Текст книги "Heart of Rock"

Автор книги: Karyn Gerrard

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 6 страниц)

Chapter Two

Here we go again.Nevan glared at his naked brother who was snoring loudly, face-down on the bed. Reese had called him last night and told him everything that transpired. Reese was livid. He had never heard the boyo so angry. He couldn't blame him. A few hours' drive and here he was in Philadelphia. He talked to the guy outside the dressing room door. Apparently Brogan's manager had enough and quit yesterday. His band couldn't stand Brogan either; they had already left in the tour bus to head to their next date. So Brogan was alone. The Spectrum guys wanted him out. No doubt to fumigate the bloody room. Jaysus, what a stench.

According to the bloke outside the door, two women had left before dawn. He searched them, and they had robbed Brogan of money and drugs. He took the stuff back and let them go. No cops. No fuss. No scandal.

Nevan really didn't want to deal with this. Reese was near the end of his rope, and so was he. Following his older brother on tour seemed like it might be a feckin' adventure. So he and Reese had flown over on BOAC to join the rock voyage. Brogan was going down a self-destructive road, and he was not in a frame of mind to be a support. Nevan had enough going on in his own life. Thankfully, the guy outside had put in a call to Cascade Records, and the boss, Nigel Winwood, was sending down people to deal with Brogan. Let them handle this shite mess.

So why would he come here?He had asked himself the same question all the way up the interstate. Deny it he might, but he cared what happened to Brogan.

* * * *

Carly Montgomery walked down the long tunnel below the Spectrum with her assistant, Giovanni Enaudi. She'd received the call from Nigel, the owner and president of Cascade Records, and cringed inwardly when she heard she would be looking after Brogan Byrne, the Irish scumbag. He had a reputation already throughout Cascade and the rock world itself. She was as ambitious as the next person, and she wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to handle Cascade's top rock star. At the moment, Brogan Byrne was the top concert act in North America. Too bad the year-long tour was nearly over. Regardless, she was determined to make an impression. She glanced up at her huge assistant. Gio would be perfect for kicking Irish ass when Byrne stepped out of line. Gio stood six foot five inches tall and was built like a brick wall.

"After we ascertain the damage, make sure the limo is brought around to the side entrance."

"You got it, boss," he replied.

Carly pushed open the door, stepped into the dressing room, and walked up to a rather gorgeous man. Who was this? He gave her the once-over as well.

"You work for Nigel?"

"No, I'm the drunken shite's brother. I just arrived."

Oooo, lovely Irish accent.Her eyes scanned down over the muscular chest on display through a half-buttoned multi-colored shirt. If Brogan Byrne was as good looking in person as his brother, maybe her job wouldn't be as arduous as she imagined.

"Carly Montgomery. I'll be managing your brother going forward."

"Fair play. I'm Nevan Byrne. He is going to need some managing and some babysitting. Good luck with him."

Nevan started for the door. Carly halted him with her hand on his arm. "You're not leaving, are you? I could use your help, you being family and all. I have to get him on a plane for New York."

"I'm not my brother's keeper, not anymore. I'm not sticking around to wipe his nose or his arse. That's your job, one you're being paid to do."

The man spoke with no emotion. Jeez, cold bastard. She could imagine his family had had enough of Byrne, though. She couldn't really blame him.

Carly sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I can smell your brother from here."

She glanced over to the darkened corner of the large dressing room. A rather well-shaped and muscular bare ass was clearly visible along with a long, lean, gorgeous body face-down on the bed. Even his calves were perfectly shaped. Loud, ragged snores wafted across the room. Carly let her admiring gaze linger.

She turned to Gio briefly. "Get him in the shower, stuff him into some clean clothes, and toss him into the limo. We leave right away. I'll deal with the stadium guys. They'll have to bill us for this mess."

Carly glanced around the room: broken lamp, empty liquor bottles, half-eaten pizza and—yuck—a used condom.

Carly turned back to Nevan and flashed her most charming smile. "Sure you don't want to come to New York? Cascade will pay all your expenses. In fact, I can put you on the payroll for this leg of the tour if you'd like. Name your price."

Gio went to the bed and slung a still-unconscious and naked Byrne over his shoulder like a sack of dirty laundry. He headed toward the bathroom.

Carly smiled again. "Gio is my muscle and my assistant. I think he will do nicely for handling your brother. Is there anything you can tell me about him, anything I should know, besides the obvious?"

