Punishing Me (Shaft on Tour #6) (8 page)

Linda, Listen

Ireland

Catastrophic.

That’s
the only word I can use to describe the quiet dinner my parents planned with
some friends. Turns out friends is code word for potential investors. The icing
on the cake: someone tipped off the media, resulting in a restaurant and window
front full of headline hounds and blinding flashbulbs.

That
someone being my very own father. Go figure…

When
my own father proceeded to flaunt me like an investment perk, you could say I
felt betrayed and used. Needless to say, when I lost my shit and stormed out,
there were plenty of video vultures ready to pounce on every morsel.

Padding
down the stairs, I head straight for the kitchen. The coffee pot has been
calling my name for hours, but I couldn’t make myself leave my bed. I couldn’t
sleep either. Now, the need for the clarity, only a cup of coffee can give my
frazzled mind, outweighs anything else.

I
haven’t looked at my phone, or glanced to see how the story has been spun yet.
I was supposed to lay low. Take my week off and keep my ass off radar so that
the frenzy for photos and stories about me could die down before we hit the
road for the last of the tour dates. Now, this little stunt is going to have me
in hot water with everyone.

I
have never been so tired, yet so wide awake in my life. My mind is on overdrive,
running like the energizer bunny, but the rest of me feels completely drained.
I’m helpless while my brain replays, not only last night, but all the greatest
hits from the last few years. My parents less than impressed faces seeming to
be the one common denominator.

As
if living this shit wasn’t bad enough the first time.

"Good
morning, Ireland."

The
tone in my mother's voice tells me it's about to be anything but. Squaring my
shoulders, I enter the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee pot.

"It
was," I mutter under my breath. “I thought you’d already left for the lab.”

“I
wanted to talk to you before I left,” she informs me.

“Oh,”
I say, sarcastically. “Now, you want to talk? Hmm, I wonder if Satan has
mittens for when Hell freezes over.”

"I
don't believe I care for your tone," she returns, staring down at her
coffee cup. "You made a mess of things last night. Let your father and me
down when we were counting on you." Meeting my eyes, she narrows her gaze.
"While you’ve been sulking, I have been on the phone trying to contain and
control the damage you created. The least you could do is be apologetic and
show some sort of remorse for your actions."

"Well,
if that isn’t the pot callin’ the kettle black, I don’t know what is. Consider
yourself lucky. I may have let you down last night, but you’ve let me down
every day of my life. Do I really only exist to you when it has the opportunity
to benefit you?" I ask, grabbing a mug and pouring myself a coffee. "I
can’t believe you don’t or won’t see how fucked up that is! I am your daughter!
Your goddamn flesh and blood. I never agreed to be paraded around like some
show pony, Mother, but you also never told me your intentions. Did you? Do you
even care how I feel about last night, or are you too wrapped up in your own
little world to see that other people live in it with you?” Blowing the steam
from my mug, I sip. Swallowing, I sigh and lean back against the counter. “You
want an apology, Stephanie? I’ll give you one. I’m sorry I didn’t see your
hidden agenda. You’ll have to forgive me for believing, that for a second, my
parents actually wanted to include me in their lives. Not that you ever have
before or anything. How stupid of me to believe you’d start now.”

 “Careful,
young lady,” she warns, her face hardening.

“What,
exactly, did you promise them?” I continue, ignoring her completely. “Was I
supposed to do birthday parties? School assemblies? Music lessons? Hell, I
wonder what kind of investments a few quickies in the back would get you. I hear
I’m a great lay.”

“That’s
enough!” she screams, slamming her hand down on the table. “We taught you
better than this. No matter what we’ve done for you, given you, Ireland, you’ve
always been so selfish. The publicity could have been our chance to draw
attention to the work we are doing. Work that will change the world someday. Can’t
you see beyond that brat mentality of yours for once and see what you cost us
last night? Your little tantrum set our research budget for next year back
months.”

