The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance) (6 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

"That was killer!" Presley enthused, shaking out
her long hair from its ponytail.

Jett hid her huge grin with a hand towel while she wiped her
face. "No doubt. Almost made me forget about missing this semester.
Almost."

"Did you hear that crowd?" I asked, just as giddy
as the two of them. "They didn't even come to see us!"

"They wanted a freaking encore," Presley shrieked.

"Good call on Rhiannon," I said.

"I knew the words from the Fleetwood tour
rehearsals," she laughed. "They were like the only lyrics I could
remember. I was in such shock."

"Yeah but punking it up was all you, Nik," Jett
said. "That crowd would never have given us a pass on classic rock."

"Dreams unwind, love's a state of mind," I called
out the lyrics. "That can go hardcore, totally."

"Well, it was fierce," Presley said.

"Thanks," I said with a smile. Presley didn't hand
out many compliments.

Devlin slipped into the green room. Its grey cement walls
were covered by band posters, yellowed and with edges frayed from age. A few
Anthem posters peeked out from behind newer bands. The room was sparse, save
for an ancient couch and a worn coffee table littered with beer cans and old
magazines. 

"Great set, ladies," he said.

"You ready for me?" I asked, swapping out my
soaked wrist bands for a dry pair.

"We got at least 10 minutes," he said, chuckling.
"The boys are nervous about following your set. I think Dion is in the
bathroom puking."

I wrinkled my nose. The dressing rooms were in worse shape
than the green room. I didn't even want to pee in there, never mind put my head
that close to the toilet. "That doesn't sound good."

"The puking? No. But the competition does both him and
Rafe some good. Rouge Nation's a good band, but they could be a great band.
They need to work harder."

I nodded. "So are you just hanging out until it's time
for the set?"

"I'm here on business, not pleasure," he said with
a chuckle. He pulled his smart phone out of his pocket and whipped open the web
browser. "You know Alice? That crazy PR rep at the label?" He made a
face when we nodded. Everyone knew Alice, and, truth be told, everyone was kind
of afraid of her. "She sent me a link to that TMZ website. You know, that
gossip one? It looks like the little wench the boys smuggled on the bus last
night talked. Those boys are idiots."

"What'd they write?" Presley asked, peering over
Devlin's shoulder to get a look at the website.

"Well for starters, Satin's Sisters and hell cats were
used in a sentence together."

"Shit," I said, dropping onto the musty couch.

"Not shit, if you can believe it," he said.
"Alice said that once the story popped, she started getting inquiries from
journalists about when your album was dropping."

"No shit?" Presley asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I shit you not," Devlin answered, chuckling a
little at our banter.

"But there is no album," Jett said.

"Exactly. Been kind of fun catching that woman with her
pants down," he said, not even bothering to mask his enjoyment. "Damn
woman's been the bane of my existence since Anthem was first signed. Nice to
see her with nothing to say for once."

Presley, Jett and I shared knowing looks. Alice Monroe, VP
of PR for Grimm Records, was a tough-as-nails, no-bull-shit banshee. The Anthem
guys were extra careful not to toss out pussy jokes in front of her, she was
that terrifying. But she was damn good at her job.

"So what does this mean?" Jett asked. "For
us. Without an album."

"Grimm wants you to cut an EP. Preferably now. Maybe
record a few gigs live..."

"But we're not signed to Grimm," I said.

"No you're not. But he's up for releasing your debut
EP," Devlin said.

"Oh hell no," I said.

"Really?" Presley said. "Is your word final?
Because this is not a monarchy and you are not Queen Bey."

"You mean dictatorship," Jett corrected.

"Whatever. The point is, that's not her decision to
make. It's all of ours."

"Collectively," Jett added.

"I am not signing with Grimm Records," I said.
"Case closed."

Presley opened her mouth to argue but Devlin's email alert
went off.

"It's her again," he said, swiping the phone, his
mouth tight. "She said someone from KEXP radio just saw your set and wants
you in their studio tomorrow for an interview."

"Fuck me," Presley said, turning white as a sheet.
She dropped onto the couch next to me, stuck her head between her legs and
sucked in air to keep from passing out.

"What's KEXP radio?" Jett asked, rooting in her
backpack.

"What's KEXP radio?" Devlin repeated. "Did
she just ask what's KEXP radio?"

Jett shrugged and pulled out book that was five inches
thick. "Is that a hard question to answer?"

"KEXP radio is the most influential alternative radio
station in Washington state," I told her.