Carly watched in amusement as Brogan Byrne was taken away. She soon heard the water running and a shout from the rock star. No doubt cold water. Good.

"What else is there to tell you? Lately he's been a stranger to me, as he is to our younger brother, Reese, and his own girlfriend, Abbie. They were here last night. Brogan all but forced them to join an orgy he had going on. He needs medical care. I was going to take him to the doctor—you can do it. He needs to dry out. He needs a swift kick in the arse. And I'm sorry, it won't be me. I'm not interested. Not anymore."

Carly observed the pain that flickered briefly in Nevan's eyes. Oh, he cared. He'd had enough of his brother's antics and needed out. Well, she couldn't force him. She reached in her pocket and handed him her business card.

"If you should change your mind, call me. I'll do what I can, but if his own family can't get him to straighten up and fly right, I can't see me having much success. My job is to see he is sober and able to perform on the night of the concert. What he does in between shows—" Nevan Byrne flashed a brief, pained expression again. "Okay, I'll try. If I have to hire someone to stay with him day and night, I will. But the record company and the concert promoter will put up with only so much."

Nevan nodded, "Tell Brogan." He slipped the card in his shirt pocket. "I'll try to make the Newark concert, but I can't promise."

Carly said, "Fair enough."

* * * *

"Where the feck am I again?"

Looking at him, Carly shook her head. "Are you going to become one of those pathetic, burnt out, brain-fried bastards who need index cards wherever you go so you know what city you're in?"

He interrupted her and in an uninterested tone explained, "Love, I always needed index cards to tell me what city I was in."

She sighed in exasperation but continued, "We're still in Philly in a private VIP lounge at the airport waiting on a flight to JFK. In New York. You have a concert in two nights, remember?"

"Far out," Brogan mumbled in annoyance.

"Guess I'll have to introduce myself again. Carly Montgomery. I'm your new manager. Byron quit last night. I suppose you don't remember that, either."

"No. I really don't remember. The show went well, I suppose."

"Yes, the concert went fine. What happened after the show caused the concern. You all but trashed the dressing room at the Spectrum. Your mess is going to cost a pretty penny. Nigel is not impressed."

"Carly? How original. Copy Carly Simon, did you?"

He watched as her jaw set in annoyance. "I don't copy anybody. My name is Cara, but my family has called me Carly since I could crawl—and why am I explaining this to you?"

Brogan blinked and had a good look at this infuriating-as-shite woman. She was no more than five foot three inches tall. Her hair was long and wavy, dyed some two-tone shade of black with bright red streaks throughout. She wore a skintight black leather skirt and sexy four-inch black pumps. A tight gold tiger-patterned sweater hugged her feminine curves. Under the six layers of makeup he supposed she was attractive enough, no raving beauty but adequate. Her voice, however, sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

"I don't have to stay here. You can't keep me. I'll find my own feckin' way to New York—"

Carly whistled shrilly through her teeth. The door to the private lounge swung open. A man as big as a Volkswagen with a human head on it stood before Brogan with his legs apart and tree trunk-sized arms crossed defiantly.

Carly's laugh sounded smug and amused, which pissed him off further. "This is Giovanni. Gio gave you the cold shower, remember?"

He interjected again, this time more sarcastically, "Love, it's not the first cold shower I ever had."

"Regardless, he'll be your shadow going forward. Gio will keep you in line. Make sure you're a good boy and behave at the venues in future."

"I need a drink." Brogan snarled.

Carly inclined her head toward the counter. "There is fresh coffee in the pot, and some donuts in the box. That's all you're getting for now."

Jaysus Christ.He clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking. He did need a drink—badly. Times like this, he wished he smoked. He could use a fag right now. He was sober for the first time in days. Well, he would try to stay somewhat lucid for the show itself. But after the concert was over, he would put aside the few restraints. Stalking the stage and whipping the crowd into a wild froth wasn't enough for him. He always needed more. His irritated gaze roamed over the huge man in front of him. Great. His own gorilla.

Carly stood and moved to the sofa next to him. "Byrne, do you remember your younger brother and your girlfriend visited after the show?"

Brogan blinked twice. They did?He searched his brain. A brief flash of Abbie—against the door–

"Not really."

"Your other brother, Nevan, was there when I arrived this morning. This brother Reese is very pissed off. You were, in a word, a pig."

