The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance) (13 page)

"You want to tell us what you two have been up
to?" Presley asked.

"I mean, really, Nik?" Jett said. I looked up at
my sisters. As their tone didn't clue me in, both their faces displayed a mix
of shock and disappointment.

Rafe pressed his hand to his forehead. "Dion, you get
your pick of ass but you decide to shit where you eat? Not cool."

"I mean, he's our brother," Presley gasped.

"He's not our brother," I said, scrambling to my
feet. It was easier to defend myself without lying on top of Dion. "Not
really."

"But you were twelve," she gasped again.

I put my hands on my hips and challenged her. "I
certainly wasn't 12 when this happened. We're adults, Presley. We can make our
own choices."

"But the band, Nik," Rafe groaned. "You hate
us that much you're willing to break up the band?"

"She's not breaking up the band," Dion scoffed.
"We're just messing around. Right, Nik?"

"Right," I lied. "Just messing around."

"The messing around ends now," Rafe fumed.

Dion got to his feet and went to his brother. "Relax,
man. I've got this under control."

Rafe got in his face. "It looks to me the only thing
under control in this situation is your dick. Or, more likely, she's got
control of you and your dick."

Dion took a step back from Rafe. "You need to chill,
Rafe."

"Chill? You think I can chill? You remember who her
mother is, right?"

"Whoa," Jett stepped in between the two guys.
"You want to rail about band members hooking up and how uncool that is,
I've actually got your back. But seriously, do not compare any of us to our
mother."

"And this is totally different anyway," Presley
jumped to my defense. "This is nothing like mom and Vince, not even
close."

Rafe glared at us. "Is it? Tell me, after you moved
into our home, did Vince ever go out on tour again?"

"Anthem retired," I said. "The band went on
to side projects. Vince didn't want to tour anymore."

"Wrong," Rafe shouted, getting in my face.
"Vince wanted to tour. Pamela wouldn't let him."

Dion stepped between us. "Back off, man. Just take it
easy."

"Please," I scoffed at Rafe. "Our mother had
zero control over Vince."

"Pamela didn't trust Vince," Dion said, shaking
his head. "He stopped touring because she didn't want him around the groupies.
Temptation."

Rafe snorted. "Ironic, right?"

 "What's ironic," I said, bitterness seeping out
with each word. "Is that Vince didn't have to go far from home for
temptation."

Presley gasped. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on! The constant parade of maids in
miniskirts?" I asked. "The Davis house is like a stand-in for the
Playboy Mansion circa 1987. Marrying our mother did not cramp Vince's style one
bit."

 "That's true," Jett agreed.

"You guys—" Presley started but then just shook
her head. She looked crushed.

Rafe was undeterred. "Rouge Nation has a good thing
going. We've actually got a shot, you realize that? Dion, don't you want to get
out from under Anthem's shadow? Show Vince that we can do this? I am not going
to allow the two of you to fuck that up because of your damn hormones."

Rafe shoved past Dion to the front of the bus.

"Come on, Rafe," Dion called after him.
"Fuck."

Dion followed his brother, leaving me alone with my two
disappointed sisters.

"I hope the sex was worth it," Jett said.
"Because you just betrayed Rafe's trust."

"This didn't happen in a vacuum. Dion betrayed it
too," I said. "And why the hell are you taking his side?"

"Because it was wrong, Nik," she said.

"Wrong? How the hell was it wrong?" I asked.

"You didn't think of the band," she continued.

"I always think about the damn band," I barked.
"That's all I ever thing about. Maybe I want to think about myself for a
change."

Presley sat down on the bottom bunk and pressed her fingers
to her temple. "We all only think about the damn band. Maybe it is time we
stopped thinking about the band, and we all thought about ourselves."

"What are you saying?" I asked, not really wanting
to hear the answer. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes.

"What I'm saying is that maybe we need to take a
break," she said.

"A break?" I asked. "There's a bidding war
for us between record labels!"

"So?" Presley asked. "Rogue Nation is about
to explode. We'll be your side project."

"You're my sisters," I said, dropping down next to
her. "You'll never be my side project."

"That's sweet," she said, giving my hand a
squeeze. "But this Rogue Nation thing is real."

"If Rafe gets over this," I pointed out.

"Rafe will get over it," Jett said, flopping on
the floor in front of us. She pulled her legs into her chest.

"The point is, Nik, I think you've got to follow
through with Rogue."