"Hell, I'd say Pacific Northwest, if not the entire
west coast," Devlin said.

"It started at University of Washington," I added,
knowing that would pique her interest. "WNYC in New York has some sort of
partnership with it. It's a huge get for alternative acts."

"Especially unsigned ones," Presley added, her
voice muffled since her head was still between her legs.

"Oh, wow," Jett said, proving me right. "That
sounds kind of great."

"It's is definitely kind of great," I said,
excitement dancing in my chest.

"So should I tell Dragon Lady you girls want to do
it?" Devlin asked.

"Devlin, you tease," Presley squealed. "Of
course we want to do it!"

"Hang on," I said. "Why is Dragon Lady
fielding this? We aren't on any label's artist roster, especially not
Grimm's."

"A favor to Vince, I'd guess," he said. "You
are on tour with a Grimm act."

"And Grimm is paying the bills," Jett reminded me.

"Don't worry," Devlin said. "You have to sign
a contract for Grimm to own your life. And your music."

"Right," I said, but that didn't stop my
apprehension.

"I'll get the details," he said. "I know I
don't have to tell you girls, but no hard partying tonight. You need to be on
form tomorrow. This is a big deal."

"We know, Devlin," I said.

"Cool. I'll come and get you when the boys are
ready." On his way out, Devlin smacked right into Brian, the EMT from San
Francisco. "And who the hell are you and how did you get backstage?"

"Brian," I said, jumping up from the couch.

Devlin leaned against the door frame, blocking Brian from
entering the room. "Well, then, hello Brian. Who the hell is Brian?"

"He patched up my knee after I fell at Outside Lands.
He's a med student from UC Santa Cruz, right?"

Brian nodded and Devlin raised an eyebrow. "Pretty long
way from Santa Cruz, aren't you Brian?"

"Huge Rogue Nation fan, sir," he said.
"Following the tour for a bit until school starts up again."

"I see," Devlin said. "I don't see no
backstage pass."

"I told the bouncer I knew Nikki—"

Devlin cut him off. "And he just let you in?"
Brian gulped and nodded. "I'm going to have a talk with Security. You
girls okay?"

"We're good, Devlin," I said. "He's
solid."

Brian refused to turn his back on Devlin until he was out
the door.

"You guys played a hell of a set," Brian said when
Devlin was out of the room.

"Thanks," Presley said, standing up and extending
her hand. "I'm Presley. Thanks for looking out for my baby sis."

"No problem," he said, shaking her hand. Presley
beamed. I wanted to crawl into the nasty couch cushions.

Jett didn't even look up from her book. "Yup, that was
righteous."

"So, KEXP, that's major," he said.

"How long were you eavesdropping?" I asked.

"Pretty much the whole time," he said, his lips
forming a shy smile. "Dragon Lady."

"Let's keep that between us." We held on to an
awkward silence for a moment. Presley broke it for us.

"So, I didn't know that Rogue Nation had tour
followers, like the Grateful Dead."

Brian laughed. "Well, it's just me. I think it's just
me, anyway. Maybe I'll run into more of me."

"Maybe," I said. A longer awkward silence. Presley
kicked my foot. “So... thanks for the other day. The cut's closed, no
infection."

"You sure?" he asked.

"Well, I don't see any oozy puss."

"You are gross," Presley said with a shudder. She
was now preening on the couch, composing her next selfie.

"No oozy puss is good," Brian said with a laugh.
"Yeah, well, have a good set with the Nation. Maybe I'll see you at the
bar after."

"Maybe," I said. "See ya."

He kind of tripped his way out of the room.

"Ugh. That was painful," Presley said, snapping
her pic. "I can't believe I need to give you a lesson on how to talk to
boys. You're what? 19 now?"

"I can talk to boys," I argued. "Just not
that one."

"He gives me the creeps," Jett said, turning a
page in her book.

Presley tossed an old Rolling Stone magazine at her.
"You didn't even look up from whatever the hell you're reading. How can
you even say he gives you the creeps?"

"Easy, he gives me the creeps," she said. She
closed the book, saving her place by leaving her finger tucked in between the
pages and gave me her full attention. "Look, sorry, I know you're their
drummer, but only a weirdo would follow Rogue Nation."

"True, Rogue Nation is not the Dead," Presley,
still primping, agreed.

"And even if they were, I think Dead Heads are kind of
weird," Jett said.

"It's fandom," I insisted.

""That's what they do for fun? Chase a musical act
across the country?" Jett asked. "Fandom is freaky."