She seemed to be watching him closely, as if waiting for some reaction. Brogan kept his emotions tightly reined. His already nauseated stomach did a few more tumbles at the thought of his behavior the previous night. He couldn't remember much. If Reese and Nevan were bleedin' pissed, it must be bad.

"Listen to me, Byrne. I've been around enough rockers these last three years to see the signs. Your own band can't stand you. They went to Nigel. They will be around you only for prerequisite rehearsals and the show itself. The rest of the time? They don't want to know you. They demanded separate travel and different hotels, though I can't see that happening. You're arrogant even to your own family and to your girlfriend." Carly hesitated. "You don't remember a thing, do you?"

Brogan interjected a third time, "Love, did the Volkswagen with a head eat all the chocolate donuts?"

Carly rolled her eyes and ignored his feeble interjection.

"Even Nevan washed his hands of you. I asked him to come on tour and offered him a wage. He turned me down. Reese? He wants to rip your throat out. You disgustingly suggested they join your orgy in no uncertain terms. I won't have this kind of behavior on my watch, Brogan Byrne. I take my job seriously. I'll keep you sober for these concerts if I have to stay with you twenty-four hours a day. You will finish this tour, and you will behave. I'll see to it, and so will Gio."

Brogan didn't speak. He could no longer form words. Suddenly he was back at school on Eccles Street, and the principal was berating him for his mischievous ways. He really didn't remember Abbie and Reese being there. Was he blocking the incident out? Orgy? Oh, shite, what did he do and say? It must be bad if Reese wanted to rip his throat out. Reese was the more peace-loving of the brothers, even of the younger ones. His band had turned against him too? Well, even Derek? He and his drummer were tight. Derek had been there from the beginning.

Brogan didn't know why he acted this way and didn't know how to stop. This monster lived inside him, and it had resided there for a long time. The demon was a voracious beast. Even now it clamored and groaned. The beast wanted to be fed. The only thing quieting the fiend was drugs and sex. He needed some type of hit. He glanced over at Gio. If Tiny wasn't here, he could put the moves on this Carly. Jaysus, where did that come from?

* * * *

Carly decided to say no more. What would be the point? Besides, he would call her 'love' and make another pointless comment about donuts. She had given him enough to chew on for now. Of all the acts she had handled these last few years, none of them had the aura and the sheer magnetism of Byrne. His star power was off the charts. She instinctively knew he would be one of those enduring rock stars whose career would move to rock legend status. If he played his cards right, he could be around for damned years. Byrne could make a fortune, which in turn would make her and Cascade Records a fortune. He was self-destructing, however, and heading down a very dark path.

Byrne's aura consisted of part natural charisma, part sexual allure, and the magnetism vibrated off him. She would have to make herself immune. Carly's gaze took a quick perusal of his handsome face. His sensual full lips were deeply carved in a frown. He wore skin-tight black leather pants tucked into black motorcycle boots. His oversized sweater had black and white stripes, which matched his weird-ass hair. He wore a heavy gold chain with a huge Celtic cross. The v-neck sweater showed a teasing amount of rock-hard pectorals dusted with a sexy sprinkling of dark brown chest hair. So, his hair was the same color as his brother's. She raised her gaze to his bloodshot eyes. The amazing color mixture of emerald green and whiskey brown was mesmerizing. This man is a mess.All she had to do was get through the next five concert dates. It would take all of her intestinal fortitude. She would keep her distance and keep her guard up.

Brogan Byrne was all kinds of trouble.

Chapter Three

Twenty minutes until his show at Madison Square Garden. Brogan's opening act, David Essex, was rocking the house down. Muffled screams from concert goers and reverb from the bass shook the walls of his dressing room. Brogan couldn't stop his hands from shaking. He laid them flat next to the sink to steady them. He needed a drink or a snort, something. He asked to be left alone. Brogan tried to psych himself up like a prizefighter does before a boxing match. He took great gulps of air and exhaled slowly. He hadn't done a concert completely straight in at least a year. That fact alone was further sobering. He needed, he wanted.It was the story of his life this last year, seeing to his needs. The more he had, the more he wanted. Could he stay sober and clear of head? Drug-and booze-free? Swear off the meaningless sex? Brogan wished to hell he knew. For a brief moment he decided to be honest with himself: He was a muck-shite mess.

The door to his dressing room banged open with a good deal of force. Derek Foster, his drummer and he thought his friend, barreled into the room.

"What do you want, Derek? I want to be alone. We already discussed your drum solo."

Derek crossed his arms. "That's not why I'm here. Montgomery said I could come in. I won't stay long."

