Hating Piper (Rockers' Legacy 8)

21

PIPER

Istared down at the music sheets in front of me and gritted my teeth so hard, I nearly broke the filling in my molar.

The majority of Christmas and holiday music was beautiful, and some of it even fun to perform. But there were a few songs that just made me dread the entire scene. Case in point, “Santa Baby.” It was supposed to be fun, even flirty. In my eyes, it was nothing more than some chick trying to prostitute herself out to some fat guy in a beard and suit to get material things.

“I’m not singing this song,” I spoke over Laurence, interrupting him as he went over how much sex appeal he expected me to put into the recorded performance.

He pressed his lips together, his eyes watching me like he was trying to figure something out. When I simply stood there staring him down, refusing to give in, his expression turned hard. “You’re doing this song or—”

“Or what?” I asked, my voice so cold it was a wonder the room didn’t frost over. “I have every right to refuse.”

“Says who?” he sneered.

“Says my contract,” I snapped. “You’re new to the scene, but I’m sure you are aware of who my manager is. My contract has many beautifully fine-tuned stipulations, including my right to refuse to record music of any kind that I’m not comfortable with.”

Laurence pushed his chair back and stood, the look in his eyes turning intimidating. A sense of danger slithered up my spine, and for the first time in my entire life, I wished Cannon were with me. But he was waiting in the green room down the hall, where Laurence’s assistant had taken him when we’d arrived. The man had said it was because Cannon would distract both the producer and me, so he needed to wait there until it was his turn in the recording booth.

Cannon hadn’t been happy about it, but nothing about this was unusual. The two of us had understood that if we were going to get both our recordings done, and done well, we would have to be patient while the other was working. But now, I wished I’d let him throw a tantrum so he could have stayed with me.

Taking several steps into my personal space, Laurence lowered his head and gritted out his threat between clenched teeth. “I won’t put up with you being a diva, little girl. You will do this song and be thankful I’m even giving you the chance to be on an album that I produce.”

“I couldn’t give a fuck if I’m on your album or not. I’m not singing a song that insinuates I’d prostitute myself for diamonds and all that other bullshit. That whole verse about a sable alone will get PETA after me. I can buy myself anything I want—and do it with the money I’ve made from the other producers I’ve already worked with. Producers who knew what the fuck they were doing, unlike you, who only got this chance because you sucked Petrova’s dick nice and sloppy the way he likes so much.”

A hand shot out and wrapped around my throat, cutting off my ability to breathe. I gasped, trying to take in air, but none would come. Laurence backed me up until I was pressed into the wall beside the door, and he lowered his head. “Your manager isn’t here. Neither are your mommy and daddy, little girl. This is my domain. I am the king here. If I say you’re going to record this song, that’s exactly what you’re going to do. Fuck, if I tell you to drop to your knees right now and blow me, you will—with a smile on those lips, you little bitch.”

The violence I could see in his gaze terrified me, and I opened my mouth to scream for help, but no sound could escape. Panic began to set in, and tears stung my eyes in fear.

“Get on your knees now, you stupid cunt. Let’s see how wide your lips can stretch as they suck me off. I deserve it for having to put up with your entitled ass all morning.”

That fight-or-flight response took over. Since I couldn’t run, the only thing left to do was fight. My nails sliced at his hand, trying to pull his fingers free so I could at least take a breath, but his grip only tightened, and he began to push down to put me on my knees. My inability to fill my lungs with oxygen made me desperate, and I struggled, kicking and slashing out before he could make me drop to the floor.

I felt skin scooping beneath my nails as I raked them down his face, making him shout in pain. It distracted him enough to give me just enough room to lift my leg and connect with his groin. He groaned and bent slightly, but I did it again, making him slacken his hold on my throat as he fell to his knees, roaring with agony.

Gasping, trying to replenish my air supply—even though every breath burned my throat—I turned to the door. But my fingers shook so badly it took me a few moments before I could get the damn thing to cooperate. Once I had it open, I ran toward the only safety I could think of.

Bursting into the green room, I saw Cannon relaxing on one of the couches with a few other artists. He had a bottle of water in one hand and was about to take a bite of a bear claw with the other. The moment I entered the room, everyone stopped talking to frown at me.

“Pipes?” He dropped the things in his hands as he jumped to his feet, and seconds later, I was in his arms. “Sugar, what’s wrong?” he asked as he wiped away a tear.

It was only then that I realized I was crying. “He… And I…” I stopped when I heard how hoarse my voice was. Fuck, had he done something to my vocal cords? No, no, no!

Cannon grasped my face gently between both of his hands. “Take a deep breath. You’re okay. I’m here. I just need to know what’s wrong.”

A sob bubbled out of me, but I tried to do as he instructed. “The producer… I refused…to do the song. He…was…mad.” I pulled back and touched my throat. “He…attacked…me.”

“What?” the others in the room shouted in unison, and I quickly took note of who they were. It was the Blonde Bombshells, but that only confused me because I’d thought they wouldn’t be in the studio until later in the week. At least, that was what had been mentioned during my video call when we’d discussed my coming to LA.

But I barely had time to remember that before Cannon’s fingers pressed into my cheek. “He. Attacked. You?” He repeated each word slowly.

“Yeah,” I whispered, my throat hurting so badly, it started to throb.

Oh God, please don’t let him have damaged something, I silently prayed.

Pulling back, I tilted my head a little and showed him my neck. I didn’t know what it looked like, but it felt painful. One of the Blondes gasped, and I shifted my gaze to London. “Holy shit. There’s an entire hand imprinted around her throat already.”

Cannon began to shake, his fingers actually trembling as he carefully stroked them over my tender skin. His touch was gentle, yet I still flinched as his fingertip grazed my aching flesh. But it was the wildness in his eyes that made me gulp. The action was painful and caused me to flinch again, which only made his blue eyes darken that much more with rage.

“Sin,” Cannon growled, and it was only then I realized that the Tainted Knights’ bassist was there. But, of course, he would be. He rarely let his wife out of his sight. “Watch over Piper.”

“You got it, man,” the other rocker assured him.

I wrapped my arms around Cannon’s waist. “No, please,” I rasped out, each word more painful than the last. “Don’t leave me. I need you.”

He brought his arms around me, holding me against him, rocking me a little. But it only lasted a few moments before he leaned back, kissed my forehead, and then practically lifted me into Sin’s arms. As he did, Sin’s wife Roanna and her band sisters surrounded me.

“No,” I cried, and it felt like my throat actually bled. I could taste it running down my throat. “Cannon! Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Let him kill the motherfucker,” Sin snarled, keeping one arm locked around my waist so I couldn’t run after Cannon, and tucking his wife close with the other.

“Maybe we should call the fire-breather,” I heard Genesis whisper to the other Blondes.

“I’ll do it,” Aubree said with a sigh. “If nothing else, I guess she needs to be prepared to hide a body.”

The drummer pulled out her phone, and Roanna pushed my hair over my shoulder. “Damn. That’s getting worse by the minute. She needs to see a doctor, Sin.”

“I know, sweet girl,” he murmured. “But let’s see what Emmie says first.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” I sobbed, struggling to get out of Sin’s hold. “I need Cannon!”