"Maybe he's a little weird," I admitted. "But
he totally saved the day yesterday."

"Yeah, like you of all people need rescuing,"
Presley sniffed.

"I didn't say he rescued me. But I avoided the ER—and
stitches—because of him."

"Fair enough," Jett said, flipping her book open.
"But I still say beware. The ones that seem like sweet sheep are usually
the wolves."

Presley snickered. "What the hell are you going on
about? Sheep and wolves? He's a fan. A little weird maybe but hey, so are
you."

"He is cute," I mused. "I mean, in a kind of
geeky, awkward way."

"Oh my god. Are you talking to us about a boy?"
Presley squealed.

My eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

 "You never date," she said. "I don't know
why. You're a pretty girl. Quirky, but pretty."

"Quirky?"

"Your hair is blue," Presley said. "Quirky."

"Maybe she's pining for someone else," Jett
murmured. "Unrequited love."

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I thought
about Dion. My face went hot when I remembered last night, discovering him in
bed with that nearly naked skank straddling his back. He didn't even try to
hide her. And why wouldn't it be okay to do something like that in front of me?
What were we to each other? I squirmed around an uncomfortable truth. That I
wanted to be the one straddling him in that bunk.

Dion was my band mate. We were on tour together. He was my
stepbrother. Whatever was going on between us had to stop.

"Unrequited love?" I said with a snort. "Are
you reading Wuthering Heights again?"

"Love in the Time of Cholera," Jett said.

Presley shuddered. "How can there be any love with that
many bodily fluids around? And they aren't the fun kind."

Exasperation filled Jett's sigh but before she could chide
Presley for her ignorance, Devlin popped his head in the room.

He had to raise his voice to be heard over the crowd's
chants, which were loud enough to fill the room when he opened the door.
"You ready for your second Rogue Nation gig, kid?"

I snapped up my drumsticks and made a bee-line for the door.
I wasn't sure if I was ready for the gig, but I was absolutely ready for a
break from my thoughts about Dion.

"Knock 'em dead," Presley yelled after me as I
scooted out of the room.

CHAPTER NINE

"Jeeze, Vince, watch it!" Jett yelled as she
ducked down, coming dangerously close to the filthy cement floor of Studio
Seven's green room. Vince popped open the champagne bottle, and the cork
ricocheted around the room, narrowly missing my sister's head. We had just
finished the radio interview, which was just down the road from the club, so we
stopped by the venue. Since we had the night off, Vince decided we should
celebrate in style.

"Sorry, Jett," he said, handing her the bottle.
"You get first swig."

She waved it away. "Nope, I've gotta study."

"For that one online class?" Presley asked.
"Come on, sis, live a little."

Jett looked at me for support, but I just shrugged.
"Jett, it's not every day bands field offers from labels like
SubPop."

She sighed but took the bottle. When her gulp made it down
her throat, we all cheered. She passed it over to Presley.

"Congratulations, ladies, on a phenomenal start to this
tour and an excellent radio interview," Vince said. "I fully expect
Grimm to come up with an even better offer now."

Presley nearly choked on the champagne. "Serious
offer?"

"Like, as in, we had an offer before?" Jett asked.

"Yes you had an offer," he said.

Presley smacked him in the arm. "Why wouldn't you tell
us?"

"Because, like I said, it wasn't serious."

"And now it is?" I asked.

"You don't think he'd let SubPop jump in and snatch you
out from under him?" Vince laughed. "Not when you're out touring with
one of his bands!"

"Is this why you showed up in Seattle?" I asked.
"Grimm send you to woo us?"

Vince arrived in Seattle during our radio interview.

"No," he said. "I came up to help you field
both offers. You want to make the right choice here."

I bit my lip and looked him up and down. "What if we
don't want to sign with Grimm?"

"Nikki!" Presley said, irritation edged her voice.

"Well?" I said. "What can they offer
us?"

Presley's eyes were still wide. "Money? A huge
marketing machine?"

"Your Instagram selfies are the best marketing we
have."

"Seriously," Jett added. "Your bikini shots
break the internet every damn time."

"This is something you should think through,"
Vince said. "Instagram bikinis aside SubPop is a well-respected indie
label, and if you want indie cred..."

My "totally" and Presley's "nope"
overlapped.

"But Grimm is a hit factory and a marketing machine,
Instagram bikinis aside," Vince continued, winking at Presley, who beamed.
"Grimm will get you press coverage, your album will chart, you will get
your top ten hits—"

"He'll match us with the best producers," Presley
interrupted.