Brogan pushed away from the sink. "Juice? Crackers? Meats? That's all the she-witch will let me eat." He inclined his head to the counter. "I didn't touch the food, so help yourself."

"I can't eat before a show. It makes me nauseated. I am speaking for the band now."

Oh, Jaysus.Brogan rubbed his neck in irritation. "Go ahead."

"We can't go on like this. We are frightened fuckless you will spazz out on stage in some drug-induced haze, pull your cock out of your pants like Jim Morrison did in front of the audience. You're going to blow. Everyone knows it. I'm here to give you warning. When it happens, we walk. All of us."

Brogan continued to rub his neck. He took a few steps closer to Derek, who stood no more than five foot nine, so Brogan towered over him. Derek did not back down from his intense, laser-beam gaze. He may have been shorter, but he was tightly packed with muscle, especially his arms. His physique made him one hell of a drummer. A lock of blond hair fell over Derek's eyes. Everyone was against him, Brogan thought. Even his own guys were turning on him. Anger and disappointment boiled in his veins.

"Fine. But remember this: I made you. You are all nothing without me. I can replace you all in a heartbeat."

Derek sneered, turned, and walked toward the door. Brogan could hear Derek muttering, "Vain, arrogant fucker —"

Aye, maybe he was.

* * * *

After the show, Brogan was whisked back to the Park Lane Hotel overlooking Central Park. There was no after party, nothing. He was a prisoner in his room. He angrily stirred the embers in the fireplace. His brief conversation with Derek before the show still rankled. He hadn't had his shower yet. He was shirtless and wearing his trademark leather trousers. The fake star tattoos on his arms were smudged with sweat. The thought of getting real ones didn't appeal. He placed the fireplace tool back in the caddy and leaned on the green marble mantel.

They did put on a hell of a show. Perhaps sober was better—or maybe not. Right now, he wanted to tear the gold paper off the walls. He needed some kind of fix or he would hurl himself out the feckin' window onto unsuspecting pedestrians. Brogan was lost in thought and didn't hear the door open to his suite.

"Your manager's man let me in. Are you locked up for some reason?"

He glanced up. Abbie.

"Aye, like a monkey at the zoo. For my own good, they say."

His voice sounded bitter to his own ears. He didn't like being constrained. He pushed away from the mantel and walked toward her. "How is it you're here? Were you at the show? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to see your concert. I have seen enough of your 'shows'. The one you had in your dressing room in Philadelphia was enough for me." She kept her voice steady, but Brogan could tell she was keeping her anger tightly under wraps. "I flew in. I'm staying with my aunt in Brooklyn. I came because I have something to tell you, and it couldn't wait. I'm breaking up with you, Brogan. We're done."

Those words and her tone of voice. He didn't expect this. Figured she would always be there. Abbie had said she loved him, and recently. Was it all a lie? Christ, what happened in Philly? His clear-eyed gaze observed her defensive pose. Her hands were clasped behind her back. Hope to hell she wasn't holding a gun.

"Abbie, whatever happened, I'm sorry. I don't even remember you being there at the Spectrum. I heard I acted like a pig. I don't know why…" He knew bloody well why. He was high, drunk, and beyond all reason.

"This isn't about your disgusting behavior. Although it was a slap to the face to walk in on some woman on her knees giving you head. I know there have been other women. Don't try to deny it. I have proof."

Brogan crossed his arms defensively. His insides clenched. Bleedin' hell, she walked in on someone sucking on his pipe? Reese as well? What did she mean by 'proof'?

"So you had me followed? Had pictures taken?" he sneered softly, trying to hide the hurt. He delivered his words in a frosty, indifferent voice.

"Oh, just admit it. You probably can't even remember how many you've had! How soon did you cheat on me? As soon as you went on your first tour in the fall of seventy-two? I wouldn't be surprised!" she yelled, her anger breaking free at last.

"I can't help it. Women want me and throw themselves at me. I'm only human. Why should I refuse them what they want? If you don't want me, there are plenty who do. I just have to crook my finger."

"You're so vain. You probably think the world revolves around you! It's not youthey want. It's the celebrity, the rock star, the glitter, and the glam. Not you!"Abbie cried out.

Her words hit their mark. What she said was the absolute truth. He didn't want to hear any truth. He was famous, a bona fide rock idol with gold records, and nominated for one of those new awards, the AMAs. Rumor had it he would be up for a Grammy as well. He was making money hand over fist. He uncrossed his arms and took a couple of steps toward her. She didn't move.

