35. Hawk
“This is fucking bullshit,” I cursed, Charlie nodding stoically at my side as we stepped into the elevator in the parking garage of the Castor Records building. “Doesn’t this dick understand how burned out we are?”
We’d only barely finished the tour, dragging our asses through the last few overseas dates like a group of hung dogs, and now he wanted a meeting? In the morning?
Total bullshit.
The doors opened, revealing the obnoxiously decorated offices of Castor Records, and I stalked through the halls, a man on a mission. When I got to Cornelius’s office, I was waylaid by his latest secretary, a typical L.A. girl with bleached hair, filled lips, and a rack that could not have been natural given the tiny size of the rest of her.
“Hawk!” she squawked, her eyes widening. “I mean, um, Mr. Jameson.” Standing up behind her desk and leaning over far enough that I could see right down her shirt, she tried to get me to stop and talk to her. “Mr. Castor has asked that you wait out here for him. He’ll see you when he’s ready.”
“Mr. Castor asked that, did he?” I replied dryly. “Well, Mr. Castor also asked that I drag my tired self out of bed at the ass crack of dawn the first morning I’m back in the states. That means that Mr. Castor will see me right fucking now.”
With that, I stormed past her desk and through the heavy wooden doors into his over-sized office, leaving Charlie standing guard outside, his broad body blocking the still spluttering receptionist.
Castor sat there, behind his stupidly big desk, his back to the incredible view of downtown Los Angeles with his head bent in quiet conversation with the bane of my fucking existence.
Victoria Castor.
She’d been on tour with us, constantly buzzing around and inserting herself into situations she didn’t belong in and basically just being a pain in the ass. She was everywhere, all the time, right up until the last few dates, when she’d suddenly had to fly back to L.A. for an emergency of some sort. I hadn’t cared one bit, because it meant her meddling ass was out of my hair for once.
But I should have known that even a small break from her shit would come with consequences. Tori didn’t know how to lose; her daddy made sure of that.
Seeing her now, her too-perfect face painted with a smug smile, I knew that I wasn’t going to like whatever the fuck these two had cooked up.
“Hawk,” Cornelius said, his shark’s smile making an appearance. “How nice of you to join us.”
As if I was fuckin’ late or some shit.
“Didn’t exactly give me much choice, did you?”
“Now, now. Let’s not start out with hostility. We have important things to discuss, and I’d like for you to be appreciative of the offer I’m about to make you. Sit down. Let’s get right to it.”
Victoria led the way to the seating area on the far side of the office, sitting down and crossing her legs like she was some kind of femme fatale from a Bond movie or some shit. I rolled my eyes and sat across from her, splaying wide to discourage anyone from joining me.
“Hawk,” Cornelius began, his tone already condescending. “You’ve been a part of Castor Records for over a decade now.” I snorted. If by part, he meant cash cow, then yeah. He frowned lightly, but continued. “And in that time, there have been some ups and downs with both your career and your personal life.” I had no idea where he was going with this, but I nodded, wary as fuck.
“Just get to the point, Castor.”
“The point,” Tori cut in, her nasally voice grating as she dragged my attention her way. “Is that you’ve really stepped in it this time, Hawk. And once again, Daddy is offering to help clean up your mess.”
“The fuck are you two talking about?”
Stalking back to the desk, I watched as Cornelius gathered a few papers and brought them back our way, tossing them on the coffee table. Huffing in annoyance, I sat forward and picked them up, squinting in confusion as I stared at the lines and lines of handwritten words.
“Is this supposed to mean something to me?” I asked, looking at the two of them in question.
“That is a police report, Hawk. From the Philadelphia PD. Seems there’s been a complaint filed against you from the night of your show there. Charges are pending.”
“Charges for what?” I scanned the papers, but the cramped writing and the legal jargon were just making my head spin. “What the hell do they think I’ve done now?”
I’d been in jail before. A couple of times, actually. Mostly for stupid shit like drunk and disorderly or assault. Fighting was a problem for me a few years back; I just couldn’t seem to control my temper when some loudmouth punk was beakin’ off at me or my guys. I’d had a lot of rage inside me, and after a few shots and a few insults, my fists were the only way I could seem to express myself.
And yeah, more than once, Cornelius had arranged for my release from some of those charges. Harry would pick my ass up, then she’d chew my ass out. No big deal.
But it had been a couple of years since the last time I’d been in trouble like that, and I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d done—in Philly or elsewhere—that would warrant charges and lawyers and shit.
“I haven’t busted anyone’s face in a long time. Well,” I added with a laugh, “unless you count Lewis. But that guy needs a punch in the mouth every now and then.”
“Cut the shit, Hawk,” Tori snapped. Standing suddenly, she loomed over the table and snatched the papers out of my hand. “This is serious. There is a girl in Philadelphia who is saying you assaulted her. She’s kicking up enough of a fuss to make your life very difficult.”
