last song.

The last few minutes of the show were always the most exhausting and the most satisfying.  It was a strange high that I received after I had sweated my proverbial balls off.  The crowd’s energy was at its peak, and we fed off of each other.  When that song was over, I ran off the stage to the sound of hundreds of people stomping and yelling my name.  It was a deafening roar, and I winked at Colt as I walked past him to speak to Rex.

“The redhead wearing all black, and the blonde on the right in the white, low-cut top,” I whispered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he grumbled. “That’s all? No men?”

“Not tonight, Rex,” I replied.

Colt looked at me curiously as Rex walked away.  I jumped back on stage and waved to the crowd.  The encore was dirty, quick and easy, but if I didn’t indulge the fans with the appearance of having given in to them, they would have stayed there chanting all fucking night.

When the last note played, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.  It was over.  For at least twenty-four hours, I could relax.  After bowing with my band to loud raucous applause for several minutes, we trailed off stage.

As usual, my loyal assistant, Sam was there, her usual barrage of babble just waiting for me to ignore it.  

Colt grabbed my elbow, and ushered me to my green room.  Once we were inside, I made a beeline to the waiting whiskey bottle. 

“God, I need a fucking drink!” I said, not thinking.  When I turned to look at this face, I remembered.  “Oh, fuck, sorry.”

“It’s fine, no worries. Enjoy your drink, you earned it, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”  If I earned it, then why did I feel guilty gulping it down in front of him?

“So, what did you think?” I asked, pushing the guilt away.

He sidled up to me, his eyes smoldering as he peered deeply into mine.

“I think you work too hard, that’s what I think.”

“So you didn’t like the show?” I asked.

“Of course I fucking liked it, are you kidding? You’re a fucking powerhouse, like I said before.  I’m not surprised you’ve got crazy stalkers.  You could drive a man wild with that body, those songs…that…ass.” He winked at me and I burst out laughing.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.  If I hadn’t known you since you were a pimply faced teenager, I might be blown away, too,” he said.

Oh, great.  That’s what was holding him back, huh?

“Yeah, Colt?” I said, suddenly feeling like I had a lot of work to do.  I intended to see what was under those boxers, and soon, and if it took some convincing, well what the hell.  Why not?  I was up for the challenge.  “Then I guess it won’t matter if I do this.”

I took another sip of my liquid courage, and pulled the black lacy camisole I was wearing over my head.  I stood in front of him, my breasts threatening to spill out of my black bra, daring him to react.  Yearning for him to react.  I wanted to feel his hands on me so badly, I could taste it. 

“Do what you gotta do,” he said, turning away from me.  My heart sank.  Maybe he wasn’t going to be so easy after all.  

“I gotta shower.” I grabbed the bottle, and walked out of the room in a huff.

****

By the time we got to the Hilton, I was three sheets to the wind, and ready to party.  Colt had been uncharacteristically quiet during the ride to the hotel, but I didn’t think much of it.  He had a habit of talking a lot and then not saying much of anything for a long period of time.  He was hot and cold, but I was so buzzed I just didn’t care.

Five minutes after we got to the hotel room, there was a knock on the door.  Colt looked at me curiously before answering it.

“Expecting someone?” he asked.

“That’ll be Rex.  Let him in.  He has a delivery for me.”