The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance)

by Sterling, Jillian

  "I want you to come all over my cock," he said. His thumb made firm circles around my clit, and I felt my orgasm building.

  "I'm almost there," I told him before my eyes rolled back I was caught up in waves of pleasure. My back arched. I pressed my breasts into his face, and my pussy spasmed around his cock. I collapsed onto his chest.

  "You're not done yet," he whispered into my ear, and I pressed my pelvis into his in response.

  "Oh, Nikki, yes, just like that," he said as I moved my pussy up and down his shaft. He gripped my ass with both hands and moved my hips faster and faster, his breathing matching the thrusts, until he cried out. I felt his cock pulse inside me as he came into the sheath. We rested for a moment, his head against my chest, mine on his head.

  "We should probably clean up," he said. "The bands playing tonight will be coming in for sound check soon."

  We both avoided each other while we pulled our clothes on. It wasn't until I put on my shoes that I ventured a glance towards him.

  "Now what?" I asked, knotting my sneakers.

  "Like we said, it's out of our system," he said with a shrug. He unlocked the door. "See you around, sis."

  I slumped down into the couch, wishing the cushions would swallow me up. I was an idiot, a fool. The room still thick with the smell of sex, a reminder that I was weak, giving into my stepbrother's lies and manipulations. I fought back the tears welling up in my eyes, feeling like a fool.

  "Never again," I whispered, dabbing at my eyes with the edge of my t-shirt. "Never again."

  CHAPTER TEN

  "Where the hell is this boy?" Devlin griped.

  Rafe plucked at his bass guitar. "He's never been to a sound check on time in his life."

  "But this late?" Devlin said, glancing at his watch one more time.

  "Dion had a late night," he lied, going on the defensive for his brother. The truth was, Dion never made it back to the bus last night. I spent most of it tossing and turning, waiting for him to show up. The only thing that kept us all from outright panicking was that Rafe had a few barely coherent texts from him. And my anger towards Dion grew proportionally to the snippets from those texts that Rafe shared.

  "It's three in the afternoon," Devlin deadpanned. "I don't give a shit how late he was out. You get your ass to sound check on time."

  "We can sound check again," Presley called from her barstool. She and Jett were chilling at the bar on the club's mezzanine level, which looked down on the stage. "You know, in case the sound guy wants something to do."

  Even though I couldn't see her, I was certain she winked at the sound guy. And I was grateful at her attempt to diffuse the situation with some mild flirtation. The sound guy did not look happy behind all his monitors. And if the sound guy's not happy, there's a 99.9 percent chance that the band will sound like shit.

  "Satan's Sluts do not get any extra sound checks," Dion slurred as he staggered into the venue, front door slamming behind him. An open can of beer in hand, the remainder of the six pack dangled from his other hand. "They don't get any extra anything."

  Dion stood in the middle of the club, his sunglasses still on, still in yesterday's clothes except they were rumpled. He and looking like a first rate asshole. All eyes were on him. The sound guy was shooting him daggers.

  He shrugged. "What? Am I'm late?"

  Devlin went on the attack. "This is some straight up sort of bull shit right here. Yes, you are late."

  Dion still didn't remove his shades. "Long night."

  "Boy, you are done with the partying on this tour," Devlin laid into him, grabbing the six pack ring to take the beer away from him.

  Dion yanked the beer back. Then he got right up in Devlin's face and jabbed a finger into the older man's chest. "You work for me. You don't tell me what to do. So sit the fuck down and shut up, old man."

  "Grimm Records cuts my paycheck and Gary Grimm gave me the authority to whip your ass. So while this tour is bankrolled by Grimm, you listen to me," Devlin said, not backing down.

  My drums being my line of defense against anxiety, I bit my bottom lip and softly tapped out a rhythm. Dion and Devlin at each other's throats wasn't a good sign. Under my breath, I hummed Rogue Nation's song Ruined to the beat.

  Dion rounded on me. "Did I say it was time to start sound check?"

  "God, Dion, I'm just fiddling," I said, tapping it out again. "I've got a beat stuck in my head."

  "Fiddling?" he yelled. "It sounds like you were playing Ruined with the wrong goddam beat."

  I shrugged. "It sounds cool."

  "Ruined off tempo does not sound cool," he railed. "Ruined moves at the speed of light. Ruined is speed metal. Ruined is ruined when you slow it down. Like a fucking girl."

  "What the hell, Dion," I argued. "I was just messing around. Like a fucking drummer."

  "You don't mess around with my song!"

  "My god, Dion, dictator much?" I spat back at him.

  "Let's sound check this bitch," he grumbled, picking up his guitar. "You're not wearing that tonight, are you?"

  I glanced down at my outfit —a pair of black skinny jeans and an old Tom Petty sleeveless concert tee. It was my favorite drumming outfit. "What's wrong with it?"

  "I told you to show more skin," he leered at me. "No one can see your tits bouncing when you pound."

  I bristled. "I'm behind a drum kit, in the back. No one can see me at all."

