The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance) (4 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

"You've got to be shitting me," Presley shrieked
from inside the luxury tour bus.

"That cool?" I called back to her, unable to
temper my excitement.

She poked her head out. "I'm not sleeping in there.
Hell no."

"What's wrong with it?" I asked, trying to angle
my way past her as she took cautious steps down the stairs because of her
stiletto heels.

"It's a bus," she hissed.

Once I got onto the bus, I surveyed it. The bus was tricked
out with plush carpeting, leather bound club chairs and Mahogany wood accents.
It was nicer than my Venice Beach apartment.

"Pres," I said, stepping out again. "That bus
is amazing."

She sniffed. "Didn't you see the beds?"

"What about them?" I asked.

"They are bunks," she replied. "B. U. N. K.
S. What are we, Girl Scouts? Is this camp?"

"All tour buses have bunks," Jett chimed in. She
was sitting on one of her suitcases, her nose in a book.

"That's a tour," I said. "Fleetwood Mac has
the same set up."

"Fleetwood Mac flies," she said. "First
class. There's none of this bus-and-truck shit."

"Bands should never fly," Jett replied, flipping a
page. "Bad juju."

"That's superstitious bullshit," Presley said,
kicking at pavement.

"Randy Rhodes, Otis Redding," Jett began to list
the musical artists who died in plane crashes.

"Patsy Klein," I added. "Aaliyah."

"Both of you are ridiculous," Presley argued
"It's safer to fly than drive."

"Well, I like it," I said, ignoring her
negativity. "It's old school."

"Where's Vince," she whined. "He'll get what
I mean."

"Anthem didn't fly either, remember?"

"How can I forget?" she said with a shudder.
"The sounds of him and mom in those stupid bunks. I was the one below
them, you know."

Jett peeled her eyes away from the book to roll them. "So
your issue with the bus is PTSD. Clearly."

"I don't have ESP," Presley huffed.

"PTSD," I said, biting my lip to keep from
laughing at her. "Post-traumatic stress disorder."

More like post traumatic sex disorder," Jett corrected
me, and we both burst into giggles.

"Oh that? Yeah, that I have," Presley said. Even
she smirked a little. "Listening to mom and Vince? You'd have it
too!"

 "I don't think Vince is going to okay any airplanes,"
I said. "The label is shelling out for this tour, so I doubt flying is in
the budget."

"This sucks already," she groaned.

" Better than playing second fiddle to Stevie
Nicks," I offered.

"Third fiddle," Jett reminded us. "Christine
McVie is touring with them this year."

I nodded. "See? Third fiddle."

"I guess," she grumbled just as the gates to the
parking lot of Grimm Records opened. A convoy of black SUVs roared through.
Four pulled up to the bus and one went to the far end of the lot where roadies
were loading up a semi-truck with our gear.

Dion's long legs came out of the back of one SUV, his dad
out of another, and Rafe from of the third.

"Don't they all live in the same house?" I
muttered. Jett snorted.

"Oh fabulous," Presley said. "Look who came
with them."

Vince held out his arm and my mom's legs swung out of his
SUV. She clutched his hand and tumbled out, unsteady on her high heels and
pencil thin mini skirt. Cleavage spilled out of her one-size-too-small top.

"She is way too old to be wearing that," Presley
hissed.

"My babies!" she called out, the words kind of
slurred together.

"Oh man, and she's lit," Jett grumbled. "Can
you believe this?"

"It wouldn't be mom without a big send off," I
muttered.

She tottered over to us, and we feigned enthusiasm.

"Thanks for seeing us off, Mom," Jett said. Jett
was always the sweetest out of the three of us, so her appreciative tone wasn't
quite false.

"Yeah, thanks so much," Presley echoed. Her tone,
however, betrayed her true feelings.

My mom pursed her lips at her and looked each of us up and
down. "Is this what the three of you are really wearing on your first
tour?"

I looked over Jett and Presley's outfits and shrugged.
"We'll be on the bus for hours, Mom."

"That's no reason to dress like a boy," she said,
pointing at my baggy sweatpants. "Not that Jett's much better. What are
you wearing honey, pajamas? Presley's at least dressed for this. Although those
jeans look a little...Are you gaining weight?"

Presley let out a loud, dramatic sigh. "I need to talk
to Vince about this bus."

She turned on her heel and stormed away from my mother. Jett
buried her face back in her book. My mom looked at me and smiled.

"I need to check on my kit," I said, nodding to
the truck on the opposite side of the lot. My drum kit was in pieces on the
pavement, and I wanted to make sure all the pieces ended up in the same place.

