21. Naz #2
Scott tsks. “Such a greedy little cum dumpster. You want me to fill you up some more? Fuck you until you’re crying, then plug you up until I’m ready to breed you again?”
The sound I made in response, half cry and half moan, was because of the vibrator he’d been holding against my prostate for what felt like hours.
Every time I got close, he’d take it out, sometimes holding the toy in front of my face so I could see how wet it was.
It dripped with the remnants of the last load he’d left inside me, when he didn’t let me come because I’d provoked him out of boredom.
“If you want it, you’re going to have to beg for it.”
“Please,” I whisper, sounding particularly salty that I was being made to beg when he was holding his phone above me, taunting me with his cock pressed against my ass and a wicked grin on his face.
I love to hate him. Love to hate the things he does to me, the way he makes me feel. The way he strips me down to my basest instincts until I can’t see or think past my physical need.
“No, no pet. Louder. So I can play it back for you while I wreck this greedy hole of yours, then again whenever you decide to act like a brat. And then when I get tired of fucking you, I’ll keep it to jerk off to, remembering how much of a needy little nobody you are.”
“Fuck. Okay, okay. Please! Just fuck me already.”
“Louder.”
“Please! Please, God. Please!”
“No, not God, pet—”
“Scott,” I wine, voice gravely with need. “Please.”
“There’s a good pet. You want this?” I remember the way he was pressing his cock against my rim, barely penetrating me, drawing out my torture.
“Mmmph—Yes. Please give it to me. Please fuck me.”
I don’t even sound like myself. Whoever that man is in the recording is no longer me.
It certainly doesn’t sound like the man I portray when I’m on stage, or the public persona that I’ve cultivated as the tall, tattooed, muscled drummer for one of the world’s most popular rock bands.
It doesn’t sound like the guy who, even in private, rarely shows emotion or weakness.
The one friend everyone goes to for advice.
Always in control. Always cool and collected.
Playful sometimes, aloof when I need to be.
The man in that recording is soft. Whimpering. Submissive. Exposed. Free.
But it’s not me.
The last parts of the recording don’t register. I don’t realize the silence that has settled over the room until Scott’s hand lands on my knee.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how—”
Only then does it occur to me.
The recording.
That’s the recording Scott made. The same one he did, in fact, make me listen to at least twice that day.
Scott gets to his knees in front of me, invading my space, begging me with his eyes and body language to hear him.
I blink back at him, nothing else registering other than the fact that I let this man make a whimpering mess of me and record it.
I let him turn me inside out, in more ways than one, and now I’m being faced with the consequences.
His hands hold my waist, his torso between my knees.
“Baby, please. You know I would never do something like this on purpose. I don’t know how he got it. I’m so sorry. Please believe me, I’d never—”
I blink again, breaking out of my shame spiral and focusing on Scott. I can’t help but recoil a little.
“You think I blame you for this?”
His amber eyes are swimming, his brow creased with worry. “It was me who made that recording. It’s still on my phone, Naz. I– I thought it was safe. I didn’t save it to the cloud or anything, just on the local storage, and—”
“Scott, I let you make that recording. I could have said no.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that they got it from me.”
Cory clears his throat. I’d forgotten he was there. Scott pulls away from me and returns to his seat next to me but leaves his hand on my thigh. His touch is reassuring. Comforting.
“Other than today, when you gave your phone to Emmy, has anyone else touched it? Did you leave it unattended or let someone borrow it? Anything.”
“No,” Scott says. “It’s been in my pocket since we left North Carolina. The only time it’s been out of my sight other than our meeting today was the night before when I was sleeping, but it was close by, charging. I always keep it on me.”
“May I see it?”
Scott unlocks and hands over his phone without hesitation. Cory thumbs through it for a minute before speaking again. “And you’re absolutely sure you didn’t save it anywhere else or send it?”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know,” Cory concedes. “What I can’t figure out is how the recording could have been lifted off the phone.” Cory shuts down the phone, then pops the back off, dismantling it piece by piece. “There’s no sign of malware or a listening device or anything else.”
“You don’t think Emmy…” I start, but I can’t even finish the sentence. Emmy wouldn’t do that. Not on purpose, at least.
Cory shakes his head. “It would be extremely unlikely that he would have had time to make a second copy, and the first one is still in my possession until I pass it off to Blake’s contact with the Waves App IT department.”