"We'll lose our autonomy," I argued.

"Will the label want you to do it their way?"
Vince asked. "Yes. But they will give your ideas serious consideration.
But they're banking on their decades of experience."

I crossed my arms. "I'm not compromising."

Presley pouted. "What do you think, Jett?"

"I think we should wait until we hear the actual
offers," she said.

"You were always the sensible sister," I said.

Presley pouted. "Yeah, no fun."

"That's just because she didn't side with you."

"Girls, please, it's like you're all teens again—"
Vince said with a laugh.

Presley motioned towards me. "Well..."

I stuck my 19-year-old tongue out at her.

"What I am trying to say is that Jett is right,"
he said. Jett's face turned smug. "We need to let these guys battle it out
then a decision based on what they are offering. Having two options is better
than one. WE stand to get a better contract if there's a bidding war."

"Is this the royal we?" Presley asked. She batted
her eyelashes.

"I want to help," he said, adding, "And no
management fee."

"Well that's refreshing," Dion said as he and Rafe
stormed into the room. "He's taking, what, a 25% cut from our
income?"

"We've been through this Dion," Vince said,
turning to his son. "Anthem made me more money than I can spend. That 25%
goes into an account for you boys. It's near impossible for bands to have
longevity these days. You blow through your dough now; you'll have nothing
later."

"You're loaded," Dion said, snatching the
champagne bottle and taking a long pull. "You can't take it with you,
Dad."

"Shit happens," Vince said. "Don't count on
Anthem's money."

"Song royalties—"

"Split between five band members?"

"You got hosed," Rafe said. "You were the
primary songwriter."

"We were a band, a team, even split. We decided that
from the start," Vince said. He leveled a pointed look at Presley, Jett
and me. "That's how a band stays in it for the long haul."

"This sudden poverty have anything to do with a wife or
two?" Dion asked.

"Divorce is expensive," his father said through
thin lips.

"So is a second wife," Dion muttered.

If Vince heard it, he chose to ignore it, focusing on
Presley, whose melodramatic yawn captured everyone's attention.

"Oh excuse me," she said. "I am just
exhausted."

"Touring's tough," Vince said. "The
schedule's brutal."

"The schedule is fine," she insisted. "I work
out. My body is primed for exertion."

Jett smirked. "Presley, was that a double
entendre?"

Presley glared at her. "I meant it as a fact. I am
exhausted because I am sleeping like shit. Those beds in that bus are
awful."

"My bed is fine," I said.

"Of course it's fine for you," she said.

I crossed my arms. "Yes, for me. And for Jett. And for
Devlin and he's not young."

"You just don't get it," she said. "You like camping.
You don't mind sleeping in terrible places. I just—ugh." She shuddered
with her entire body.

"You do have dark circles under your eyes," Vince
noted.

"Here we go," Dion griped.

"What?" Vince asked.

"Nothing," he said, though he didn't bother hiding
his pout.

Presley's lower lip trembled. "Dark circles?" she
whispered.

"Oh come on, Pres," I said, looking to Jett for a
little back up.

She just shrugged her shoulders. "It was bound to
happen, Nik," she said. "I'm surprised it took this long."

"It's been two nights on the bus," I argued.

"Exactly," Presley sniffed. "And after two
nights I already look haggard."

"No one said haggard," I corrected her.

"Not those exact words no," she said. "But
still, he may well have. And that first night, we were up for hours."

I glared at Dion. "That situation will not repeat
itself, right?"

"I cannot lose any more sleep. My body won't function.
My voice will blow out. The tour will be over," she moaned. A single tear
dropped down her left cheek, followed by another down her right. Presley was
going to be an Oscar winning actress someday.

Vince wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.
"I'll get you a room at the hotel."

"Why don't you get us all rooms, then?" Rafe
asked.

"Because the label isn't paying for you guys to trash
the Four Seasons," Vince said.

"But you'll let the girls stay there?" Dion follow
up.

"No, I didn't say that," Vince said. "Presley
needs a night off. She'll get the room."

"We'd take a Motel 6," Rafe grumbled.

"Speak for yourself," Dion countered, and then he
looked at me. "Come on, Nikki, don't you think this is shit?"

I opened my mouth, but Vince responded. "Nikki and Jett
are doing fine on the bus, and with everything going on we can't risk Presley
losing her voice. Too much is riding on this right now. You girls understand,
right?"

Jett and I looked at each other. "I guess," I said
with a shrug.