She took a few tiny steps in that direction. "You go
ahead. I'll catch up."

I practically sprinted across the parking lot to get loose
of her.

I caught my breath while examining my kit. All the pieces
were there, and the roadies had a handle on what they were doing. I was happy
to see that they were all rock and roll veterans. Some of them I recognized
from Vince's last tour. I noticed that a few of them gained a few pounds and
lost some hair in five years since.

"Well look-it my little girl all grown up!" a
familiar voice boomed at me from behind.

I turned with a smile and braced myself for a hug. Devlin
May, all smiles under his grey handlebar mustache, scooped me up and lifted me
off my feet.

"I am so proud of you!" he said, when my feet hit
the ground again.

"Are you on the tour?" I asked.

"Came out of retirement for you and the boys," he
said. "Can't send you out there without old Devlin keeping sight of you.
Kept an eye on you when you were all arms and legs, had to beat those older
boys off your sister. Hell, I couldn't send you girls out on tour without
me."

"Besides," he added, nodding towards Dion and Rafe
who were huddled by the side of the bus. "You and your stepbrothers are
libel to kill each other."

"I'm glad you are here," I said. I grabbed his
hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Devlin, you old devil," my mother yelled, waving
as she wobbled over.

Devlin squinted at her and waved back. She was still a
football field length away. "I see your mom hasn't changed much."

"Nope, not at all," I agreed.

"I think I remember that outfit from the Warped tour,
going 10 years on now."

I giggling at his knowing head shake. He'd seen an awful lot
between Vince and my mom.

We were so intent on watching my mother (and taking friendly
bets about whether she would fall over before making it to the truck) that we
didn't notice that Dion snuck up behind us. He grabbed my arms from behind and
started moving them as if I were playing the drums. I donkey-kicked at him
while he laughed at me.

"Stop teasing your sister," Devlin barked at him.

Dion wrapped his arms around me and pulled me towards him,
making a big show of hugging me.

"Sorry, sis," he said, pressing his hard dick into
my ass. "I didn't mean to tease you."

My legs turned to Jell-O as I remembered last night, the
feel of his firm cock driving that promise home. "Yeah, you did," I
said as I extracted myself from his arms.

"That's what you're wearing on the bus?" he asked,
arms crossed, looking me up and down. I glared at him. "Because the
costume we agreed on last night wasn't quite so...baggie."

"Are you drunk, Dion?" Devlin asked.

"On booze? Nah. But I am drunk on worry about the
rhythm section for this tour," he said.

"Boy, you watch your step," Devlin warned.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence. "She's
never played with us before."

"I'm drumming on your entire album," I protested.

"From tracks laid when you were the only one in the
studio," he said. "We've never played together."

"But—"

"Musically, anyway," he added, giving me a cold
smile.

My eyes popped at the implication, but Devlin didn't notice.
"She's a better drummer than Ace," he said, referring to Anthem's
drummer. "And he was considered one of the best in his day."

"She is not better than Ace," Dion scoffed.

"Ace'll tell you that himself," Devlin insisted.
"He's the one that taught her, for fuck's sake."

That caught Dion off guard. "Ace? Ace taught you?"

I just shrugged in response.

But Devlin answered for me. "How the hell did you think
she learned, her mom dragging them girls on the road. They had to do something
for entertainment."

A dark cloud fell over Dion's face. "Ace refused to
teach Kyle."

"Kyle was drugging, that's why," Devlin said.
"Ace wasn't having any of that."

"Hello, boys!" My mother, blissfully unaware of
the turn in conversation, finally hobbled her way over to the truck.

Dion ignored her, but Devlin gave her a curt nod.
"Pamela."

"Devlin, you're looking sexy as hell," she
flirted. "Retirement's been good to you." She squeezed his bicep for
good measure.

"Aw, no need to sweet-talk me, Pam," he said,
rubbing at the shock of over grown white hair on his head. "I'll look
after your girls."

"They're old enough, they don't need looking
after," she said, beaming him a mega-watt smile. "Me, on the other
hand? I'm getting too old, and could use a strong hand or two."

Dion glared at her. "Classy," he mumbled under his
breath. He pushed past me and stalked back to Rafe, who, by the look of things,
was annoying Jett. She slammed her book shut and smacked him on the arm with
it.

"The bus may be a little too cozy on the way up
north," Devlin said, eyeing Dion and Rafe.

"These kids," my mother hooted a little too long.
"They'll never get along."