“That’s
right,” I nod, placing my cup in the sink. “It doesn’t matter what it costs
anyone else, does it? You’re not concerned with the fact that your actions
cause problems for others.” Throwing up my hands, I round the counter for the
doorway. “The selfish brat thing must be a family trait.”

“Ireland!”
she shouts, “I’m not finished with this discussion.”

Stopping
dead in the doorway, I glance at her over my shoulder. “You know what sucks?” I
ask, my eyes and throat burning with the tears I refuse to let fall. “I think
this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had. There was a time when I’d have
done anything you asked for your approval and attention. All I ever wanted was
for you to see one fucking thing I did and be proud of me. I ached for a close
relationship with you; but now,” I shake my head. “I don’t even want to be here.”

“If
that’s how you feel,” she sighs, looking down at her hands again, “then you
should leave.”

Without
another word, I leave the room. There is nothing more to say. My opinion and
feelings don’t matter anyway. The lines are very clear with my mother. If your
actions aren’t helping her, then you’re of no use to her.

Storming
into my room, I start throwing my shit in my suitcase. She’s right, I should
leave. That may be the only thing we ever agree on. The front door slams so
hard, the floor shakes beneath my bare feet. Not like I expected anything else
from her after that… It’s true what they say. If you stand back and pay
attention, people will show you who they really are. The blinders are off and I
have no choice to face facts. I never belonged here.

I’m
a misfit, born into a family I was never meant to fit into.

Dragging
my bags down the steps, I jump when the doorbell chimes. “The fuck?” I ask
myself, knowing that the only people who can get to the front door without me
knowing have to have the access code to the gate. Since they all have keys,
none of those people would need to use the doorbell.

Pushing
up on my toes, I look out the peephole and see nothing but white. A horn beeps,
relentlessly, over and over in some sort of brain bleeding Morse code. “Who in
the hell?” I ask, shaking my head. Grabbing an umbrella from the stand beside
where our coats hang on the wall, I fling open the door, prepared to rip
whoever managed to get in when my mother left a new ass.

Instead,
I run face first into a chest. A very large, very hard, chest.

“Whoa
there.” Gripping my shoulders, big hands and strong arms stop me in my tracks. The
umbrella falls to my feet, my hands flattening against the white t-shirt
covered torso. “After watching YouTube videos of what emotional women, armed
with umbrellas, are capable of doing to a vehicle, I cannot let you take
another step. I love her too much. Take me instead.”

Looking
up at Dominick, I roll my eyes. “Just fucking great,” I mutter, unable to move.
“How the hell did you get in here?”

“It
seems your parents haven’t changed the gate code in a very long time,” he
replies, releasing his grip on me. “Years, actually,” he adds, waggling his
brows.

“I’ll
be sure to put it on the board once I load my car,” I snap, quickly dropping my
hands to my sides.

“Hi,
Ireland! I played you a song on the horn.”

Mack
steps aside, giving me a perfect view of Jasmine, hanging out of the sunroof of
his car, waving her arms. She has on bright pink sunglasses, and a matching
baseball cap, flipped around backwards so the brim isn’t in her face.

“I
heard,” I laugh, mostly relieved it’s them and that I didn’t open the damn door
and come face to face with some ninja breed of paparazzi.

“Why
don’t you play on my phone, Squirt?” Dominick says, turning his head to look at
her. “I need to talk to Ireland for a minute.”

“Can
I play the driving game?” she asks, rubbing her hands together and grinning
wickedly. “I wanna shoot up them hoochie mamas.”

He
points at her, shaking his head. “They’re not hoochie mamas. They’re pimply
employed women, meant to enhance the downtown cruising experience for the right
price.”

“Listen,
Linda,” she shouts, throwing up her hands. “I’m done arguing with you!”

Wrapping
my arms around my middle, I bend at the waist and laugh. The uncontrollable fit
of giggles feels good compared how I felt just minutes ago. Crossing his arms
over his chest, Dominick stares down at me. I don’t even have to look up to
know he is, I can feel the heat of his gaze as his eyes rake over my body.

