Chapter 14 Knox
KNOX
Quincy calls the meeting himself. No assistant. No buffer. The text says five minutes, green room. When he writes like that, he means now.
I get there first. A small couch, stale coffee, and a laminated schedule on the wall with our name on it too many times. He’s already in the chair by the table, tall and lean. Phone face down. Eyes up.
“If we don’t have a single by week two, I might not be able to extend the residency.”
I sit. My jaw tightens on its own. “We’re not rushing a single to save a contract.”
He taps the table twice. “I know what a rush sounds like. I’m not asking for junk. I’m telling you the hotel wants a single to debut on a marquee. A new song this week plays better than trust us, art is happening.”
“Art is happening. On schedule. It’s not our fault they’re getting twitchy.”
Salem slouches into the doorway, then takes the far end of the couch. Houston leans against the wall and crosses his arms.
Quincy clocks all our faces, then shrugs. “I’m just pointing to the clock. The deal here hinges on a single debut at The Gold Bar. You made commitments. There’s a contract.”
I breathe for four counts. “We will deliver a song when the song is ready.”
He looks pleased and annoyed at the same time. “Good. Keep that spine. But get me something the radio can spin without a memo. Verse, chorus, hook, out. Two minutes fifty-seven, three eight if you must. Clean version ready. That’s the game we’re still playing.”
“We’re working a chorus,” I say. “It’s close.”
“Closer by Friday,” he says, then flips the phone, checks a message, and flips it back. “Second thing. Document Troy’s harassment.”
The word harassment lands like a small explosion. Houston’s eyes sharpen. Salem’s mouth goes tight. My pulse jumps then steadies.
“What have you got?” Quincy asks. “Texts, DMs, calls to the hotel? Save screenshots. Save voicemails. Time stamps, locations. If we have to pull counsel in, I want a file that looks organized, not emotional.”
“We are not lawyering Troy,” I blurt.
“We’re not starting there,” he says, calm. “We are preparing. So if he escalates, I don’t have to ask you three to remember which Tuesday he sent a drunk threat.”
I look at the wall calendar and hate that he’s right. “Noted.” My chest doesn’t like the word. It feels wrong to narc on Troy. Even if no one sees it.
“Last thing,” he goes on. “Lou. Keep it boring in public. If trolls crawl out, you block and keep working. If anyone threatens her, you bring it to me. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good. We don’t want a repeat of Birmingham Betty.”
“Belinda,” Salem corrects him sharply.
Quincy rolls his eyes. “Right. Belinda. Probably best for everyone she’s out of the picture now, terrible shame how ugly it got.
” He stands. The meeting is over the way storms end—fast and leaving the air different.
At the door, he glances at me. “Knox. You’re the one who hates loose ends. Tie them.” He leaves.
I sit there for a beat with the coffee smell and the laminate schedule and the words radio single echoing like a drip.
Houston breaks first. “We can get him a single. We don’t feed it to him half-raw.”
“Agreed.”
Salem rubs his jaw. “He’s right about the file. Troy isn’t going to remember what he said when, and he’ll act like we made it up. We need dates.”
“I’ll make a folder,” I say, even though the act of naming it tightens something at the base of my neck. “Screenshots, logs, summaries. No color commentary. Just facts.”
“Good.” Houston nods. “We’ll keep the file and pray we never need it.”
I set rules about our boundaries with Lou and Troy, because we don’t need overlap between the situations. They nod along.
But then Salem holds up a hand. “I reserve the right to be annoying while following all rules.”
“You reserve the right to go for a ride,” I adjust him. “If you need to move, take the bike. No drinking. Helmet on.”
He smirks. “You love me.”
“I want the record done. Can’t do that if you’re dead.”
He stands, stretches, and pockets his key card. “Then I’m going for a ride now. I’ll be back before dinner.” He heads out.
Houston watches me and doesn’t comment. He pours water, sets a glass by my hand, then goes to the window with his own glass and his own thoughts.
I used to tease him about being a water boy in a past life, but it’s just how he expresses love.
Caretaking. And according to him, no one drinks enough water.
I open a folder and name it Troy, even though every piece of me hates giving it space.
I set it to private with shared access for the three of us and Quincy.
I add the two drunk voicemails from last month, the ones where he said he hated me.
I transcribe the part that says You owe me! and leave the rest as audio.
The day runs long. We hit Sagebrush and break for late lunch. Stress climbs. Residency. Single. File. Eyes on us that aren’t music eyes. I keep my face flat and my hands moving because I don’t know another way.
