and moved with the flow. Microphones were shoved in my face, flashbulbs popped in never-ending strobes, and camera’s clicked like automatic gunfire. It was like the Grammys, but without anything to celebrate.
Several of LAPD’s finest, who’d been guarding the entrance, sprinted toward us. Shielding us in an inner ring, they escorted us safely inside the funeral home. Quinn immediately snagged one of the officers. As he led the man away, I heard him request more security for the stars who’d be arriving soon to pay their respects.
After a brief conversation with the funeral director, a plump, fortysomething woman with pale red hair and a mass of freckles dotting her nose rushed up to Mia.
“Paulette,” she whispered as they fell into each other’s arms, sobbing.
After drying their eyes, Mia introduced me and the others to Nigel’s housekeeper.
While Paulette stayed behind and visited with the guys, I followed Mia as she slowly made her way down the aisle to a podium where a photo of Nigel—performing on stage—and the urn containing his ashes rested.
She brushed her fingers over both, mumbling something softly, then wiped the tears from her cheeks and sucked in a deep breath. I stepped in behind her and draped my arm around her waist.
“You doing okay? Is there anything you need?”
Mia shook her head as an indignant cry came from the lobby. We turned in unison and my jaw dropped as I watched Electra—dressed in a skintight, neon green bodysuit—push past the director and storm toward the podium. Wails tore from her throat as tears streamed down her face.
Every muscle in Mia’s body turned to granite.
“Oh, hell no,” she bit out angrily. Turning, she stormed straight toward the woman. “Get out of here, you fucking whore. You’re the reason he’s dead!”
As if Mia had physically slapped her, Electra reared back and gasped. “You can’t tell me what to do, you lying little bitch. I have more right to be here than you.”
“I will drop-kick your skank ass out the door if you don’t leave. Now!” Mia snarled, balling up her fists.
While I usually enjoyed watching a good catfight, I wasn’t about to let Mia participate in one. As I hurried toward her, Ross and Duke rushed down the aisle behind Electra.
“I will not. How dare you talk to me like that. I-I loved him,” Electra wailed.
“You don’t know the meaning of the word. You used Nigel…used him like the two-dollar hooker you are, then tossed him to the curb like the dirty condoms you yank from your filthy snatch.”
Whoa, damn. I’d never seen Mia this mad. It was equal parts stunning and terrifying.
“I’m sorry, Miss Harris,” the funeral director apologized, hurrying into the fray. Shock and confusion lined his face as he nervously bounced a gaze off both women. “I-Is there a problem here?”
“Yes,” Mia hissed. “I want this…this pedophile-humping pile of dog shit escorted off the premises. And don’t let her back in, or there will be war.”
“I-I’m not sure I have anyone who can physically…um…” Clearly stunned, the director gaped at the two sickly thin employees poised at the entrance of the chapel and paled.
“We’ll be happy to help you out,” Ross offered with an ugly smile. “Won’t we Duke?”
“With pleasure.” Pretty boy flashed a wide grin.
“Oh, my. Hello there. W-who are you?” Electra asked blatantly flirting with Mia’s keyboard player.
“Definitely not interested,” Duke drawled as he and Ross each cupped an elbow and started hauling Electra toward the door.
“Let go of me,” she growled. “I’m here to pay my respects.”
“Lady, from what I’ve heard, you’re already overdrawn in that area,” Ross chortled.
“Let go of me, you beasts, or I’ll have you both arrested for assault.”
Duke laughed. “Take a look around, honey. There’s nearly a dozen people here who’ll call bullshit to your claim.”
While Electra continued screaming out threats, I simply held Mia to my chest as her body vibrated in rage.
“No. No. Not the front door,” Electra cried. “You can’t throw me to those…those wolves. The press will eat me alive.”
“Not if you offer them some oral in return,” Syd quipped with a snarl.
“Please. No,” Electra begged. “They’ll crucify me.”
“If we’re lucky, they’ll douse her in holy water and we can watch her burn,” Mia groused.
Body shaking in silent laughter, I kissed the top of her head and led her back to the podium.
“I’m sorry, Nigel, but the maggot mistress had to go,” Mia whispered, tracing her finger over his face in the photo. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“I’m sure he already has.”
Mia turned and looked