"Maybe someday they'll surprise you," Devlin said
with a wink. "Now, Pam, you are a lovely distraction, but I've got to get
these kids on the road."

"You were always a work horse," she said, pushing
her chest out. The buttons on her top strained against her breast implants.
"Such a shame. Oh the fun we could have had, Devlin."

That's when I had to walk away. My mother was pushing her
behavior beyond mild flirtation and I did not want to get caught in any crossfire
if Vince caught on to it.

By the time I made it back to the bus, it was clear that
Vince was oblivious to what my mother was up to. He had his hands full with
Presley.

"Presley, please," he placated her. "It's
just for a few months. Then I'll book you a week at Canyon Ranch. It'll restore
you, you'll see. Presley, come on. Please don't...No...Crying."

True to form, Presley burst into sobs. Vince looked at me as
I walked past, his eyes pleading for an intervention. I just shrugged. If he
was managing this tour, he'd have to manage Presley as well.

I boarded the bus and found Jett curled up in a bunk.

"Top?" I asked her, noting which one she decided
to claim.

"After what Presley told us, I'd rather not have anyone
above me," she said rolling her eyes.

I took her point but settled in the bunk just under her.
Jett was already moaning about all the work she had to do to keep up with the
one UCLA class she was able to take online. Jett was too driven for a sex life
and between school, gigs, and whatever else we had to do to support the tour,
abstinence was a safe bet for her.

Presley, on the other hand, was a walking sex bomb and she
reveled in it. I definitely did not want to be under her bunk.

"Yo, rookies," Rafe said, jumped up the stairs,
making the bus’s suspension bounce. "You're in my bed, Jett."

"Fuck off, Rafe," she said.

"No, dibs, I called it."

"Fuck off, Rafe," she repeated.

Rafe climbed into the bunk beside her, giving her a hard
shove on his way in. She returned the shove, and sent him flying out of the
bunk. He landed on the floor, hard, just as Presley boarded.

"Oh great," she said, flopping on the bottom bunk
in the next row. Didn't she learn from mom and Vince's escapades not to be on
the bottom? "The jackassery has already begun."

CHAPTER SIX

The ride up to San Francisco was uneventful. Dion and Rafe
were up most of the night before partying, so they crashed on the drive. Jett
kept her nose in a book and Presley was working the social media accounts,
posting at least 25 selfies on Instagram.

San Francisco's Outside Lands festival was the first stop.
Since it was a multiple day music festival with a ton of bands on the bill,
there wasn't really room for an opener, so Satan's Sisters sat this one out.

Traffic was a nightmare, of course. The six-hour drive
became ten so the roadies rushed get our gear set up. A perky intern, who was
possibly younger than me, took Dion, Rafe and I "backstage," which
was really a tricked out tent beside the stage, both of which were raised up on
scaffolding.

Both boys stared at jailbait's ass while she walked,
something she was aware of since her walk carried an extra sway that wasn't
there when I met her. She tossed her stick straight blond hair and laughed too
loud at something Dion said, eyelashes batting like crazy. She tugged her V-neck
t-shirt down, showing off cleavage not quite as ample as mine. I may not be as
pulled together as other girls, but I had great boobs. I gave a self-conscious
tug at my own top.

The toe of my Doc Martens got caught in a rock, and I
tripped. Even though I was splayed out on the dirt path, Dion and Rafe did
notice. Laser focus on the tight butt in front of them, they kept walking. I
pulled myself to a sitting position and pressed my palm against my bloody knee.

A guy broke off from his group of friends and came over to
help me. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I think so," I said, pressing my hand harder over
the cut. "I'm just a klutz."

"Here, let me look," he said, kneeling in the
grass. He caught my uneasy glance. "It's okay, I'm pre-med at UC Santa
Cruz. And a volunteer EMT."

I took a breath and nodded that it was okay for him to look.

"Crap," I said when he pulled my hand away. Blood
cascaded down my calf from a good sized gash on my knee.

"This needs stitches," he said. "I'll help
you to the medical tent."

"No way," I said. "I need to get to sound
check."

"You're in a band on the bill?" he asked. I nodded
and pressed my hand back over the cut, hoping to staunch the bleeding.
"Were you walking with the Rogue Nation guys?" I nodded.

"Is that who you're playing with?" he asked.

I nodded again. "I'm the new drummer. Since
Kyle..."

"Yes, of course," he said, cutting me off and
pulling off his backpack. "Wow. This is so cool. I'm a huge fan."

"We're already late for sound check," I explained
as he rummaged through his bag. I squinted at Dion and Rafe, who were almost to
the stage. They were so far away they looked like ants. And they still didn't
notice that I wasn't behind them. "So, I really gotta get going."

