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Spring 2004

For five years, we’d been touring the world. We’d recorded two more albums in that time—Moniker Mayhem and Addicted Masochist. We’d made it to the top, our singles hitting number one on the charts. We’d carved a name deep into the metal music industry. NOLA’s Junk was respected, admired, fuckin’ known.

I had about two years left. I’d lived more in these last five years than most people ever would in a single lifetime. I was okay with that. What I wanted was to go home and live out the rest of my days in comfort.

Phil needed to find his Baby Girl. For a while now, he’d been getting his shit together. He was in a good place in his head. He had a sweet little piece, Camryn, who was keeping him as happy as he could be without his Baby Girl.

Sheri needed to fuckin’ rest. The poor woman looked to be on death’s door, running herself ragged for us.

Flipper needed to be with Vivian. The few times she’d joined us on tour, he’d never been happier. She had a way with the Mexican punk.

And Jason…he just needed to fuckin’ calm the fuck down and let Sheri know she was the light of his life. They’d always be some weird-ass motherfuckers, but they could have each other if they’d just get their shit together.

The Scandinavian tour was over. Thank fuck. I was real fuckin’ sick of this cold-ass weather. We had a couple of nights to go before we left Helsinki for Costa Rica for a weeklong vacation before starting up the South American tour. Then, we’d have a few shows on the West Coast before playing our final show in our beloved home of New Orleans.

Phil and I were sharing a hotel suite with separate bedrooms, and some noisy fuckin’ banging woke my ass up.

“Seriously?” I grumbled, getting out of bed and heading for the door.

I knew it was Phil and Camryn’s last night together. Phil had told me they’d probably just hang out, that he’d told her he didn’t want to have sex. His guilt over Baby Girl was rising again, and with the hope of finding her in a few months, he felt he should abstain.

Fuckin’ weirdo.

The banging wasn’t coming from Phil’s bedroom. It was coming from the suite door.

Phil opened his bedroom door. “The fuck is goin’ on?”

“I thought it was you havin’ crazy-ass sex.”

Again, there came pummeling on our door, and we both made our way toward it. Phil reached it first and wrenched the door open.

Both Phil and I gasped.

“Phil!” cried Camryn, throwing her half-naked ass into his arms. She was hysterical, bawling her eyes out.

“The fuck happened to you?” he asked, pulling her inside.

She was so tiny, cradled in his arms.

Phil walked her over to the sofa, and stunned, I followed. Camryn broke down, sobbing into her hands.

“Camryn—”

“Fucking Devon GianFranco!” she shouted. “He to-told m-me that there was a party up in his room, that you all were there! So, I went with him, an-an-and he fucking beat me to shit and raped me!”

“What?” Phil yelled. “When the fuck was this?”

“I don’t even know anymore. Hours ago? I went to the bar to have a few drinks with Cindi and Elle C., and I ran into him on my way out of the bathroom. He’s fucking sadistic!”

“No shit,” I grunted.

Phil threw me a filthy look.

“After the last time he-he…” She waved her hand toward her crotch. “He said to tell you that your debt was pa-paid. Then, he knocked me out cold. I woke not long ago in his room, and he was gone.”

“What fuckin’ debt?” I asked Phil.

Phil stood up to his massive fuckin’ height, his eyes flashing hellfire, his jaw clenching. “Don’t fuckin’ worry about it. Just fuckin’ stay with her. I’m gonna find the motherfucker.”

For some weeks, we’d been touring with the Cannibals through Britain and Scandinavia. We’d wrapped it up in Finland and had a few days just to relax. They’d been staying in the same hotel as us, but we never ran into each other; our security detail made sure of that.

After Phil slammed the door behind him, I looked back at Camryn. She was wearing only her bra and panties.

“Where are your clothes?” I asked.

“When I woke up, this was what I was wearing. I ran out of there.”

“Lemme go find something for you…”

I found a pair of old sweatpants and a T-shirt in my luggage. When I came back out to the living room, I handed them to her.

“You should probably go to the hospital or something,” I mentioned. “There could be tearing or…”

She shook her head.

“You have to call the police, Camryn. He can’t get away with this!”

“He already has,” she retorted. “If I call the cops and file a fucking report against GianFranco, he will lawyer the fuck up and destroy me. He will walk away from this, and I will never work again. No band will ever hire me, knowing I’m a squealer.”

“A squealer? You’re a fuckin’ victim, Camryn! The Cannibals are some of the sickest fucks I’ve ever known, and none of them should be able to get away with what they do.”

“When I agreed to work for them, I signed a disclaimer. I can’t tell anyone what they get up to, or there’ll be legal recriminations.”

“You didn’t sign away your right not to be raped. You’re a fuckin’ makeup artist, not a piece-of-ass groupie.”

There’d been a time when we were all friends. We’d partied with each other, fucked each other’s groupies—ours coming back way worse for wear. Jürgen was a slick fucker though. I wasn’t even sure what the disclaimer entailed. I knew Tim had our crew sign them, but that was just to make sure they wouldn’t blab to the press about our work and shit.

Camryn shook her head again, refusing to look at me.

I sighed. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Water.”

I got up and headed into the kitchen, wondering how the fuck she could be so fuckin’ calm about surviving a beatdown and rape. I knew what those fuckin’ Cannibals were capable of.