“Emmy loves all of you. There’s no way he’d do this.”
I nod at Scott. I really don’t believe that he would, even if he hated us.
“Besides,” he continues, “I already know who is responsible, even if I have no idea how he did it.”
“He?”
Scott nods. “Whoever has been texting me called me after I made the drop. He said I failed his instructions because I brought Naz with me.”
“He knew Naz was there? So that means he might have been there or had eyes on you somehow.”
“I think so. I tried to keep him talking as long as I could so I could spot him, but I didn’t find anyone and then I was worried I’d lost Naz.”
I cringe inwardly, wishing again that I hadn’t left that spot. I didn’t know he was on the phone with a potential madman while he was frantically searching for me.
“Okay. I need you to tell me everything that happened today, from the beginning.”
Scott runs Cory through the events of the day, starting from where he left off on the story he told me, right around when I found him in Blake’s office. It’s when he gets to the specifics of the call that piques my interest.
“Back up. He said what?”
“It was mostly a lot of trash talking you guys, saying you don’t care about anyone but yourselves, stuff like that.”
“What did he call you specifically?”
“Insinuated I was dumb and disposable.”
“He called you a ‘dumb meathead security guard’?”
Scott shrugs. “I don’t care about that. He’s clearly obsessed with the four of you, wants to prove that you’re bad people or something.
The way he talks, it’s almost like he’s speaking from experience.
Maybe a jilted ex-lover, or if it’s someone on the inside, maybe a current or previous employee that was dismissed or—”
I lock eyes with Cory. “Francis.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Francis went back to Florida months ago after he was turned down for a position with our label’s competitors.
Legal sent him a letter reminding him of the stipulations of the contract he signed in exchange for them not pursuing more serious charges. Nobody’s heard from him since.”
“Francis? As in your old manager, Francis?”
“I think I might have seen him.” I glance at Scott.
“It’s why I walked away earlier today while you were in the locker facility.
This guy passed by, and something about him caught my attention.
He was dressed super weird, and then I overheard him say something about a dumb meathead security guard.
When I looked around, he was walking away, so I couldn’t see his face.
Something about him seemed really familiar, so I followed him. ”
“You think it could have been Francis?” Cory asks, sounding a little skeptical.
“I can’t say for sure. All I know is that I thought about him when I noticed the man walking by. His cologne and the way he walked stood out, but I lost him in the crowd when those girls found me.”
“You said he was dressed weird. Was he wearing a long coat and a hat?”
“Yeah. It struck me as weird because it’s summer, even in the rain it’s too hot to wear a coat like that. And Francis wore fedoras.”
“I saw someone like that inside the locker facility, in one of the security mirrors.”
I turn back to Cory, my heart racing with a mix of trepidation and excitement. We might be on to something. “It’s possible it could be him. He definitely would have a reason to hate us.”
“What else did he say?” Cory asks Scott.
“He was trying to convince me that the band, Naz specifically, doesn’t care about me. He said he was going to prove it.”
“How?”
“He didn’t specify. I told him I was done, that I wouldn’t help him anymore, and he said I already gave him everything he needs. Those were his exact words, ‘You already gave me everything I need,’ and then he hung up.”
“So this guy, possibly Francis, somehow gets that recording and thinks he can use it against you,” Cory says, thinking out loud.
It feels like there’s a vice around my lungs, like my ribcage is too small to contain all the organs I need to keep living and functioning. “To prove he’s disposable. He thinks that if it looks like Scott released that recording, we’ll think he betrayed us.”
“I still feel like I did betray you,” Scott admits. “If I hadn’t already been fired today, you can’t tell me that this wouldn’t be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.”
Cory huffs. “You aren’t fired, dumbass. Not really. But this does provide us with another opportunity…
“You have to be kidding me.”
“Actually, I think he’s right,” I say, grabbing Scott’s hand. “If there’s one thing I know about Francis, it’s that he always has to be right. If he thinks the label fired you and I left you behind, he might be dumb enough to gloat.”
“Or think he’s truly convinced you to be on his side,” Cory adds.
Scott holds my gaze for a long, drawn out minute. “I’ll do anything you want.”
My lips twitch. “Anything? Get down on all fours and bark like a dog?”
“You give the command.”