The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance) (9 page)

"You're so disgusted having a girl on the tour you've
got to resort to intimidation?" I said, my voice rose high enough that the
people around us stopped their conversations to watch. "You really think
these stupid anonymous threats would scare me? Make me quit?"

"What stupid threats?" he asked, tilting his head
to the left.

"The threats in your damn note," I said and kicked
the wadded up paper towards him.

He threw up his hands. "What note, Nikki?"

I pointed to floor. "That one!"

He bent over and snatched it up. He smoothed it out. His
face went dark as he read it. "Nik, I didn't write this."

I put my hands on my hips. "Of course you did."

"Nik, this wasn't me."

"Stop lying, Dion," I said. "You get your
rocks off scaring me, but it's not cool. Not at all."

Dion took a step towards me. "You're nuts. Why would I
threaten you?"

I refused to back down. "Don't gaslight me!"

Dion wrapped his hands around both of my arms and squeezed.
"I'd never do that to you, Nik. Never."

"Hey," Brian said, pushing through the circle
growing around me and Dion, Jett and Presley following behind him.
"Everything okay here?"

"Nik?" Jett asked, looking back and forth between
me and Dion. "Are you alright?"

"Holy hell," Presley yelped. "Don't touch
her!"

I shrugged Dion's hands off of me. "I'm fine. It's
fine."

"Don't you tell me you are fine," Presley railed.
"Dion, stop leaving those stupid notes. The bus was kind of weird but kind
of funny. This is now officially creepy."

"Fuck this," he exploded. "I didn't mess with
the bus. I didn't leave any notes for anyone. She drums, I accept it. I'm not
mad anymore. You Benson women are all fucked, you know that?"

Dion stalked off, the front row 'hoes trailing behind him.

"He's an ass," Presley spat out.

"If it wasn't Dion..." Jett started.

"It was Dion," Presley insisted. "He's trying
to get a rise out of us."

"Well, it's working," I said, ignoring Jett's
unease. I rubbed my arms where Dion's hands gripped.

Brian rested his hand on the small of my back. "Are you
hurt?" he asked.

"Nah, it's nothing," I said. "My arms are
fine. Sore from playing two sets tonight, that's all."

"How about I get you a beer?" he asked.

"That'd be great, thanks," I said.

Brian walked towards the cooler filled with beer, which was
right by Dion, who held court at the ratty old couch, groupies flanking him.
One was giving him a lap dance.

"Turn that shit up," Dion called out to no one in
particular. But Saving Abel's Addicted came on full blast, and the groupie
girl's top was off before the first verse was over.

"Wow, this is nuts," Brian said, returning with
two beers. He pushed one into my hands, staring at the scene unfolding between
Dion and his front row 'hoes.

"Thanks," I said, noticing that the PBR can was
open. Dion was behind the threat; I was certain of that. But after reading that
note, I didn't want to take chances with any can or bottle that I did not open
myself. I put it on the console table beside me. "Never been backstage
before, I guess?"

"Is this normal?" he asked, eyes wide. Lap dancing
girl's bra was off.

"Pretty much," I said. "Although Anthem's
backstage parties were total debauchery."

"Really?" he asked, his eyes on the lap dancer. I
shook my hair off my face and puffed out my chest to accentuate my cleavage. I
was no match for her though. She was shimmying out of her skirt, leaving her in
just a thong and high heels.

"Yeah, someone would have been having sex on the dirty
couch by now," I said. This time, I leaned into him. He smiled down at me
and slipped an arm around my shoulders.

Dion's eyes were no longer on the writhing blond in front of
him. They were on me. And Brian. And Brian's arm around me.

Dion stood and gripped the nearly-naked woman by the ass,
grinding his pelvis into hers. He glared at me. I reacted by my snaking my arms
around Brian's neck, hip pressing into pelvis.

"Oh, wow, hey there," Brian stammered, placing an
awkward hand on my butt.

That's when my bravado disappeared. I grabbed the open can
of PBR off the table and made of a show of drinking it. But instead of putting
it to my lips, I dumped it all over Brian.

He jumped back as the cold beer sloshed all over his Rogue
Nation concert tee. "Shit!"