Phil came back about a half hour later as fuckin’ pissed as I’d ever seen him.

“They’re gone,” he said. “They checked out before fuckin’ dawn.”

“Do you think they were all involved in this?” I asked.

Camryn shrugged. “There was only GianFranco. No one else was in that room.”

Even still, I thought it was fuckin’ bizarre that the Cannibals had already checked out.

No matter how hard Phil and I tried to convince Camryn, she refused to file a police report against the fucker.

“They’re not the only band I work for! I’ll never work again if I report it,” she told us.

“He fuckin’ raped and beat you,” Phil stated.

Camryn’s eyes flashed with anger. “I know. Whose career do you think will be destroyed if I go to the police? His?” she scoffed. “I just want to go home.”

Phil ended up giving her a fat chunk of funds to hold her over, so she could go back to California and recover without having to stress about finding work. She packed up her shit and flew out the next morning.

“How the fuck do you end up with all this fuckin’ drama?” I asked Phil after we dropped her off at the airport. “Seriously, first, Brigid, and now, fuckin’ Camryn.”

“I don’t know, but I ain’t fuckin’ havin’ any more of it. I’m done. Ain’t no one touchin’ me but my Baby Girl from now on.”

We landed in Costa Rica for a few days of doing fuck all. It was fuckin’ paradise. Heat, sunshine, warm sand, and copious amounts of alcohol. My pale ass got fried. It was awesome.

For four days, it was nothing but us brothers, Sheri, and our security team.

Tiny, our head of security, looked like a massive black Buddha parked on the beach in his Hawaiian swim trunks, his feet in the surf.

“What do you plan on doin’ once we’re back home?” I asked him, handing him a fruity rum punch and parking it next to him.

Tiny shrugged. “I don’t know. Eat some good fuckin’ food. I miss that the most.”

Too fuckin’ right.

There was nothing better than a huge bowl of Phil’s dad’s jambalaya. Or my mom’s cornbread and fried okra. Or the fried alligator from that shack place on the Mississippi.

“For real.”

We sipped on our rum punches, listening to the waves lap at the shoreline for a few minutes.

“You got someone back home, Tiny?”

“Sure. I mean, me and my ole lady went our separate ways these last few years but only ’cause I was gone, you know? We’ve kept in touch this whole time, and I hope to pick up where we left off and all.”

“Yeah? That’s cool.” I looked at his profile. “How fuckin’ old are you, man?”

He grinned, his teeth blinding against the blue-black of his skin. “How old you think I am?”

“You have to at least be twenty-three ’cause you’ve been with us since the day we left New Orleans, and we’d never hire a minor for head of our security.”

His laughter boomed out, a deep bass sound that rumbled through me. “I’m thirty-two, brother.”

“You haven’t aged a fuckin’ day since I met you.”

“That’s ’cause black don’t crack,” he replied. “What about you? Do you have a Baby Girl of your own waitin’ for you back home?”

For the first time in years, I thought about Alys. Baby Girl’s best friend was the only woman I’d actually wanted to get to know. Funny, smart, and fuckin’ gorgeous, she’d caught my attention that night that no other woman had since.

“Do I strike you as crazy as Phil?”

Tiny laughed. “No, man. Out of all of you, you’re the only motherfucker who ain’t crazy. You got a good head on you. The boys are lucky to have you to keep them in check.”

“I don’t know about all that,” I replied.

I’d done some crazy fuckin’ shit myself over the years. But Tiny was right; I kept these fuckers in line. I wasn’t bowing out early to let them screw shit up.

June sixth, Phil’s birthday. It was our last day in Costa Rica, and, fuck, we were going out with a bang. Breakfast in the hotel was fuckin’ awesome—buffet-style. Then, we headed out to the beach to roast ourselves and consume a shit-ton of alcohol.

Phil fuckin’ took my breath away. My best friend, my true love…it was no wonder I never found anyone to pass more than a night or two with. Phil…he’d tried so hard to forget about his Baby Girl, attempting to have relationships with Brigid and Camryn. Jason and Sheri went out and found people to bring into their warped relationship. Flipper had favorites he’d keep for a few weeks before sending their asses home.

But not me. I was promised three loves for my silence, and so far, I had only the one.

And he was getting some fuckin’ birthday head from Sheri on a lawn chair while Jason pile-drove her from behind.

Good thing we’ve got our own private beach.

I liked to watch them though. Live porn at its finest, man. Flipper was passed out next to me in his own lawn chair, totally unfazed by the sounds of sloppy sex going on.

So much for Phil not lettin’ anyone but Baby Girl touch him, I thought.

My conversation with Tiny on the beach kept coming back to me. All these years had passed, and I still hadn’t felt anything for anyone else. I’d banged my way through the world. Dudes, chicks—it didn’t matter to me. But not once had I been inclined for more. No one had lit that spark that Phil had in me all those years ago.

I wasn’t mad that Phil didn’t love me like I loved him. He couldn’t help who he was, just as I couldn’t. I wasn’t jealous that there was a woman out there—his Baby Girl—who would give him everything he’d ever dreamed of.

I was jealous though that I didn’t have that with someone else. It seemed as though I was the only one among my brothers who would die, not knowing what it was like to be loved like that. Even just a little.

It’s probably better this way. If I had someone who loved me that much, I’d have to break their heart.