“Hold the fuck on,” I said, not believing it for a second. “Back up. Someone thinks I—” I choked, needing to take a breath before I could even say the word. “Someone thinks I raped a girl? What the fuck, Tori? You know that’s not true.”
“What we know,” Cornelius said, standing next to Tori and looking down his nose at me, “is that there is a young woman who says it is true. What we know is that if this gets out, it would mean the end of Black Kite. The end of Hawk Jameson.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong!” I insisted, and they both just stared back at me with pity. “I fuckin’ didn’t!”
I knew I was innocent. I hadn’t even been with a girl in Philly. I’d been fucked in the head ever since I’d woken up the morning after the Minneapolis show. I didn’t remember most of the night, just flashes, really, of wide hazel eyes, beautiful music, and the name Bird floating around in the back of my brain. But it was enough to mess me up. I’d had something special in the palm of my hand, and I’d let it get away.
Reaching down, I ran my fingers over the beads on the bracelet, the one that had been on my bed side table the next morning. I had no idea where it had come from, but I’d put it on that morning and I hadn’t taken it off since, connecting the bracelet to what I was sure had been the most amazing night I’d had in a long fuckin’ time.
After that, I’d been a bit of a bitch, spending all my time with Charlie in his bus, only going back to the band bus when the groupies had all left. I hadn’t wanted anyone or anything but the misery of my own thoughts.
So, no. There was no way I’d done anything in Philadelphia, and Victoria Castor fuckin’ knew it.
So why wasn’t she backing me up?
“I didn’t do this,” I insisted again, glaring at them both.
“Do you really think it matters if you did or not, Hawk?” he said, his voice sinister. “You deny these charges. Fine. But the press will have a fucking field day with this shit. The fans will turn on you like a pack of rabid dogs. You’ll lose credibility, sponsorships, everything. You’ll be completely radioactive. No one will touch you with a fucking ten-foot pole. If this goes public, it won’t matter if you’re innocent when the court of public opinion is readying the guillotine, ready to watch your head roll.”
He was right. I fucking hated it, but he was absolutely right. It wouldn’t matter one fucking bit what the truth was when the whole world was salivating to watch my fall from grace. They’d pick over my corpse like the vultures they were, before moving on to the next shiny thing that caught their attention.
My career—my band—they’d never recover.
This would ruin us all.
“People love nothing more than to watch their superstars crash and burn, Hawk,” he continued, his smile evil as he watched me come to terms with the realization that, once again, Cornelius Castor had me by the balls.
“What is it you want, Castor?” I asked, not even bothering to specify which one of them I meant. They were obviously in on it together.
“Castor Records has the power to make this all go away,” Cornelius said, his face and demeanor meant to come across as benevolent, but all he managed was insufferable. “I can, of course, ensure that this police report and the information it contains never sees the light of day. I have contacts that will make it so that this story disappears faster than it arrived. You’ll be completely in the clear.”
Of course he could offer me that, seeing as how he’d probably fabricated the entire fucking thing himself.
“And what, exactly, will that cost me?” I growled, knowing that everything with this family always came at a price.
“I don’t think that cost is the right word, Hawk. After all, you’re the one gaining the most here, aren’t you? You get to keep your good name, keep your band and your record deal. Everything you have, your whole life, stays exactly the same...except for one thing.”
I waited, knowing he wasn’t going to drop the bomb until he was good and ready. Dramatic fucker.
“Mr. Castor,” the ditzy receptionist from earlier said, as she poked her head in the door. “They’re ready for you in the press room.”
“You organized a press conference?” I barked, standing from the couch and beginning to pace. “I thought you said this would all be over. This doesn’t feel like it’s over.”
“The press conference will be needed one way or the other, Hawk. It’s you who gets to decide what they will be told. You can go down there, stand in front of a room full of reporters, and proclaim your innocence to the world. Watch how they respond.”
“Or?”
“Or, you can go out there and give them something juicy. Something that will have every media outlet on the planet singing your praises.”
Acid churned in my gut, the feeling of being caught in his trap ramping my anxiety through the roof. I wanted nothing more than to tell Cornelius Castor to go fuck himself, but I knew that wasn’t a realistic possibility.
We had one album left on our contract with Castor Records. One more thing that we were contractually obligated to provide for him, and then we owed him nothing.
If we didn’t do it, if the guys and I left the label without producing a fourth album, Castor would sue us for breach of contract, and every penny we’d ever made would go into a law suit we’d have no chance of winning.
I thought of Alex and Gavin, my friends since we were kids, and I knew that I couldn’t do that to them. I couldn’t leave them high and dry, putting them into the middle of whatever the fuck this bullshit was Cornelius had cooked up.
No, whatever it was he wanted, I’d do it. Not for me, but for the guys. Because they’d stood by me since the beginning, when shit was dark and when we’d had nothing.
Taking one for the team was the fucking least I could do.
Blowing out a breath, I stuffed my pride down deep and sighed, resigning myself to my fate.
“Just tell me what you want me to do.”