The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance)

by Sterling, Jillian

  "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

  "Lovely," Presley said, wrinkling her nose.

  "Well, cunts can't drum. You do need arms for that," Jett sighed, trying to lighten the mood with her literal interpretation.

  "Unless you're Rick Allen,' I said, referencing the drummer from Def Leppard who lost his arm in a car accident. I tried to shrug it off, but I was shaking.

  "We better find Devlin," Jett said.

  "This should not have happened," Presley fumed. "Vince needs to get security on this tour." Presley may be a lot of annoying things, but she took her big sister role very seriously.

  Rafe and Dion's loud laughter carried over from the other side of the bus. Presley stepped around the bus and yelled to them, "You guy's better come see this."

  The boys jogged to the bus, coming to a dead stop when they rounded the front of it and saw its graffiti covered side. Rafe let out a low whistle.

  "Devlin see this yet?" Dion asked, his lips tight.

  "No," Presley responded, crossing her arms. "You guys have any idea who could have done this?"

  Rafe glared at her. "What exactly are you saying there, Sis?"

  "She's saying that you guys weren't exactly happy about us going on this tour. Or about Nikki joining the Nation," Jett said, and she narrowed her eyes. "So we're all wondering if you guys had something to do with it."

  "That's a shitty accusation," Rafe said. He took a step towards her, expecting her to back down. Instead, she took two steps towards him, and got right in his face.

  She pressed a finger into his chest. "That accusation is not exactly unfounded."

  "We didn't have anything to do with this," Dion said, his voice sharp. "She's on this tour, she played a solid set. Bullshit with Rafe in the opening number notwithstanding."

  "She saved that opener," Jett argued. "No one recognized the damn song his rhythm was so off."

  "Jett," I said and shook my head at her. "Let's just call Devlin and get this fixed. I just want to go to bed."

  Presley held up her phone. "I just sent him a text. He's on his way."

  The five of us stared at the bus in silence. Then Rafe pointed to the back wheel.

  "They're not only assholes, they're litterbugs," he said. Just behind the wheel were a bunch of discarded spray paint cans.

  Dion went over and picked one up. He shook it, then did the same with a few more. "They were in a rush to get out of here. These cans are still pretty full."

  "You know what that means?" Presley asked, a devious smile spread across her face. She started snapping pictures of the vandalized bus.

  "Jesus, Presley. This is not the time for Instagram selfies," I grumbled at her. "Especially not with that."

  "Please," she said, waving a manicured hand at me. "I'm taking pictures of the evidence and then we're going to cover this shit up."

  "You can't cover up the evidence!" Dion argued. "The cops need to come and look at it."

  "The cops can't do shit," Presley said.

  I glanced at Jett. "What do you think?"

  Jett sighed. "I hate to agree but malicious mischief is a misdemeanor at best. Hurting someone's feelings is not a felony."

  Presley snatched up one of the cans and gave it a shake. "So let's have a painting party!"

  "Right on," Rafe said. "I'll grab some beers off the bus."

  He opened the bus door, cued up some Led Zeppelin on the sound system, and returned with five beers. We cracked open the brews and, with Misty Mountain Top blaring, we got to work camouflaging the graffiti with various homemade Rouge Nation and Satan's Sisters band logos.

  Exhausted from the gig, and without any food in my belly, I had a small buzz going by the time Devlin showed up. He was carrying a bag full of burritos for all of us.

  "Well, I'm going to have some explaining to do," Devlin sighed, taking in the graffitied side panel. "It looks like both your bands puked on our bus."

  While we stood back to survey our work, Rafe crept up behind Jett and spray painted a bulls-eye on her ass. She shrieked then chased him half way across the parking lot, finally countering with a huge orange X across his bare chest.

  "Settle down and eat," Devlin barked, tossing burritos to us from the bag.

  We did exactly that while the sun set over the Golden Gate Bridge.

  "What about the party?" Presley asked, picking at her dinner. Always on a diet, she ate only the chicken out the overstuffed tortilla.

  "I'm done, you guys go without me," I said, taking a big bite of my burrito. I wasn't worried about carb loading at all.

  "No way," Jett said. "We stay together."

  Presley sulked and looked over at Rafe and Dion.

  "You can come with us if you don't cramp our style," Dion said.

  "Would I do that?" she asked, glancing up at him through her thick eyelashes.

  "Yes," Dion said. "I'm serious. If you cock block tonight, you're off the tour."

  My heart dropped to my stomach.

  "You can't kick us off the tour for that," I said, tossing the rest of my burrito aside. The thought of Dion hoo
king up with some random groupie made me lose my appetite.