I struggled to stand, which wasn't easy with my hand still
pressed to my knee. The guy placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, keeping me
down.

"Hang on," he said, holding up a small first aid
kit. "Let's get you squared away first."

He pulled on a pair of disposable latex gloves and got to
work. I sucked in my breath as he swiped at the open wound with an alcohol pad.
Then he applied a skin glue to the wound and bandaged me up.

"This will most definitely scar," he said, peeling
off the gloves. "It's not ideal, but you'll get on stage. Though your leg
is covered in blood."

"Eh," I said with a shrug and a smile. "It's
kind of punk rock, don't you think?"

"I guess," he said with a chuckle.

"So thanks for this," I said. "Really, it was
nice of you to help me."

"It's nothing," he said, not meeting my eyes.
"Just glad you can play. I'm looking forward to your show." He helped
me up to my feet. "My name is Brian, by the way."

"I'm Nikki," I said.

"I know," he replied, then seeing the shock on my
face, added. "I read an interview with Dion, in Stereogum I think."

"You mean the one where he complained about the step
monsters? Yeah, I recall that."

 Brian nodded. "They ran a photo of you and your
sisters. I thought you looked familiar."

"Did they?" I asked.

I heard about the interview but I'd never bothered to read
it. Dion spouted off at the mouth often enough for me to lose interest in
whatever pissed him off. Usually, what pissed him off were the evil
stepsisters.

"Rogue Nation won't bust up like Oasis now, will
it?" Brian asked, referencing the infamous feud between the Gallagher
brothers that broke up one of the most influential bands of the post-grunge
era. I couldn't tell if he was teasing, so I ignored it.

"Well, thanks again, Brian," I said, edging away
and feeling awkward. "If I see you from the stage, I'll toss you my
sticks."

I limped towards the tent as fast as my injured leg would
take me. By the time I met up with my stepbrothers, Dion was whispering in
jailbait's ear, sending her into a fit of giggles.

"What the hell happened to you?" Rafe asked,
nodding at my bandaged leg. My calf was covered in sticky dry blood and dirt.

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine," I muttered,
pushing past the two of them to get to my dressing area. I surveyed the damage
in the full length mirror. A smear of dirt and dried sat on my forehead, and my
cut off shorts and tank top were covered with it as well.

Dion stood in the doorway, smirking at me in the mirror.
"Want to quit the tour yet?"

"Nope," I said

"Then get your ass in gear and get out on stage,"
he barked. "You're holding up the show."

"But what happened to sound check?" I asked.

Before I could protest, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled
me out of the tent.

"Get your paws off of me, Dion," I said, yanking
my arm from his grip.

"Your pussy wanted my paws on it last night," he
whispered in my ear, flicking his tongue at my earlobe.

"So no sound check?" I squeaked out. I didn't want
to respond to his light panting in my ear but my libido had other ideas. The
blood left in my body rushed downward, leaving me woozy.

"No time," he said.

"You mean; I have to play like this?" I stared
down at my now filthy cut offs and blood streaked tank top.

"You look kind of hot in a filthy sort of way,"
Dion said. "But here, fix this."

He ripped the center of my tank top, turning the scoop
neckline into a low cut V one. My breasts, ensconced in a demi-bra, exploded
out of the fabric.

"Much better," he said, ogling his work before he
turned and climbed the scaffold stairs onto the stage. There was nothing I
could do but follow.

I pulled at my awkward top to reposition it before following
Dion and Rafe onto the stage. The crowd exploded in screams when the guys
strapped their guitars around their bodies. My heart felt like it was going to
burst out of my chest and butterflies dropped straight into my stomach. My
hands shook so bad; I could barely get the cotton sweat bands around my wrists.
I chalked my hands and settled onto my stool. Back in familiar territory behind
my drum kit, I breathed deep, feeling my nerves ease up.

Dion worked the crowd, priming them for the show. Rafe gave
me a nod and I picked up my sticks and gave the four count. Then we launched
into the first song. But when Dion hit the first chord progression, Rafe
flashed me a nasty look.

"Speed up," he mouthed at me, but I shook my head.
Rafe was about half a beat too fast for the song.

Rafe stalked across the stage towards me, exaggerating his
plucks on the stings of his bass. His rhythm was still off but I held my beat
steady.

Abandoning the microphone, Dion spun around and glared at
the two of us. "Slow. It. Down," he mouthed.

"Follow my beat," I shouted at Rafe over the
instruments.