Back upstairs, dinner is room service and a pile of napkins that look like we had a meeting with a sandwich.
Houston nurses tea, feet up, ponytail still damp from a quick shower.
Lou sits at the table with her laptop open to a comp and a legal pad with a grid she drew herself.
Pencil behind her ear. Locket catching the lamp.
She looks up when I hover like I’m trying to decide if I belong.
She’s going over some of the lyrics for a new song for her motifs.
“Radio single.” I hate the way the phrase tastes, needing to hear how this fits the ask. So commercial.
“It’s not a single,” Houston says. “It’s a foundation. The single can come from the next one. But this chorus needs to be right so the rest stops wobbling.”
He’s right. I hate that I need him to say it so I can stop hearing Quincy’s clock. “Okay. We finish this and sleep.”
Lou taps the pencil on the paper and then flips the pencil and tucks it back behind her ear. She doesn’t know how the small motion resets me. She doesn’t need to know.
“Bridge?” she asks.
“Tomorrow. We’re past the line where good becomes noise.”
She nods. “One more pass on the third line. The light line.”
We walk the sounds, not the words. We test vowels. We move work forward so the K pops later and the breath has somewhere to land. She hears the change before I do and adjusts her mouth to fit. Her ear for structure isn’t a stunt. It’s a muscle no one trained, and she still grew.
“You hear shape. You don’t force it.”
“It’s fonts,” she says, shrugging. “You can’t make an O do what an N does. You let it be round.”
Houston grins from the couch and picks up the guitar, and plays the chords soft enough not to take over.
He switches the inversion without my asking.
It fixes the way the third line sits. Lou turns her head, surprised, then pleased.
We all feel the click, the small internal yes that means we can stop for the night and not hate ourselves.
Stress recedes a notch. It doesn’t vanish. The list is still long. The radio wants a single. The hotel wants a headline. The file with Troy’s name exists whether I like it or not. But the chorus holds. That’s enough for one day.
We run it once more, quiet. Lou hums on the guide syllables. I sing under my breath to check count. Houston splits the difference on the guitar and keeps the tone dry. We cut a quick voice memo on my phone so we can pick it up clean tomorrow.
She leans back and rubs her eyes. “I’m not used to being taken seriously this late at night. Usually, this hour is for someone else’s crisis.”
“Tonight is for the song. And for sleep.”
She looks at both of us like she’s trying to locate the trap. She seems a little suspicious that there isn’t one. Then she lets it go. “Thank you. For treating me like I’m in the band without making me pretend I can play.”
“You can play,” Houston says. “I bet you could play all night long.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re trying to flatter me into bed.”
“Do we need to work that hard to get you into bed?” he says, teasing, gentle as he leans close. Then he kisses her.
When she pulls back, she murmurs, “Get me into bed? How pedestrian.”
He barks a laugh and pulls her onto his lap on the couch. His big hands grip her ass over her leggings, and she grinds against him as they make out fiercely.
I like watching, but I feel a little like I’m intruding at the moment. I grab my glass of water to head to my bedroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Lou murmurs as Houston licks her collarbone.
“Thought you might want privacy.”
She giggles. “We’re making out in the living room with you next to us. Privacy is not the goal.” She hooks a hand into my collar and pulls me in for a kiss that resets my brain. “See?”
“No. I didn’t. Show me again.”
She grins before she kisses me this time, then crawls into my lap. Houston, the helpful man he is, peels away her clothes while we make out. It’s all elbows and bad angles until she’s naked, but we don’t stop mauling each other.
“Your mouth was made to tempt me, baby,” I whisper against her lips.
“Tempt you into what?” Her lips curve.
I lift her off my lap and set her on her knees on the couch. It’s the perfect height for what I have in mind. I strip as I circle to the other side of it. She leans on the back, her ass arched in the air and unsuspecting. I cup her throat with my hand. “Now ask permission to suck my cock.”
Those plump lips part in a gasp for me, and I relish the shock on her pretty face. She smirks, willing to play this game. “Give me permission to suck your cock.”
I laugh once, then nod to Houston, who smacks her ass.
She gasps and glances back at him. “Naughty!”
He chuckles. “You’re the one not following orders.”
She looks between us, debating her next move. “And you won’t fuck me if I don’t?”
I shake my head. “I like you on your knees like this. Houston, she’s wet, isn’t she?”