  "No? Watch me," he said. "You don't mess with a horny man's lay."

  "You could always—" Presley made a jerk off motion with her hands, and Devlin burst out laughing.

  "Rouge Nation gets plenty of pussy," Rafe boasted. "We haven't needed to do that in at least a year."

  "More like three," Dion said, one-upping his brother.

  "You're both full of shit," Devlin said.

  "I need to change," Presley said, jumping up.

  "We want to get there sometime tonight," Dion yelled after her.

  Rafe looked at Jett. "So you sure you don't want to come?"

  She snorted. "As appealing as this party sounds, I'll be getting spray paint out of my jeans this evening. Seems a smarter use of my time." She turned on her heel and climbed into the bus after Presley.

  "Aw hell, Jett," Rafe yelled, jumping up and following her. "There's more to life than smart, you know."

  "Jesus, do I have to get changed with a fucking audience?" Presley shrieked when Rafe walked onto the bus.

  "Chill, would you? I've seen ta-tas before."

  "Not my ta-tas," she hollered back.

  Devlin snickered. "Close quarters." Presley loosed a stream of expletives, which was followed by the sound of glass shattering. "That's my cue to go break it up."

  I was Devlin's turn to climb onto the bus and begin his fatherly yelling at both Rafe and Presley, leaving me and Dion with our uneaten burritos, staring at the side of the bus.

  Dion cleared his throat and motioned to the graffiti. "So that's messed up."

  "You think I should be worried?" I asked, still a little unnerved by the sentiment.

  "Nah," he said. "Probably some 13-year-old kid with nothing better to do."

  "Right," I said, crushing my beer can and getting to my feet. "Guess I'll see what's up in there."

  Dion grabbed my wrist as I walked past. "You played good tonight. Really good."

  "Thanks," I said. He caressed the inside of my wrist with his thumb and I swallowed hard. The sensation sent jolts of electricity up my arm. He pulled me back down beside him. I winced when I felt the skin on my knee stretch against the adhesive holding it together.

  "You saved Rafe's ass out there, too," he continued. "But if you tell him I said that, I'll deny it."

  "I'll keep that between us," I murmured, thinking of the other things we were keeping between us, like the night at my apartment and the hook up in the rehearsal room.

  "You sure you don't want to go to this party?" he asked, his voice low. "There's probably an empty room..."

  He moved my hand down to his crotch, and rubbed it against his rigid shaft. I pressed my fingers against it and felt it throb through the denim.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. "I don't think that's a good idea, Dion. With the tour and everything..."

  "You're right," he said. "We're bandmates now. Right, little sis?"

  "Right," I said, dropping my head so he wouldn't see the blush creep up my face.

  He leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Your tits do beautiful things when you play, by the way. Wear that shirt at the next gig."

  He dropped a hand to my breast, slipping it into my bra. He his fingers worked my nipple like the fret board on his guitar. I closed my eyes and leaned against him, rubbing his cock through his jeans as he teased my nipple with the calloused tips if his fingers.

  "You are such an asshole," Presley screamed, yanking me back to reality me. Devlin was shouting something but his words were hard to make out. Obviously, Presley and Rafe were still at each other's throats.

  "You're right," I said, pushing his hand away as I re-adjusted my breast into my bra. "Bandmates."

  I took a deep breath, stood and walked into the bus, leaving Dion alone in the setting sun.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A load moaned jolted me awake.

  "Oh, yes. Yes. Exactly. Right there." Dion's husky whisper carried up from the bunk below me.

  My eyes snapped open.

  "Exactly. Exactly like that," he said. A feminine giggle followed his voice.

  Breath held, eyes squeezed closed, I willed it to be a bad dream.

  "Hang on, push. Deeper. Don't stop," he said with a groan. "Oh yeah, speed it up. Yes. Yes."

  More feminine giggling.

  Nope, not a bad dream. Didn't Presley say this only happened if you took the bottom bunk? I did not take the bottom bunk! I rolled to face the wall and pulled the pillow over my exposed ear.

  But Dion's voice traveled through the hypoallergenic feathers. "Damn, girl, you're so good at that."

  Then the rhythmic thumping started, just under me, banging into my hip, which was pressed against the mattress.

  "Oh, you're so hard!" she gasped.

  That did it.

  "Are you kidding me," I yelled before I rolled out of my bunk. In my rush to get out of the bed, I lost my balance and crashed to the floor.

  The curtains to Dion's bunk —which, of course, was situated just undermine —flung open, and the barely legal intern that showed us to the stage was sitting astride on Dion's ass, her elbow pressed into his deltoid.

  "Close the fucking curtain," she shrieked.