"You're the one with the passion, Nik," Jett
agreed. "I've just been along for the ride. But I miss school."

My heart raced with panic. "Presley, you want this too,
though. You love to sing."

"Of course I want this," she said. "But I'd
love a solo career. And a fashion line. And maybe a fragrance."

Jett rolled her eyes. "Gwen Stefani is her role
model."

Presley wrinkled her nose. "Gwen's better than a
Kardashian."

I sniffled. "So what are you saying? Satan's Sisters is
breaking up?"

"I'm not saying that," she said. "I'm saying
I think we need to consider our options."

 I looked at Jett. "Do you agree?"

"I don't disagree," she said, taking my other
hand. "I think it's something we all need to think about."

"I'm not saying break up," Presley clarified.
"But I'm saying maybe hiatus? Then you can work on Rogue Nation, Jett can
go to school, and I focus on a solo project."

Unable to keep them back any longer, tears streamed down my
face. "I did all of this for us, so we could stay together," I said
through my sobs. "And hiatus means break up."

"Hiatus does not mean break up," Jett said.
"We just should take a break. Explore our other interests."

"But music's been our life," I argued through
sobs.

"Exactly," Jett said. "And sometimes it's
hasn't been good to us."

"Don't bring our father into this," I started.

"It's kind of impossible not to," Jett said.
"Mom was a 20-something-year-old girl saddled with three kids she had with
a failed musician with a drug problem. Music was not good to us."

"But it ended up being," I argued.

"Maybe for you," Jett said. "Maybe for me
too, but I am curious to see what my life is like without it."

We sat for a minute, lost in our own thoughts. Presley's
voice broke through the silence. "So about you and Dion—"

"I don't want to talk about it," I said.

"Dion's going to break your heart it you're not
careful," Jett said. "Like father like son."

"Now wait a minute," Presley said. "Dion and
Vince are nothing alike."

Jett raised her eyebrows. "Please."

"You just don't know him," Presley said, crossing
her arms. "You never gave him a chance."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jett asked.
"Give him a chance to do what?"

"I don't know, you just never bothered to get to know
him," she snapped.

"I'm not interested in a replacement father," Jett
said, her spine straightening.

"He can be a friend. Did you consider that?"

"Nope, not even a little bit."

"God, Jett, you are so damn frigid sometimes."

"And this is why we need a break," Jett said,
scrambling to her feet. She stalked to the bathroom and slammed the door.

Presley laid her hand on my leg and squeezed.
"Nothing's forever, Nik."

"I thought we could be," I whispered.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Viva Las Vegas?

I took the stage in Sin City in a hell of a mood and my
drums took a literal beating. But I worked out my angst on my drum kit and the
love we got from the audience was magnetic. With Dion preening for the crowd
and Rafe lost in his jams, I wondered why the hell I was jeopardizing such a
great thing by messing around with Dion. Rogue Nation was a kick ass band. I
mean, did Fleetwood Mac teach us nothing?

But as my drums kept time to Dion's lithe body strutting
across the stage, my hormones threatened to take over. When he flashed me his
wicked smile, it was all I could do to stay upright on my throne. My mind
wandered to the night in the motel, the two of us twined into each other. No
complications, he had said. My heart broke all over again.

The set ended and we stepped off stage to thunderous
applause. I expected the roadies to work their magic and break down the gear,
but instead, I was dragged back out for an encore. I looked out at the crowd, a
mass of bodies, all on their feet. Screaming for Dion. Screaming for Rafe.
Screaming for me.

I started to settle back behind my drums when Dion's voice
broke through the noise.

"Oh no, you don't, Nik," his voice boomed into the
microphone. "You come on up here."

My stomach dropped when the crowd screamed even louder and
he lead them into a chant. "Nikki! Nikki! Nikki!"

I climbed out from behind my kit but remained back behind
him. He put the mic in the stand and picked up his acoustic guitar.

"Nik the other members of Satan's Sisters wrote this
song on the bus on the way to Vegas," he said, tuning the guitar while he
talked. "I thought it was an awesome song and then they started talking
about selling it. And I said, hell, Rogue Nation will buy it if Nik will sing it."
He winked at me. "Ready, babe?"

With the spotlight on me, and my eyes went wide. I clamped
my open mouth shut and gave a quick shake of my head.

"I think she needs some encouragement," he called
to the crowd. Screams erupted and the chants started up again. He covered the
mic with his hand and whispered into my ear, "You've got this. And I'm
right beside you. I won't let you fall."