“I
gotta stop watching YouTube videos and Vines around that damn kid,” he mutters.
“She is killin’ me.”

“What
do you want, Dominick?” I ask, straightening. Taking a step back, I pick up the
umbrella, and shove it back into the stand. “I know you’re not here to plead
your case for underappreciated, fictional street walkers.”

“Fictional
characters are people too, you know,” he replies, arching a brow. When I don’t
say anything back, he holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay,” he starts.
“Since Jared quit, and Henry is looking for someone to replace him before the
next tour date, I’m gonna be keepin’ an eye on you.”

“You
being my shadow is a horrible idea, Nicky. I don’t think so.” Turning around, I
step inside the house and grab my shoes. Brushing by him, I take a seat on the
porch steps to put them on. “Thanks, but, no thanks.”

“It’s
cute how you think you have a choice,” he chuckles. “Hate to break it to ya, Brat,”
he says, the moment the word
brat
leaves his lips, I push to my feet. My
hands clench into fists. That word, those four fucking letters, have me
seething. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” he finishes.

Rearing
back my fist, I ram it into his stomach. “Call me that one more goddamn time,
Bradford, and I’ll shove my fist so far up your ass, you’ll be able to taste my
nail polish!”

“Damn,
woman,” he says, the breath rushing out of him. “What the hell was that for?”

Pain
shoots up my arm, my entire body shakes, and my teeth feel like they are going
to rattle loose as if I were in some crazy, Saturday morning cartoon. “Ow, Asshole,”
I hiss, shaking my aching arm and flexing my fingers. “This is my strumming
hand.”

“Stop
that right now!” Jazz shouts, slamming her tiny fist on the hood like a judge’s
gavel. “I will take away snack time and put you both in the Get Along Shirt.”

“The
what?” I ask, attempting to rub the soreness out of my hand.

She
rolls her eyes, blowing out an exasperated breath. “It’s this big shirt Rae
puts on Bran and me when we aren’t nice to each other.”

“Sounds
stupid,” I mutter.

“You
have no idea,” Mack chuckles quietly. “They look ridiculous.”

“I’m
sure you have video, too, don’t you?” I ask him, arching a brow.

“Yep,”
he grins. “It’s never too early to instill the fear of blackmail material.”

“I’m
hungry!” Jazzie announces, yanking off her sunglasses and glaring at us.

“Hey,
hungry, I’m Mack.”

Her
eyes narrow, her now bright red covered lips pursing up. “It’s lunch o’clock, Kitty
Pie. Feed me or I’ll eat your face off.”

“What’s
that on your lips?” he asks, stepping down off the porch toward the car.

“Duh!”
she huffs, cupping her face and smacking her lips together. “It’s lipstick, ya
big buncha crazy.”

“I
know it’s lipstick, ya big buncha crazy,” he fires back, mocking her. “Lipstick
that you didn’t walk out of the house wearing, or even have on five minutes
ago.”

“Ballbuster,”
she grumbles, disappearing down into the car.

“You
weren’t kidding about loading your car, were you?” he asks me, ignoring
Jazzie’s comment and gesturing at my stuff stacked beside the door. “Few days
early to pack up, isn’t it?”

“Actually,
I thought I’d take a little trip down to Tijuana,” I answer, shrugging my
shoulders. “Funny thing, I woke up in the mood to wear a poncho while eating
tacos and drinking whiskey in a beach hut.”

“Whadaya
know?” he chuckles, nodding his head. “The kid and I hit the pubs in Dublin
last night. Those fuckers from Riverdance haven’t called us back yet. I’ve got
hope though.”

“I’m
going to a hotel,” I say, honestly, giving him another shrug. “I need some
alone time. You can follow me there if you don’t believe me.”

Dominick
nods thoughtfully, mulling over what I just said. Looking over at my car, he
shakes his head. “It really is cute how you think you have a choice. Get your
shit, let’s go.”