  She rolled off his back and curled towards the far wall. Clad in only a bra and lace panties that left zero to the imagination, she struggled to pull the sheet out that was tucked under Dion to cover herself.

  Dion climbed out of the bunk, a hard-on poking out from his boxer briefs. She yanked the sheet to up to her chest to cover herself. "Relax, Melissa. I'll handle this."

  "What the hell are you doing?" I asked, scrambling to my feet. I felt downright frumpy in my oversized t-shirt and cotton PJ bottoms.

  "You really need me to explain this to you?" he responded. The smirk on his face said everything.

  Jett popped her head out from behind the curtains to her bunk. "What the hell...whoa!" she yelped when she got an eyeful of Dion and his erection. She covered her eyes with her hands. "I cannot un-see that!"

  A groggy Rafe pushed aside his bunk curtains. A sheet was crumpled up below his torso, and, based on the bit of hip peeking out, that was all that kept him decent. "Is it my turn, man?"

  "Turn?" I squeaked. "His turn? You guys are sharing?"

  "Brothers share everything," Rafe said around a yawn.

  Jett wrinkled her nose. "That's disgusting."

  My voice went up another octave. "Is she even legal?"

  "I'm 18," she sniffed from her hidey-hole.

  "Calm down, little prudish sister," Dion said, leaning against the bunks. "She's a massage therapy student. She was just practicing."

  I glared at his dick, still protruding through the fabric of his underwear. "Looks like there was a happy ending in your future."

  A smile spread across his face, like the cat that ate the canary. Or in Dion's case, the rock star that ate the pussy. "And who doesn't want a happy ending?"

  Presley poked her head out between her curtains. Her sleeping mask was pulled up from one eye. "What's going on?"

  "The boys were getting a happy ending. On the tour bus," I growled.

  That one eye went huge when she realized she was face to face with Dion's junk. "I knew it, I knew it, I freaking knew it," she cried, scrambling out of her bunk. "You guys cannot help yourselves, bringing any female with wide open legs onto the damn tour bus."

  "Hey!" Melissa's protest came from the corner of the Dion's bunk. "I did not have my legs wide open. Much." She hiccupped. Then I noticed a bottle of rum next to Dion's pillow.

  "Booze helps wedge those legs open," I said.

  "But I'm wearing underwear," she said.

  "Probably crotchless," I sniffed.

  "You're just jealous because you're a blue-haired freak," she barked.

  There are a lot of rules on the road and one of the top ones is don't egg on the drunk groupie. The younger they are, the less likely they can handle their liquor. The result is either proj
ectile vomit or belligerent drunk.

  I tossed out the rule book. "That's some tough talk coming from someone in her under-roos."

  Melissa shot out like a bolt from the bunk and lunged herself at me. Her tackle took me by surprise and I toppled onto my back. She was on top of me, her nails clawing into me.

  "Sweet!" Rafe said, jumping out of his bunk and nearly losing his sheet in the process. "Girl fight!"

  The moving bus stopped short, and Melissa lost her balance. Using that to my advantage, I bent my legs and got both of my feet under her chest. I kicked her off of me and scrambled to my feet. She came at me again, but this time I was ready. I bear hugged her, pinning her arms, and dragged her to the front of the bus.

  "What the hell is going on back here?" Devlin yelled, coming out from behind the wheel. "Oh shit!"

  I pressed the door open button and Melissa and I stumbled outside. We wrestled by the side of the road, hands slapping. Devlin, Rafe and Dion followed us onto the pavement.

  "How the hell did this bus get a stow-away?" Devlin yelled at Dion and Rafe while I tried to untangle Melissa's fists from my hair. Devlin grabbed me from behind, and when he finally pried us apart, clumps of my hair snarled around her fingers.

  "Aw, hell, Devlin," Rafe said, not meeting the old man's eyes. "You know how this tour shit goes."

  "Is she even 18?" Devlin barked. She came at me again. I was still wrapped in Devlin's arms, so I kicked out at her, landing a good one in her solar plexus.

  She made an "oof" sound, dropped to the pavement, and then upchucked the rum.

  "Oh for crying out loud," Devlin groused. "How much did she drink?"

  Dion held up his thumb and index finger to show a measurement. It was not insignificant.

  "Oh balls," Devlin swore. "Hey there, easy now sweetie. You'll be okay." His fatherly attempt to soothe her was cut short as she heaved up more of the rum. And possibly nachos. Maybe a burger. It was hard to tell. "We haven't even been on the road for 48 hours and this shit happens."

  Presley stomped off of the bus. "This is why we should be on airplanes," she shrieked. "We'd be in hotel rooms. You can screw whatever you want in the privacy of your own hotel room."