He grabs her ass and spreads her wide in a brute move that makes her squirm. “God, yes.”
“So, lovely girl, if you want us to fuck you good and proper, you’ll ask for permission to suck my cock. I know how much you like it. That’s why you have to ask.”
Her cheeks flush. “Can I please suck your cock, Knox?”
“Yes.”
She leans forward for it.
But I step back, earning her whine. “You have to beg Houston to do something to that pussy.”
“Houston, would you—”
“Yes,” he growls and rubs his cock over her there. “I like playing, but I’m done waiting.” He slams in, making her cry out.
When her mouth is open, I take it. He groans and pumps deep into her, hands clutching her flared hips like a pair of handles.
Her golden skin shines in the low light as her dark hair slides off her back and over her shoulder.
He thrusts, I retract, I thrust, he retracts.
And all the while, Lou takes it like a goddess.
When she gags on me, it’s all I can do not to lose it right then. She doesn’t even fight it—she rides the choke.
I lace my fingers into her hair. “Such a good girl, it’s almost vulgar. But I think we can make vulgar happen an even better way.” Her eyes are lined with tears as she looks up at me, questioning. “I want that ass again.”
She whimpers on my dick.
“You want it too, don’t you? You remember how we made you come. We’re gonna do that again.”
“I’m about to do it right now,” Houston says, reaching around her hip.
But I shake my head. “Not yet. She made us wait for her to ask permission. She can wait for her orgasm. Back up.”
We pull out, and she goes limp on the couch. “Please, I need to come.”
“You will.” I motion toward the couch, and Houston picks her up, reading my mind.
He sets her on his lap and makes her take him deep.
I love watching this part—the part where they’re riding one of us.
When they get lost in the sensation and forget anyone else in the room, until we come up from behind.
I lube myself and my fingers first. When I slide the first one in her tight little hole, she shudders. “Tell me how it feels to have my finger up your ass with his cock in that little pussy of yours.”
The words shake out of her. “It’s a lot. Tense. Full.”
I slip another finger in, and she tenses up. “And now?”
“Fuller,” she gasps.
I work in and out of her ass as Houston grabs her hips to lift her up and down his length. Sweat trickles down her spine. He warns, “I think she’s about to come. She’s squeezing on me.”
“Not until my cock is all the way in your ass, baby. You’re not allowed.”
“Please,” she whimpers, draping herself onto Houston’s shoulder. It sticks her ass out more. “Please fuck my ass. I need to come!”
“When I’m ready.” I add a third finger, and she rambles incoherently as goose bumps leap from her skin.
She whispers, “Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease fuck my ass!”
I carefully work my fingers out of her, with Houston slow-fucking her the whole time.
When I line up my cock, she’s on the verge of something big, still rambling nonsense between begging.
As soon as I pop the head in, a scream peals out of her, something I’ve never heard from anyone.
She bounces on us, taking our cocks as hard as she can while she comes.
“Fuck, yes, precious, come on my cock!” Houston rambles.
It’s too good. Fuck, why is it so good? Making a girl squirm between us, making her come like no one ever has, making her our little fuck puppet…
It’s not responsible. It’s not smart. But it’s what I want every fucking night. My one vice.
When she comes back to herself, she’s limp on his shoulder. That’s good too. Now, I know she’s relaxed enough to take the rest of me. I shove deep, all the way to the hips, and she groans loudly.
“Does it hurt, baby?”
“Yeah,” she whimpers.
“And you love it, don’t you?”
“I fucking do,” she says, voice breaking.
God, this woman might ruin me, and I don’t fucking care. I fuck her ass with abandon, knowing how much she loves it. Our bodies slam together, the smacks echoing on the walls. Bliss. Fucking bliss.
She comes again, this time squealing and whimpering while we fuck her hard. Her breaths are choked, and her nails dig into Houston’s shoulder enough to leave bright red trails.
Houston mutters, “She’s squirting on me! Oh fuck, she’s squirting on me!”
“That’s it, baby. Let yourself go.”
Suddenly her spine goes stick straight, and I have to catch her to stop her from whacking her head against my collarbone. She screams, coming, erupting, something wild. She’s leaning back on me now, so I pluck her nipples while I fuck her ass. My balls scream for release.
Houston reaches down for her clit, and she keeps screaming between breaths. “Oh, fuck! Now!” he roars out while he shoots deep inside of her.
I ruthlessly rut up her ass as she’s coming, full of his cum, mindless and animalistic until I lose myself there.