I swallowed my fear and took the mic. He opened with the
haunting chord progression and my voice warbled out the first few notes. The
crowd went quiet and my heart raced. I was losing them. I glanced at Dion. He
pressed on with the music, building the song. I caught the beat, matched him,
found my voice. He smiled at me as we hit the first note of the chorus and the
crowd erupted.

"Take us home, Nik," he called out to me, then we
shared the microphone on the final chorus. Once he played the final notes, he
pulled me into him and kissed me in front of 500 fans.

And they all lost their shit.

The crowd was still screaming as the roadies whisked us off
stage, separating me from Dion. I had about 100 questions to throw at him,
starting with why the hell did he just kiss me in front of 500 screaming fans.
But before I could locate him, Devlin met me in the wings and scooped me up
into a big hug.

"Girl, I don't know whether to hug you or skin
you," he said, clearly opting for the former. "I hoped I'd imagined
you and that rascal getting close. But dammit if you don't both work together
damn good."

"Imagined?" I asked, taking in what he was saying.

"You think you can fool this old man? How many miles
have I logged with bands? I think I know when who's messing around with
who."

"What gave us away?" I asked, heat creeping up my
neck.

"It was Dion," he said. "There wasn't a
revolving door of women."

"But in San Francisco—" I started.

"That was pure show, honey," he said. "Dion
didn't bed any woman on this tour. He only had eyes for you."

He winked at me just as my pocked buzzed. It was the fifth
time someone texted, my phone going off four times during our set. I pulled out
my phone and was instantly flooded with a barrage of texts from my mother, each
one more desperate sounding than the last.

It's Mom, call me.

You need to call me as soon as you can.

Are you off stage yet? You have to call me. Now.

Nikki, call me. Are you on his side too? Are you?

HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO ME I AM YOUR MOTHER.

"Sorry, Dion, Pamela's off her meds again," I
said, holding up my phone. He gave me a sympathetic nod and then barked orders
at the road crew.

I stepped away from the pandemonium, slipping out the stage
door into the dry heat of the desert night. I was about to press the call
button my phone when a slow clap echoed through the quiet alleyway. A familiar
voice came out of the dark.

"That was quite an encore," Brian said, slipping
out from behind a dumpster.

My unease grew as he took a step towards me.

"Brian? What are you doing out here?" I asked, trying
to keep my voice steady. I reached behind me, feeling for the handle of the
door but only touching air.

"Waiting for you," he said.

"Out here? Maybe you should go back in and hang out in
the green room. I'm sure they have food, beer."

"I'm here for the music, Nikki, not the food or the
beer. Or the sex."

"Sex? Who said anything about sex?" I tried to
laugh, keep it light. But my laugh was hollow.

"I told you that you'd break up the band," he
said, his voice unnervingly monotone. "I knew that this would
happen."

"What would happen?" I asked, edging away from
him.

"You. Dion," he said.

"Are you jealous?"

He slammed his hand against the metal garbage bin. The
racket made me jump. "No I am not jealous. I am angry. You didn't listen
to me."

"I don't understand," I stammered. "Listen to
you about what?"

"I've been leaving you messages," he said, this
time he raised his voice.

"You?" I gasped. "The tour bus? The texts?
The flowers?"

"Did you like those flowers?" he asked. "You
don't strike me as long stem roses type but I'm a bit traditional."

That's it, I wasn't hanging around waiting for this guy to
pull something really psycho. I turned and grabbed for the backstage door. I
yanked on it, but it was locked up tight. I heard a chuckle and then the
ominous click of a gun being cocked.

I turned back to him and saw him holding a hand gun —no idea
what kind—at me.

Trying to keep from panicking, I looked down the empty alley
way. Anthem's big rig was parked at the end. They were changing over the stage.
There had to be a roadie coming through, any minute now.

"I thought you were a fan," I stalled.

"I am," he said. "I'm Rogue Nation's number
one fan, and that's why I have to do this."

"Rogue Nation—Dion, Rafe, they'll be pissed if you hurt
me."

"Maybe for a day or two," he sneered. "I
mean, Dion's got so many girls, he may not miss you at all."

That stung. But I ignored it. "No, they'll be pissed
because I'm their drummer."

"Right now, you're Dion's whore, that's about the only
thing I can see. Whore, whore, whore," he taunted.

"And you seemed so damn normal," I muttered under
my breath.