I rose my hands in mock surrender, sending the can to the
floor, where it bounced. A new wave of beer soaked his sneakers, splashing
along the cuffs of his jeans. I cringed. "Sorry."

"You damn well should be," he snapped, hands
balled into fists.

"It's just beer," I said, inching back from him.

He shook his head, tossing off a half smile. "Yeah,
sorry, just surprised me. That's all."

"Well, sorry," I said. "I'll get you a new
t-shirt from the merch table."

"Can you ask Dion to sign it?" he asked, perking
up.

"Um, sure," I said, glancing back at him while I
walked away.

I headed out of the greenroom, through the hallway backstage
and then into the eerily quiet club. Just a few die-hards were finishing their
beers while the staff cleaned up for the night. I spotted our roadies Beef. He
was called Beef because he was exactly that: Beefy. He was in the middle of
packing up a pile of CDs. There was a stack of t-shirts in the open box beside
him.

"Hey, Beef, can you grab a t-shirt for me? Medium?"
I asked.

He folded his arms. "You paying for it? Cash only,
credit card machine is packed up."

"Come on, Beef, hand one over."

"Grimm wants a count for everything. I can't just hand
it over."

"But I'm with the band," I said.

"You get 10 percent off," he said.

I turned out my pocked. "Beef, look, I don't have any
cash."

"Can't sell you a t-shirt then," he said, his face
set to stubborn.

"Seriously? Jeeze, Beef, I'm good for it. You know
where I live!" I joked.

"Actually, I don't know where you live," he said.
"Do you live in the fancy house with Vince?"

"The tour bus, Beef. I live on the tour bus right
now."

Dion's laugh filled up near-empty room. "Beef, give her
a t-shirt."

"I don't know, Dion," he said. "Grimm said—"

"Fuck that greedy bastard," Dion said. "I'll
have him take the ten bucks out of our tour account."

"Ten bucks?" I asked. "You said 10 percent
off."

"Beef," Dion scolded. "Are you trying to
pocket a few bucks? We get them for cost."

"Will you sign for it at least?" Beef asked,
looking sheepish. "Please."

"Sign for it?" Dion started to grumble.

"Grimm will chew out his ass, not ours," I pointed
out.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a twenty. "Fuck
Grimm. I'm not signing for shit. Here, keep the change."

Beef handed me a shirt.

"You got a gold or silver Sharpie somewhere?" I
asked.

"Yeah, why?" Beef said.

I handed the shirt to Dion. "I need Dion to sign
it."

Dion belly-laughed. "You're getting a t-shirt for your
boyfriend and he wants me to sign it? Isn't that rich?"

"Come on, Dion, just sign the damn thing," I said,
taking the Sharpie from Beef. Beef went back to packing up the merch. "It
doesn't matter to you, really. Right?" He looked at the pen I held out.
"Come on, I dumped beer on the guy. It's the least I can do."

"So I have to pony up an autograph because you're a
klutz?"

"Forgot it," I said. "I'll forge it or
something."

"Hey, Miranda, can we get two beers here?" he
called to the bartender, a woman around my mom's age. "I know you're
closing up but we're thirsty." He flashed her a smile that could charm the
habit off a nun.

"Only because you guys played a rocking set," she
said, pouring two drafts into a plastic cup. "One of the best I've seen
since your dad played here back in the day. Love your new drummer."

"Thanks," I said as she slid both beers across the
bar to us. "I appreciate the support."

She winked. "On the house."

She went back to cleaning up, and I held the pen out to
Dion. "Come on, please?"

"I like it when you beg," he said. "Do it
again. But this time, push your tits out. I like that top."

I crossed my arms my chest, feeling my face flush.
"Presley's idea."

"She finally had a good one."

I barreled on. "I know I look ridiculous but I didn't
have any clean shirts—"

He stepped towards me and ran his hand down my arm.
"Why would you say you look ridiculous?"

I shivered. I wasn't going to fall for this again. Not this
time. "It's too, you know, Presley for me."

"What does 'too Presley' mean, exactly?" he asked.
He had run out of arm, so he held my hand loosely in his.