"Maybe I wouldn't have turned to other women if you had come with me on the road and supported me at all. I asked, bloody hell, I begged for you to join me. You refused. You turned your back on me. You never loved me or supported me!" He sounded spoiled and petulant, but Brogan was beyond caring at the moment.

"Oh, so it's my fault you are a cheating, drunken pig? I'll tell you the real reason I'm breaking it off with you. You gave me VD," she snarled, barely containing her anger. "A doctor confirmed the diagnosis. I have gonorrhea. I've only been with one man ever, and that was you, Brogan! You gave me this disease from your banging God knows how many scummy women. I will never forgive you for this. Never."

He couldn't believe it. Venereal disease? Nevan's words of warning came back to haunt him. He couldn't remember how many or if he'd used condoms or not. All the sex he had became a blur. They were only nameless faces and faceless names. When did he first cheat on her? He couldn't recall; however, he remembered the reason why he did it. He was lonely and racked with guilt. At some point his behavior took a turn into pure debauchery and spectacle rivaling ancient Rome. VD explained a couple things he'd chosen to ignore. He couldn't speak, and his mouth dropped open like a fish flailing on the dock, gasping for air through its gills. Abbie had rendered him speechless.

His lack of response must have tipped Abbie's rage over the edge because she reached out and slapped him hard on the face. "You son of a bitch."

His head snapped back from the impact. She'd nailed him but good. His cheek stung, and he rubbed it as he glared at Abbie. He could see by the look on her face she was angry and wanted to make him bleed.

In a calmer voice she said, "Get tested, Brogan, get treatment, and stop screwing those groupie whores." She turned to leave.

Finally he found his voice. "Wait, Abbie. God, I am sorry, can't we talk—?"

"No. I never want to see you again, Brogan. I no longer love you. You killed it. Have a nice life," she spat as she slammed the door so hard the hinges rattled.

He sank to the lushly carpeted floor. He felt as if he had been eviscerated with a blunt knife. He bent one knee and rested his arm on it. Did he not deserve her contempt and her disgust? In his way he did love her a little. So why did he treat what they had so carelessly and so callously? She would never forgive him. He heard the blame in her voice and saw the accusation on her face. Abbie was right. He did this. He knew deep down he had the potential for love and a true and giving relationship, but it would not be with Abbie. Brogan's instinct had told him so two years ago, but he wanted to be wrong. She never understood his passion for music and his way of life. Abbie didn't even try to share his life or support him.

Brogan sat for the longest time in front of the fire. The flames snapping and crackling in the fireplace were the only sound in the hearth and the room. His blood pounded in his veins, and his head began to ache. The demon inside stirred.

Finally, he stood. Feck this.

Brogan opened the door and peered out into the hall. Volkswagen wasn't there for once. There was a slightly built black bloke standing as straight as a guard in front of Westminster. He glanced across the hall at Carly's room. He could hear the TV. She had it turned up very loud. The black guy—what was his name? He was a roadie on his crew. Brogan called to him and pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket.

"Take this and get me whatever you can. Pills, weed, and two bottles of Tyrconnell."

"Tyrconnell? What is it and where am I going to find it?"

"It's Irish single malt whiskey. Keep going to liquor stores until you find it. Don't bring me back any of the Jack Daniels shite or any blended whiskey."

The black bloke shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm not supposed to…"

"Feck that. You want to keep your job, you'll do what I say," Brogan snarled. "Gio will be back—when?"

He shrugged. "Two hours."

"Make sure you're back long before."

The bloke turned on his heel and walked away. The guy didn't care. At this point, Brogan didn't care either. He just wanted to get wasted and forget it all, forget—her. Thing was, did he mean Tarrah or Abbie?

* * * *

Carly managed to chip off the two layers of makeup, brush her teeth, and climb into her favorite pair of silk pajamas. Going to sleep right now would be a blessing. Exhaustion made her eyelids heavy and raw to the touch. She'd hated babysitting ever since she was twelve years old, but it was her job in essence. As an only child in a house lacking in family warmth and love, she'd learned early on to hide and mask her emotions if she wanted to keep the peace. "Calm and even-keeled" was a credo she lived by. Keeping cool and detached came in handy in her job, though Byrne made it a challenge.