Before I could react, the back of his hand smacked me across
the cheek with such force, I fell back. The base of my skull knocked against
the wall. The rough concrete scraped the skin on my back as I slid to the
ground.

"See what you make me do?" he bellowed. "If
you just walked away, Nikki, just walked away. If you

My unfocused eyes tried following him as he paced the
alleyway, railing about my not listening to him, if I had only quit the band,
this would never happen. A wave of nausea slammed into me, and I tried to keep
my panic level down along with my pre-show snack. I sucked in a breath just as
the backstage door slammed open. Dion walked into the alleyway and straight
into Brian's gun.

"Well, hello there," he said, raising his hands.
He looked down at me. "Nik, you okay?"

"I think so," I said, releasing my breath.

"What about you, Brian?" he asked. "Your name
is Brian right?"

"Yeah, I'm Brian. I'm fine."

"I owe you a signed t-shirt," Dion said. He was
calm, like ran into gun brandishing fans in alleyways all the time. No big
deal.

"Really?" Brian asked. "I thought Nikki was
lying about the t-shirt. That she never told you."

"She told me," he said. "In fact, I was kind
of the asshole and refused to sign it that night. I gave her shit about begging
for a free t-shirt. Did you know the labels makes us pay for those out of
pocket? She didn't have the cash."

"I thought she was lying," Brian repeated.

"That time, no, she wasn't," Dion said. "But
I can see why you didn't believe her."

"You can?" Brian asked, even though doubt
flickered across his face.

"Sure," Dion said. "Bitches lie. Right?"

"Dion," I mumbled, I dropped my aching head into
my hands. I couldn't focus my eyes anymore.

"Up you go," he said, his strong arms lifted me up
off the ground.

"She was drunk," Brian said.

"Was she?" Dion asked. "She's got a nasty
bump on her head there. Scalp's bleeding."

I reached up and touched the back of my hair. It was warm
and sticky. "Dion?" I repeated. His strong arms held me close.

"You're okay," he whispered before turning his
attention back to Brian. "You mind pointing that run in another direction?"

"It's not for you," he said. "It's for
her."

"Right, but I'm next to her, so you understand why I'd
be nervous."

"You two a thing?"

"Us? Nah."

"I saw you on stage."

"Come on, Bri," Dion said, going on the charm
defensive. "Can you blame me? She's a hot piece."

Brian laughed. "No doubt."

"You'd tap that right?"

"I don't know."

"Come on, I saw you the way you watched her backstage
in Seattle. Even in Frisco, helping her with her scraped up knee."

"Well, yeah, but you're—"

"You were backstage in Seattle. What did that look like
to you?"

Brian left his hand on the trigger but he lowered the gun.
"Yeah, you get a lot of girls, don't you?”

"That's rock and roll," Dion said, adjusting my
dead weight. "Let's get her back inside. She's bleeding all over my jeans,
and these are the expensive ones"

"No she stays," Brian said, raising the gun again.
"I can fix this for you Dion. I can get rid of her. Let me fix this for
you."

"Her drumming's pretty good, son," Dion said.

"No no no no no," Brian said, mania creeping back
into his voice. "She's ruining your band, man. She's killing Rogue Nation.
Don't let her kill the Nation. Don't let her—"

A crack boomed through the air, and Dion gave me a hard
shove as a bullet come straight at me. But Dion wasn't fast enough. A burning
pain ripped into my abdomen as I tumbled to the pavement.

Dion tackled Brian just as Devlin burst through the stage
door.

"Did I just hear gunshots?" Devlin barked as he
burst through the stage door just as Dion tackled Brian. "Holy fuck! Get
security!"

From my vantage point on the pavement, everything happened
sideways and in slow motion. When security pulled Dion off Brian, Brian's face
was bloody and swollen. Dion shook the guard off of him and raced to me.

"Did anyone call 911?" Dion yelled, picking me up
and holding me in his arms.

"Hang on, Nik," he said.

"I'm okay," I whispered. He ripped off his t-shirt
and pressed it against my stomach. It felt warm and wet. Then he pulled me to
him. "Dion? Am I getting your expensive jeans dirty?"

"Fuck my jeans, Nik," he said. "Come on, stay
with me, babe. I need you, Nik. I need you."

"I love you too," I murmured, closing my eyes.
There were a lot of legs surrounding us, and the light coming from above was
blinding.

"Someone call fucking 911," Dion screamed.

And that was the last thing I remember. Everything went
black.