"You know. Presley," I mumbled, watching his thumb
caress my fingers. "She's just like sex on legs. That's not me."

"No, that's not you," he agreed. "But you
don't have to be sex on legs to wear that shirt and look hot in it."

I felt my resolve weaken. "Are you talking
hypotheticals?"

"Nope," he whispered into my ear, his mouth
lingering for a moment. "I'm not the only guy with that opinion."

I swallowed and changed the subject. "So you gonna sign
the shirt or what?"

"On one condition," he said.

I stepped closer to him and closed my eyes, I couldn't help
it. Post show, he smelled determinedly masculine, a heady mix of soap and
sweat. I wanted to breathe him in, just for a moment. "What's that?"

"Bus is kind of crowded."

"Yes, it is," I murmured, absorbing the heat from
his body.

He moved my hand to his crotch and rubbed it on his stiff
cock. "Come to Randy's place with me."

He brushed his arm lightly over my breasts, and my nipples
hardened instantly. "Who's Randy?" I asked, breathless.

"Randy's the girl wearing nothing but a thong in the
other room."

I snatched my hand away from him. "You cannot be
serious."

"And two of those girls on the couch are her
roommates," he continued, swallowing some beer. "Come on, Nik. Four
on one. How hot is that?"

I stepped back from him. "Not hot at all."

"I'm sure the girls won't mind if you bring your
fanboy," he said. "They may even appreciate it."

"Dion," I started, but hated the quiet desperation
that creeped into my voice. "Just sign the damn shirt and I'll leave you
alone."

"Not signing unless you come to Randy's," he said.
"Come on, those girls get wild."

I snatched the shirt up off the bar. "I have zero
interest in an orgy with you and the skank sisters."

"Have fun with your boyfriend," Dion sneered.

"You know, Dion, unlike you, I don't need a million
people to get me off. It just takes one who knows what they're doing."

Dion's jaw dropped. He started to say something, but I
turned on my heel and walked out of the bar.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I tossed and turned on the hard mattress the bus bunk. Every
time Devlin hit a bump—and there sure were a lot of them—my hipbone slammed
into the mattress hard enough that I could feel the hard support bench below
me. Rafe was snoring in a bunk above me.

I flipped onto my back and heaved out a sigh.

"Shhhh. Trying to sleep here," Dion stage
whispered from the bunk beside me.

"Like you'd be sleeping at Randy's house," I
whispered back.

He snaked his body out of his bunk and poked his head into
mine through the thin curtain. "You didn't go home with your freaky boy
toy? Was he mad that I didn't sign his t-shirt? And what the hell are you
wearing?"

I pulled the blanket up to my neck. "Pajamas."

"You're wearing the Rogue Nation t-shirt," he
said.

"So what?"

He tugged on the sheet. "You didn't give it to your
boyfriend?"

I held it tight with both hands. "You didn't sign
it."

"Come on, let's see how it looks," he said, giving
another tug.

"Go to sleep, Dion," I hissed.

"I want to see how you fill it out," he insisted.

He pulled again, hard. This time, I released the blanket.
With momentum behind him, he tumbled out of the bunk and landed on the floor
with a thud.

"What the hell is your problem?" he yelled.

"What the hell is yours?" I challenged back.

"What hell is both of your problems?" Presley
moaned from her bunk. "It's four in the damn morning."

Rafe poked his head out of his bunk. "Are you two
fighting again?"

"Dion fell out of the bunk," I said. "And
blamed me."

Dion glared at me from the floor. He opened his mouth to
argue but was cut off by a loud pop and then the bus took a sudden swerve to
the right.

"Hang on," Devlin yelled from the driver's seat as
the bus went into a skid. Presley shrieked and I watched as Jett's hand reached
down and held onto the bottom of her bunk. My own reaction time was too slow. I
was tossed out of my bunk and landed on top of Dion. He wrapped his arms around
me as the bus spun out 180 degrees and skid sideways down the highway, a high
pitch scream coming from the tires burning on the asphalt.

 The bus finally came to a stop. Devlin's labored breathing
from the driver’s seat punctured through the sudden silence.

"Holy shit," he repeated. "Holy shit."