Dion jumped into an extended improvised guitar solo and
crossed to Rafe. He shouted something in his ear. Whatever he said caused Rafe
to stop playing. That left it up to Dion and me to finish out the solo, while
Rafe pulled himself together.

Being behind my kit felt like home, and my confidence
soared. Dion stepped in front of me, his nimble fingers stroking the fretboard
and his facial expression intense. He held my eyes and I lost myself in the
beat. He licked his lips and nodded his head, egging on the intensity of my
playing. With Dion's muscular guitar riffs and the pulsing drive of my drums, a
familiar ache worked its way into between my thighs. My breath quickened, and I
squeeze my kegels together, imagining Dion pounding me like I pounded on my
drums. I shifted forward in my stool, pressing my clit into the leather stool.
The vibration from the music traveled up to the seat, sending delicious quivers
into my sex.

Dion's eyes burned into me, and he pulled his guitar away
from the front of his body, showing me the bulge growing in the crotch of his
tight pants. He knew exactly what I was doing, the response in his jeans said
he liked it.

I closed my eyes and picked up the beat, and Dion followed
my lead. The crowd went wild with the increase in speed. Their cheers were
intoxicating. I pressed my nub harder into the stool, the friction of my cotton
underwear against my clit made me groan in pleasure. Was I really about the
come in front of 500 screaming Rogue Nation fans?

Rafe's bass kicked in and he took the tempo back down. Our
duo was over. I hit the final beats of the song, dropping my sticks as Dion's
guitar screamed out the final riffs.

"How'd you like our new drummer?" Dion called out
to the crowd. They went bananas again, screaming and chanting "Rouge
Nation" over and over again. I barely caught my breath when we jumped
right into the next song.

After a 50-minute set plus three encores, we finally exited
the stage. Devlin tossed me a towel and I wiped my sweat-drenched face and
chest.

"Kick ass set, guys" he shouted, before dropping
his voice to talk to me. "Way to work that crowd, kid. You had them at
that first song. You're going to hate me for saying this, but you and Dion play
damn good together. Musically, at least."

I gulped water from a bottle one of the other roadies handed
to me and ignored him.

"Not bad, rookie," Rafe said, bumping my shoulder
with his own.

"Next time, Rafe controls the beat," Dion growled
as he stormed past me.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I said,
chasing after him. "His beat was off, even you knew that."

"But Rafe's the one that controls it. I don't give a
shit if he's off, you follow him."

"Dude," Rafe started. "I was too slow out of
the gate. And the crowd wanted it fast. You saw their reaction."

"You call the rhythm out there, not her," Dion
barked. "That one-up-man-ship out there was bullshit. Rafe calls the
beats, I control the crowd. You follow our lead and keep quiet."

"Like a good girl?" I sneered.

"Exactly.

Jett and Presley pushed through the backstage crowds while
Dion disappeared into them.

"Oh my god, your playing was kick ass," Presley
cried, pulling me into her for a hug. Her extraction was speedy as soon as she
felt my sweat covered skin and filthy clothes rub against her. "Maybe
shower first, then hug."

Jett opted for a no-less-enthusiastic fist bump. "You
rocked it, kid! And pulled Rafe out of the shitter. What the hell was up with
his beat on that song?"

"You even made Dion's guitar sound good," Presley
added with a snort.

"It was hot," Jett agreed. "The crowd ate
that shit up."

Presley pulled me by the hand towards the exit. "You
got to hurry up and shower, Nik."

"Can I get something to eat first?" I asked,
eyeing the catering set up. Drumming was a workout and I was starving.

"We're invited to some fancy tech party," Presley
cooed. "You've got to look smokin'!"

"Who's hosting?" I asked.

"Something something dot com?" Presley said
rolling her eyes. "Does it matter? We're in San Francisco. Tech parties
are the best parties."

"There'll be food," Jett said. "Tech nerds
are all about the snacks."

With the promise of food in my belly and along with maybe a
decent craft beer, we headed to the tour bus so I could clean up. Jett mussed
my hair with pride as we made our way to the lot where it was parked. Presley
gave a blow-by-blow of my performance, which was unusual since her preferred
topic of conversation was, well...Presley.

We came up on the bus and Presley stopped mid-sentence, her
mouth hung open.

"Pres? What's up?" Jett asked.

Presley lifted her hand and pointed at the bus. Red spray
paint covered the side of it, and my face burned as I read the words scrolled
in a poor imitation of graffiti print.

Cunts can't drum

Gashes belong ass up, not on stage

Whore on tour