The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance)

by Sterling, Jillian

  "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 se
x 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 s
ong.

  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.