"Devlin, are you okay?" Dion called out, his arms
still wrapped around me. The t-shirt rode up around my waist, exposing my
decidedly unsexy underwear—a pair of baby blue cotton briefs.

Presley stumbled out of her bunk and tripped over Dion and
me, not even paying attention our position. She rushed to the front of the bus.
"God, Devlin, what happened?"

"Tire blew," he said from the driver's seat.

"Jett? Rafe? You guys alright?" I called, unable —okay,
maybe unwilling—to move from my position in Dion's arms.

"I'm okay," Jett said. She still clutched the
bunk.

"Yup, I'm good," said Rafe. He popped his head out
of his chamber and saw Jett white-knuckling the wood slat. He reached for her
hand and pried it off.

I extracted myself from Dion.

"So I finally get to see the t-shirt," he said,
sitting up on his elbows.

I stood and stretched the t-shirt down to cover my butt.
"Yes, you do."

"It's a good look for you," he mused.

I ignored him and focused on Devlin, who finally climbed out
of the driver's seat. "Devlin, what's up?"

"Gotta call a tow," he said, grabbing his cell
phone and getting off the bus.

"Great," muttered Presley, who stomped back to her
bunk. "This is why I said we should fly."

"Travis Barker," muttered Dion.

"What about him?" I asked.

"Travis, of course," Presley said. "See, he
survived a plane crash. Not all musicians are doomed."

"But it still crashed," Jett pointed out.

"And DJ AM killed himself because of survivor’s
guilt," Rafe added.

"I thought that was drugs," Presley said.

"Why do you think he was doing so many?" I
snapped. "Get off the flying thing. Not. Gonna. Happen."

"We'll see about that," she said, pulling out her
phone.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Calling Vince," she said.

Dion reached over and snatched the phone out of her hands.
"You are not calling Vince."

Presley lunged for the phone. "Hey, give that
back."

Dion pulled away from her and scrolled through her phone. He
frowned. "You and Vince sure have a lot to talk about."

Presley shrugged. "Not really."

"There has to be at least 30 calls between you,"
he said. "What the hell are you talking about with him?"

"Nothing," she said, snatching her phone out of
his hands.

"Thirty phone calls isn't nothing," he said.

"Drop it, Dion," I said, watching the color drain
out of Presley's face.

"I will not drop it," he said. "And you
shouldn't want me to."

"Oh no, I want you to," I said.

"What if she's negotiating a Satan's Sister deal behind
your back?" he challenged.

"I would never—" Presley said around rapid intakes
of breath. "Nik, Jett, I would never ever negotiate anything without
you."

Jett jumped out of her bunk. "You better not be. I
don't want a lifetime supply of mascara in exchange for my publishing
rights."

Presley's eyes went wide. "Jett! I would never—"

"Thirty calls to Vince? I'd sure as hell like to know
why," she said. "Nik is probably curious too."

Presley's lower lip trembled. "Nik?"

I sighed. "It is a lot of calls, Presley. I think I
called Vince like once, and that was for that PR witch to send us directions to
the radio station for the interview."

"I just...this tour is just," she stuttered.
"It's hard on me."

"You're not a goddamn Disney princess, you know that
right?" Dion exploded. "You think you deserve a hotel room? A private
yet? Without us, you'd be driving yourselves in a shitty van."

"Or not touring at all," Rafe added.

"I hate to agree with the fools," Jett said,
"But, Presley, you need to check your privilege."

"I promise, I am not doing anything behind your
backs," she insisted.

Dion, Rafe and Jett just stared her down.

"Pres, just tell us what's going on," I tried.
"Be honest with us."

She shook her head. "Vince is helping me with some
stuff that's all."

Jett narrowed her eyes. "What stuff?"

"It's personal," she whispered.

Jett threw up her hands. "Great," she said before
she stalked off the bus.

"This is some bullshit," Rafe spat. "Clearly
the apple does not fall far from the tree."

"And what does that mean?" I bristled.

"Exactly what Rafe said," Dion explained.
"Your mom's a gold digger. In it for herself."

"Yes, my mother's a gold digger," I agreed.
"But that's not Presley. Or Jett. Or me."