"Thank you, Vince," Presley said, resting her head
on his shoulder. "Thank you."

"Come on, let's get your stuff and get you settled before
tonight's show" Vince said. "Enjoy your night off everyone." He
helped a stumbling Presley —she was milking it for all it was worth —out the
door.

"That's messed up," Rafe said, still staring at
the door even though they had gone. "You mean to tell me you two are okay
with this."

Jett exhaled. "What are you going to do? It's
Presley."

"Yeah, we're used to it," I added.

"Doesn't make it right," said Dion. "I mean,
it's our father and he treats us like...Well...Like we're you."

"You?" I asked.

"The step kids," Rafe clarified.

Jett looked at the time on her phone and jumped up. "I
gotta go!"

"Go? Go where?" I asked.

She tossed her stuff in her backpack. "U-Dub."

"You what?" I asked.

"University of Washington. U-Dub."

I stared at her. "Why?"

"I heard they had a good English program. And if we
sign with SubPop, will we move up here?"

"I don't know, maybe. Or not. We can be anywhere. I
think," I stammered. "This is what Vince came here to advise us on,
but he split."

"He's gotta tuck Princess Presley in," Dion said,
rolling his eyes.

"Well, it's just a school tour, no strings," Jett
said. "But I've got to go. Anyone know how to get to the University
district?"

"Come on, I'll help get you there," Rafe said with
a laugh. He picked up her backpack and slung it over his shoulder. "Damn,
girl, what do you have in here?"

"Books," she said.

"I'm going to get you a Kindle for Christmas," he
said.

"Won't use it. I like the way books smell."

"Do you like being a hunchback too? Because that's what
you're gonna be you keep carrying this heavy thing around."

Still bickering, they walked out, slamming the door behind
them. That left me and Dion alone in an awkward silence.

"You're really okay with Presley getting a room at the
Four Seasons?" he asked.

"Presley's been the master of getting her way since she
was born," I said. "If I got mad about it, I'd be pissed all the
time."

"Vince pulls this sort of shit all the time too."

"What? Going to the Four Seasons?"

His face clouded over. "Treating someone else's kid
better than his own."

"Trust me, Presley can talk a nun out of her
habit," I said. "She's a master manipulator."

"So's he," Dion said. "Take Rafe, for
instance. When we were growing up, I hated the little shit. Because Vince
dotted on him. And Rafe had a dad!"

"His dad was a hot mess, though," I pointed out.
Rafe's father was Anthem's bass player and a raging alcoholic. He went on a
bender and suffocated in his own vomit, in true rock and roll style.

"And when he died, what did Vince do? Adopted Rafe! And
you know? Kyle took that shit hard, man. He was smaller than Rafe, so Rafe was
always beating up on him. And then I'd have to kick Rafe's ass. And he'd go
crying to Vince. And I'd get called out for defending my little brother."

"Most kids are shit, Dion," I said.

"I hold no grudge with Rafe. He was being a kid. I get
that he had it tough with his old man. And he's my brother now, for sure,"
he said, pulling a beer out of the mini-fridge and cracking it open. "But
until Vince legally adopted him, he treated that boy way better than me and
Kyle."

"What happened after he adopted him?" I asked,
leaning against the door.

"He stopped favoring him," he said. "Now he
treats him like he treats me. Like shit."

I took a deep breath. "From where I'm standing, Vince
seems to be taking care of his own." I steeled myself for Dion's reaction.

Dion glared at me. "What's the hell do you know about
it?"

"Come on! Bands don't just get signed with a major
label after, like, five minutes of being formed."

"Is that really how you think it happened?" Dion
asked, pitching his voice louder.

A bitter laugh escaped my throat. "Think it happened?
That's exactly how it happened."

 "You missed the hours and hours of band practice, of
songwriting, of my father critiquing our performances. For hours. This was not
garage band fun, like you had with your sisters. This was always serious, from
the start. There was a fooling around."

"Dion, Rouge Nation was signed by Grimm after one show
at the Whiskey. One show! Satan's Sisters had four shows there, and they stuck
us on the bill at 6pm so no showed up. Plus, we've played at least a hundred
shitty clubs from Hollywood to Burbank to Van Nuys. Hell, we even played a
tattoo convention at Long Beach."

"What's your point?" he growled.

"Maybe you need to start thinking about what Vince has
done for you, rather than what he hasn't."

He wiped at the beads of condensation that formed on his
beer can. "What do you think about what Vince has done for you?"

 "He didn't put me on this tour. This was all Grimm's
idea."