members of the Amphitheater's security staff, escorted her to the stage, where her band had already launched into her opening number.
The sky was midnight dark; the crowd was on its feet, chanting her name. Electricity crackled in the air.
It was showtime.
And Sweet Baby Jane never missed a show.
Later that night, after the concert
"Do you think she liked me?"
Derek McCoy drew deep on a hit of prime Colombian, held it in his lungs, then passed the joint to the girl. He made quick work of stripping off his clothes and lay back on the king-sized bed of the suite Her Highness, Miss Cock Tease Perkins, had sprung for.
"Quit worrying about impressing her and start impressing me, darlin'," he drawled, working to curb his temper as she passed the joint back to him. "Lose the threads. I promised you I'd get you backstage to meet her and I did. Now it's time to pay up. Show me those big tits you're so proud of. And then I want to see your head in my lap."
Tammy, or Tansy or Tara or whatever the hell her name was, whipped her crop top over her head, unselfconsciously displaying her firm, full teenage breasts. God, he loved his life. All the pussy and weed he wanted. All the head he could handle.
Yeah, he thought as she went down on her knees between his thighs and took him in her mouth.
He fuckin' loved his life.
He jerked to a sitting position when she started working him over, cupped her head in his hands, and guided her in a fast and frenzied rhythm, pretending it was Janey kneeling and supplicant and kowtowing to him.
Yeah, he loved his life. But he hated Janey Perkins with a passion.
The bitch. She shut him down. Over and over again, she fuckin' shut him down. Women didn't turn Derek McCoy away. Women fought to get into his pants.
But not Janey Perkins. Hell no. To her, he was nothing but a lapdog. Licking her feet. Scrambling for the scraps she tossed him. Begging her to throw him a bone.
"Harder," he growled, knotting his hands in the hair of the girl who was a poor substitute for the woman he wanted to bring to her knees.
More. He wanted her more than on her knees. He wanted to make sure she got what she really deserved.
As the girl finished him off, he clenched his teeth, came with a groan, and fell back on the bed.
Yeah. He wanted Janey Perkins to get everything she deserved. And someday, someday soon, he'd be dancing on her grave when she got it.
Thursday, July 13th, Tupelo
"You doing all right, snooks?"
Janey pinched out a smile to reassure Max that she was holding up, thankful as always, for his support. As of three days ago, he was the only parental figure left in her life—even if on a surrogate basis. Not that her mother had ever been stellar in the role.
Guilt—for the bitterness she felt—settled heavy and deep. Alice Perkins was dead. She hadn't been much of a mother, but she deserved someone to grieve for her. Janey appeared to be the only candidate. And yet her eyes were dry. Partly due to shock. Partly due to fatigue. Mostly because she'd lost her mother a long, long time ago.
Baby Blue sat stoic and watchful in the front seat of the Lincoln Town Car that drove them from the cemetery back to the funeral home. Outside, through the Lincoln's tinted windows, Janey caught glimpses of the press with their zoom lenses aimed at the vehicle. The Lincoln actually had to stop in the middle of the highway when a slew of photographers blocked their way.
"Damn jackals," Max sputtered. "Bastards can't even let you bury your mother in private."
It was the cost of being who she was.
One of the costs, anyway.
Fanatics like Edwin Grimm were another.
And now this. The news of her mother's death had compounded the feeling that someone was watching her. And not just the paparazzi who dogged her like a bad aftertaste. Just knowing that Grimm was on the loose had her constantly fighting
The sky was midnight dark; the crowd was on its feet, chanting her name. Electricity crackled in the air.
It was showtime.
And Sweet Baby Jane never missed a show.
Later that night, after the concert
"Do you think she liked me?"
Derek McCoy drew deep on a hit of prime Colombian, held it in his lungs, then passed the joint to the girl. He made quick work of stripping off his clothes and lay back on the king-sized bed of the suite Her Highness, Miss Cock Tease Perkins, had sprung for.
"Quit worrying about impressing her and start impressing me, darlin'," he drawled, working to curb his temper as she passed the joint back to him. "Lose the threads. I promised you I'd get you backstage to meet her and I did. Now it's time to pay up. Show me those big tits you're so proud of. And then I want to see your head in my lap."
Tammy, or Tansy or Tara or whatever the hell her name was, whipped her crop top over her head, unselfconsciously displaying her firm, full teenage breasts. God, he loved his life. All the pussy and weed he wanted. All the head he could handle.
Yeah, he thought as she went down on her knees between his thighs and took him in her mouth.
He fuckin' loved his life.
He jerked to a sitting position when she started working him over, cupped her head in his hands, and guided her in a fast and frenzied rhythm, pretending it was Janey kneeling and supplicant and kowtowing to him.
Yeah, he loved his life. But he hated Janey Perkins with a passion.
The bitch. She shut him down. Over and over again, she fuckin' shut him down. Women didn't turn Derek McCoy away. Women fought to get into his pants.
But not Janey Perkins. Hell no. To her, he was nothing but a lapdog. Licking her feet. Scrambling for the scraps she tossed him. Begging her to throw him a bone.
"Harder," he growled, knotting his hands in the hair of the girl who was a poor substitute for the woman he wanted to bring to her knees.
More. He wanted her more than on her knees. He wanted to make sure she got what she really deserved.
As the girl finished him off, he clenched his teeth, came with a groan, and fell back on the bed.
Yeah. He wanted Janey Perkins to get everything she deserved. And someday, someday soon, he'd be dancing on her grave when she got it.
Thursday, July 13th, Tupelo
"You doing all right, snooks?"
Janey pinched out a smile to reassure Max that she was holding up, thankful as always, for his support. As of three days ago, he was the only parental figure left in her life—even if on a surrogate basis. Not that her mother had ever been stellar in the role.
Guilt—for the bitterness she felt—settled heavy and deep. Alice Perkins was dead. She hadn't been much of a mother, but she deserved someone to grieve for her. Janey appeared to be the only candidate. And yet her eyes were dry. Partly due to shock. Partly due to fatigue. Mostly because she'd lost her mother a long, long time ago.
Baby Blue sat stoic and watchful in the front seat of the Lincoln Town Car that drove them from the cemetery back to the funeral home. Outside, through the Lincoln's tinted windows, Janey caught glimpses of the press with their zoom lenses aimed at the vehicle. The Lincoln actually had to stop in the middle of the highway when a slew of photographers blocked their way.
"Damn jackals," Max sputtered. "Bastards can't even let you bury your mother in private."
It was the cost of being who she was.
One of the costs, anyway.
Fanatics like Edwin Grimm were another.
And now this. The news of her mother's death had compounded the feeling that someone was watching her. And not just the paparazzi who dogged her like a bad aftertaste. Just knowing that Grimm was on the loose had her constantly fighting
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