Earlier she could hear the yelling across the hall—no doubt Byrne and his girlfriend slicing each other to ribbons. She cringed as it reminded her of her parents and their many heated arguments. It seemed quiet now. Carly didn't want to know, hence turning the TV up really loud. The theme from the Rockford Filesnearly blew her out of her seat. She gazed in the mirror and ran her tongue over her teeth. Minty fresh, ready to go.

Rinsing her hands, Carly smiled when she thought of the concert that night. They'd kicked ass. If only she could keep Byrne clean and sober for the rest of this tour, they might receive a good write-up in Rolling Stone.She didn't trust the hunk of an Irishman, however. He was in his room earlier pacing like a caged lion. To his credit, he kept the histrionics to a minimum, which made her suspicious to the extreme.

What did concern her was Byrne hadn't been eating or sleeping much as far as she could tell. Should she bring in a doctor as his brother had suggested? Perhaps force-feed the handsome bugger? She would throw a pizza in a blender and make him drink the concoction if she had to.

Carly recognized the heavy knuckled rap at her bathroom door. "Come in, Gio."

"Ah… boss. I went for a break to get some burgers, and well, I left Charles in charge, and…" Gio babbled incoherently.

"Spit it out, Gio."

"I don't think Byrne is breathing."

Her hands still wet, Carly ran across the hall with Gio right behind her. There was Byrne sprawled on his back on the floor surrounded by booze and pill bottles.

"He must have got Charles to get him some stuff. I'm so sorry, Carly."

Carly froze. Was he even breathing? His sculpted-in-marble chest wasn't moving. The headlines flashed through her brain. Byrne Dead of Overdose. Oh, shit.

Even in her panicked state, her Red Cross course kicked in through the morbid thoughts and sensational headlines. She quickly moved to his side, dropped to her knees, and began CPR. Were the compressions right? It had been years since she took the damned course. "Breathe, you selfish fucker—"

"Want me to call emergency? Get an ambulance? How do we handle this…?" Gio prattled.

Byrne choked up a huge wad of puke on the carpet. He almost asphyxiated on his own vomit. The obstruction now cleared, he began breathing again. Oh, my God, think of the headlines then: Byrne Chokes on Puke. Just like Hendrix. What a way to go—it was almost as bad as dying on the toilet. Carly's concern soon turned to irritation. What was wrong with this idiot?

"Gio, take him into the bathroom. I don't think he's done," she snapped.

Gio tucked Byrne under his arm as if he were a lightweight mannequin and walked to the bathroom. Carly followed them. The room was soon filled with the noise of Byrne retching and the fetid odor of rancid bile. Carly stood with her hands on her hips glaring at Byrne's muscular, bare back and tight, leather-clad ass. Even sick as a dog, he was gorgeous. There couldn't have been much food inside him, but still he heaved and gagged.

"Guess I am going to have to sleep in the same bed as this bastard, chain our legs together, and hold his cock so he can piss," Gio snarled in annoyance.

"It's obvious he can't be left alone, not for the rest of the tour."

"Should I fire Charles's ass?"

"No, Byrne probably threatened him, but I do want to see him tomorrow. I should get his side of the story. See it done." Carly exhaled. "I know of a doctor here in New York, Cascade has used him before. He's very discreet. I'll give him a call. Byrne should be checked over."

"Blarrrgggghhhh—" Bryne gagged.

"Gio, you should've told me you were leaving Byrne. I had no idea you were gone. Don't leave him again. If we have to take shifts staying with him, we will. I want no one else handling him but you and me. Got it?"

Gio nodded. "Yeah, I got it. As soon as he's done puking, do you want me to kick his ass?"

* * * *

Brogan was practically kissing the porcelain. Never had he been so sick, and the horrid smell lingering in the air wasn't helping his nausea. His head swirled, and his eyes couldn't focus. He could hear them talking, and he could make out a few words. They weren't happy, and he couldn't blame them. What was he trying to pull? Was he trying to kill himself? No feckin' way.Brogan heard the last part of their conversation, and he retched some more. Trickles of vomit oozed through his fingers.

Carly glanced at Gio and laughed softly. "No ass kicking tonight, but I don't rule it out for later if needed. Let's get him cleaned up and back into the bedroom."

It was the height of embarrassment. He was being washed by another man. He appreciated that Gio didn't look at him with disgust. The man went about his duties, and then helped him back into his suite.

"Can you stand?" Gio said.

"Aye, I think so."

Gio gently released him from the grip of his huge paws and stepped back.