Free Punishing Me (Shaft on Tour #6) by Cat Mason Page A

“What
do you want me to do?”
    “First
things first,” he sighs, shaking his head. “We’ve gotta keep Ireland contained.
You’ve known her a long time, right? Since you were kids…” he asks, popping a
pretzel into his mouth from the bowl in the middle of the table. I nod my
reply. Henry scratches at the stubble on his face. “Why don’t you go over and
talk to her?”
    “There’s
no talkin’ to that stubborn ass. She absolutely hates me,” I mutter, making him
laugh. “It’d be easier if I just clubbed her in the head caveman style.”
    Henry
laughs again, but sighs quickly. “Noted,” he nods, pushing to his feet. Making
his way around the table, he stops and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Just
promise me you’ll try to save the club as a last resort, okay?”
    My
phone buzzes in my pocket as Henry leaves the room. Pulling it from my pocket,
I groan at her reply.
    Yep.
Sarcasm keeps me from becoming a serial killer.
    “Yeah,”
I breathe, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I’m gonna need more than a club.”

Chapter Eight
    Linda, Listen
    Ireland
    Catastrophic.
    That’s
the only word I can use to describe the quiet dinner my parents planned with
some friends. Turns out friends is code word for potential investors. The icing
on the cake: someone tipped off the media, resulting in a restaurant and window
front full of headline hounds and blinding flashbulbs.
    That
someone being my very own father. Go figure…
    When
my own father proceeded to flaunt me like an investment perk, you could say I
felt betrayed and used. Needless to say, when I lost my shit and stormed out,
there were plenty of video vultures ready to pounce on every morsel.
    Padding
down the stairs, I head straight for the kitchen. The coffee pot has been
calling my name for hours, but I couldn’t make myself leave my bed. I couldn’t
sleep either. Now, the need for the clarity, only a cup of coffee can give my
frazzled mind, outweighs anything else.
    I
haven’t looked at my phone, or glanced to see how the story has been spun yet.
I was supposed to lay low. Take my week off and keep my ass off radar so that
the frenzy for photos and stories about me could die down before we hit the
road for the last of the tour dates. Now, this little stunt is going to have me
in hot water with everyone.
    I
have never been so tired, yet so wide awake in my life. My mind is on overdrive,
running like the energizer bunny, but the rest of me feels completely drained.
I’m helpless while my brain replays, not only last night, but all the greatest
hits from the last few years. My parents less than impressed faces seeming to
be the one common denominator.
    As
if living this shit wasn’t bad enough the first time.
    "Good
morning, Ireland."
    The
tone in my mother's voice tells me it's about to be anything but. Squaring my
shoulders, I enter the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee pot.
    "It
was," I mutter under my breath. “I thought you’d already left for the lab.”
    “I
wanted to talk to you before I left,” she informs me.
    “Oh,”
I say, sarcastically. “Now, you want to talk? Hmm, I wonder if Satan has
mittens for when Hell freezes over.”
    "I
don't believe I care for your tone," she returns, staring down at her
coffee cup. "You made a mess of things last night. Let your father and me
down when we were counting on you." Meeting my eyes, she narrows her gaze.
"While you’ve been sulking, I have been on the phone trying to contain and
control the damage you created. The least you could do is be apologetic and
show some sort of remorse for your actions."
    "Well,
if that isn’t the pot callin’ the kettle black, I don’t know what is. Consider
yourself lucky. I may have let you down last night, but you’ve let me down
every day of my life. Do I really only exist to you when it has the opportunity
to benefit you?" I ask, grabbing a mug and pouring myself a coffee. "I
can’t believe you don’t or won’t see how fucked up that is! I am