"I don't see it in you or Jett," Rafe said.
"But her?" He jerked his head towards Presley.

"Screw you," she shrieked. "I did nothing
wrong." She turned on her heel and fled the stifling quarters of the bus.

I rounded on the boys. "Presley may be a lot of things,
but she's nothing like our mother."

"You don't think she'd fuck to get ahead?" Dion
asked. "Would you?"

I slapped him. I didn't even think about it. My hand just
whipped out and slammed straight across his cheek. He stood there, stunned.

"Damn, bro, you're on your own with that one,"
Rafe said, following Presley out to the street.

Hands on hips, I prepared myself for Dion's response.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That was out of
line."

I blinked at him. "What?"

He raked his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry. I
don't know why I said that."

"Oh," was all I could think of to say. I was ready
for a fight, not an apology.

"So what now?" he asked.

I took a deep breath. "You should apologize to Presley,
too. You were shitty to both of us."

"But I don't want to be shitty with you," he said.

I snickered. "Dion, you've been shitty to me for years.
It's like your default or something."

"I know," he said. "And I don't want to be
like that. Not with you. Anymore."

I crossed my arms and looked at him from the corner of my
eye. "How do I know you're not full of shit?"

"You don't," he said.

"I don't know, Dion," I said, biting my lip.
"I mean, the band, and the tour, and our parents—"

"We made mistakes," he said.

"Mistakes?"

"Both of us," he said. "But me
especially."

I stared at him, his overgrown curls danced around his
strong jaw. I made out his muscular chest in the low light of the bus, cuts
that I'd memorized from years by the backyard pool spent gazing at him from
behind my sunglasses. My more recent sense memory recalled the feel of his hard
body on top of my own. I dug my fingernails into my arms, tamping down the
desire that flooded over me.

"I don't want it to be like that anymore either,"
I whispered.

I closed my eyes when he touched my cheek, and licked my
lips in anticipation of his touching mine. But those lips never came.

"Let's be friends, Nik. Okay?" he said.

I snapped opened my eyes and swallowed my disappointment.
"Friends?"

"Friends," he said with a smile. "Maybe with
benefits once in a while."

I turned his words over in my mind. "Friends with
benefits?"

"Come on, Nik," he said. "We're grown-ups
here."

"Are you sure about that?" I snapped.
"Because it looks like I'm the only grownup left on the bus."

"Chill out—" he started.

"I am not a booty call, Dion," I said, barreling
right over him.

"I didn't think things were so serious," he said.

"We're not serious," I responded.

"So then what's the problem with a booty call?" he
asked. "Not interested?"

"No," I gasped. "Wait, what are you talking
about?"

"You and me, friends with benefits," he said.
"But if you and that guy are serious, it's cool."

"What guy?"

"The guy that's been coming to the gigs," Dion
said.

"Brian?"

"Is that his name?" Dion asked with a shrug.
"It didn't seem like you were that into him, so I figured we could still
booty call it. My bad."

My body stiffened. "You did?"

"Not gonna lie," Dion said, dropping his voice.
"I like the way we fuck."

 I blinked at him. "You like the way we fuck?"

He advanced towards me and slipped his arms around me,
cupping my ass. One hand wandered further down between my legs, caressing my
slit through my panties.

"Wow, you're are wet for me already," he whispered
into my ear. He wasn't lying. My panties were damp the minute his arms wrapped
around me.

I pushed him off of me, angry at myself for allowing myself
to feel something for him. Angry at my body for betraying me. Angry at him for
being an insufferable, irresistible ass.

"I don't want to be a booty call, Dion," I said,
my voice low.

"It's what I do, Nik," he said.

"I know," I said. I turned and walked away,
leaving him alone on the bus.

I stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked out.

Presley was shadowed in the pale light of day break. She was
on her phone, crying, most likely to Vince. Jett and Rafe stood several feet
away from her, glaring, both united in their anger towards her. Devlin stood by
the front tire and surveyed the scene around him.

"I don't know fuck all about what's going on," he
said in his nicotine coated voice. "But if you guys don't work your shit
out, this tour will be your last. For both the Sisters and the Nation."