“Zachariah fucking Powell says,” I roar. “He’s an arsehole and I hate him, but he’s an arsehole who knows what he’s talking about. He’s been managing artists for years, lifting them out of obscurity and propelling them to international stardom. That’s the kind of power he has and yet after eight months he couldn’t even get me off the ground. Yes, I’ve got some talent, and maybe I look the part, but it’s not enough,” I growl, shoving every ounce of my disappointment and incompetence in his face. “I’m not good enough.”
He stares at me for a long moment, before his eyes do a long, slow roll in his head. “My sweet darling, Ned. That is the biggest crock of horse shit I’ve ever heard in my whole fabulous life.”
I deflate, falling forwards to face-plant on the couch cushions between us.
“Seriously,” Toni continues. “How do you even say such things with a straight face?”
“All due respect,” I grumble, my voice muffled by the cushions, “but you know nothing about music.”
He snorts a laugh. “Less than nothing, but I do know a scam when I see one.”
Turning, my head, I glare up at him. “What scam?”
“Ned, do you truly believe Zac did everything in his almighty managerial power to turn you into a star?”
I sit up, pushing my tangled hair back from my face. “I know what you’re getting at and, yes, I’ve considered it. But Zac had everything to gain from my success, holding me back would have been bad business. He kept me so firmly under his heel, and I was so stupidly besotted with him, he could have exploited the crap out of me, and I wouldn’t have cared—as long as I belonged to him.”
“Unless he wanted something from you money couldn’t buy,” Toni suggests.
“No,” I disagree. “He pushed me, constantly. Always telling me to work harder, practice more, play more gigs—”
“And then he expressed frustration at your lack of progress,” Toni deadpans. “He probably used every opportunity to remind you how you were no better than any two-bit busker on the nearest street corner. Am I right?”
Whatever words I had at the ready die in my throat. Toni is right. Zac never openly criticised my music, but he never seemed impressed either. Not after the first night. His backhanded words of encouragement never failed to make me feel like shit. Which made me more desperate to please him. Which invariably ended with me on my knees. Once he had his dick in my mouth, there was no end to the praise.
“He was grooming you, Ned,” Toni says, reaching out to hold my hands. “Just not for a career in music.”
My gaze snaps up to his. “You think it was all a lie? All of it?” When he doesn’t respond, my hands tighten on his. “Say it. No holding back.”
Toni takes a quick breath, swallows hard. “He wanted a pet, and you sit on command.”
I scramble up from the couch, my head shaking in denial even as my heart aches. “But I believed him,” I rasp as the room blurs in front of me. “When he said he’d help me, when he promised to take care of me, I believed him. I believed so hard.” Toni’s in front of me now, his hands stroking my cheeks. “When he told me I wasn’t good enough to make it without—” I choke on the words, my stomach turning as images of that night flood my brain. “I still believe him, every word he ever said.”
Even now, I can almost feel the shackles Zac’s words put around my wrists and ankles, around my heart and mind. I can’t see them, but they’re there. Holding me back, shielding me from a future I’ve been too scared to contemplate. Tears mix with the sweat from the earlier gig, and I close my eyes against the sting. “He’s always there, a voice in the back of my head, telling me I’ll never make it without him. He’s got this hold on me I can’t shake.”
Toni inhales. His body turns rigid, and his hands become a vice around my head, forcing me to look at him. “He has a hold on you?” His words slice through the air like knives, and his eyes glitter with a bright fury. “By all means, allow me to be the one to break it.”
TWENTY-SIX
______
TONI
Darkness tinges the edges of my vision as I walk Ned backwards towards the bedroom. “I thought I made it clear. I will not share you. Not physically, not mentally, and certainly not with that sick son of a bitch.”
Ned stumbles as we round the end of the couch, but I grab hold of his shirt, twisting it in my grip to keep him upright. The silver tether I put around his neck glints dully above the stretched neckline of his shirt. Lifting the T from his chest, I raise it between us. “What is this to you?” I demand. “Some meaningless token of my affection? Do you think I go around wrapping pieces of myself around anyone’s throat and claiming them as mine?”
He shakes his head, clutching at my arms to keep his balance as we pass through the doorway to the bedroom. “No.”
“You’re damned right, I don’t.” We reach the end of my bed and I hold him there. Ned’s limbs tremble and his chest heaves, but otherwise he’s still. Waiting to see what I’ll do next. His submission is the only thing keeping me from tearing the room apart. “Do you think for one second I will tolerate another man having a shred of power over you in any fucking way?”
“No.” He licks his lips. “Not ever.”
“I’m so glad we understand each other.” Gripping his t-shirt tight in both hands, I yank at it as hard as I can. The material parts down the middle with a loud, satisfying rip. Ned’s eyes fall closed and he exhales with a quiet groan. A single drop of liquid rolls down his left cheek. I catch it with a gentle stroke of my thumb.
I’ve been too soft with him. In my effort to make him feel safe and cherished, I’ve failed to take care of him the way he needs. The fun and fabulous parts I show to the world aren’t enough for Ned. He needs more from me. He needsallof me. No faking. No holding back.
I strip him out of his clothes with quick, methodical movements. He toes off his boots, and I crouch to help him with his pants. As soon as he’s naked, I stand and take his throat in a firm grip. His lips part on a gasp as he stares at me from beneath heavy lids.