  "I can," he mouthed at me while he launched into a loud guitar riff, leaving Rafe scrambling to catch up. Dion warbled into the microphone, his mouth too close, causing a loop of feedback that the sound guy rushed to correct.

  Dion's guitar riffs came to a sudden stop playing, leaving me and Rafe once again playing catchup. Our sounds petered out and all eyes were back on Dion.

  He exploded again, this time at the sound guy. "Don't you know how to run a fucking sound board?"

  The sound guy immediately cut the power to the mics. "Fuck you, Davis. I'm not your bitch."

  The sound good stood up, and I cringed. He was a full 6 feet plus inches and built like a linebacker. Dion took a long pull from his beer. Liquid courage.

  "Don't piss off the sound guy," I hissed at him.

  "You know what you should use your mouth for?" he growled. "Sucking cock, not speaking."

  "Hold on there, boy, that's crossing a line," Devlin hollered. "You watch your tongue."

  Dion took that literally, and rapidly licked the air in my direction.

  "You're an asshole when your drunk," I said.

  "He's an asshole when he's sober," Devlin replied.

  Dion took another swig from his can then tossed it in the general direction of the sound guy. The toss was so feeble that it didn't even make it half way to its intended target.

  "Crap," I said as Dion gripped the microphone stand to stay upright and hiccupped. "Do you need a doctor or something?"

  "He gets no doctor," Devlin raged. "He reaps what he sows."

  "I'd rather he not barf on stage," I said.

  "I'm not going to barf—" Dion started, and then swallowed. He looked green.

  Devlin jumped into action and pulled Dion by his shirt away from the stage, and the expensive equipment. "Shit. You get your ass into the bathroom. I'll call the damn doctor. Your father is going to skin you alive when he hears about this. And maybe me too," Devlin said. A string of curse words followed the two of them into the bathroom.

  "Can they sober him up fast enough for tonight's gig?" Presley asked once they stumbled out of earshot.

  "I don't know," Rafe said.

  "They'll probably IV drip him," Jett said, barely looking up from her book. She used a pen light to read in the dark club.

  "An IV drip can sober you up?" Rafe asked.

  "Yup, with saline." Jett replied. "And they'll probably include an anti-nausea med in it. Since he's barfing."

  "How do you know all this?" Rafe asked.

  Jett shrugged. "College. Freshman can't handle their alcohol."

&nb
sp; "So college is good for something," Rafe teased. Jett leveled a nasty look at him.

  I glanced at Studio Seven's sound guy, arms crossed and glaring. "Maybe we should just continue sound check without him."

  "I'd recommend that," the sound guy said.

  "Agreed," Rafe said. "My voice can get his levels close enough."

  "Let's get this done then," cranky sound guy ordered.

  "What do you want to check with?" I asked.

  Rafe started plucking out the bass chords for Ruined. "But do that slow tempo," he said, flashing me a fast smile. "It sounded cool."

  Pride swelled in my chest. I loved arranging music, working with tempo. So for someone to complement one of my ideas—particularly another musician, even if it was Rafe—was cool. I grinned and tapped at my drums, slowing the song down. Rafe tried to match the new beat, but he kept getting tripped up. I jumped in on vocals, although I was risking the ire of the already irritated sound guy.

  Ruin me, ruin you

  All our bodies want do

  Your caress sets me on fire

  Falling prey to base desires

  Damning me to love you still

  Even while you wreck me

  Ruined.

  Presley and Jett jumped to their feet and burst into applause.

  "Bravo," Presley called from the bar. "It's like a torch song now."

  "I like it way better than that speed metal version," Jett agreed. "And now you can actually make out the lyrics!"

  "And those lyrics are pretty good," Presley said. "Did Dion write it?"

  Rafe nodded. "Yup, and he's gonna be pissed about the new tempo."

  "Fuck him," Presley said. "You should totally play it like that tonight."

  "I agree," Vince said, applauding as he came out from the dark vestibule. "And where is Dion? Nik?"

  I played a light rat-a-tat-tat on my cymbal and tried to shrink back into shadow. "That's up to Rafe to tell you." Rafe flashed me an imploring look. Vince was going to go bananas when he heard. "I'm just the hired gun. Remember?"

  "I've got no problem telling him what Dion's been up to," Presley said. She stomped down the stairs from the mezzanine level. With her hands on her hips, confronted our stepfather with the Presley-level confidence that I envied. "Dion went on a major bender last night. And Devlin is trying to sober him up in some shitty bathroom in this shitty club."

  "Oy! Still here," the sound man shouted.

  "Sorry," Presley shouted back before turning back to Vince. "What I'm getting at is that Dion is a hot mess and I want to know what you're going to do about it."

  Vince's words were cold and measured. "What I'm going to do about it?"

  "Why do you even care?" Rafe snapped.

  This time, it was Jett yelling. "Because we want this for Nikki. And you both treat her like a goddamn outsider so she won't speak up. But I know you feel the same way as her."

  Rafe opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut right away.

  "That's what I thought," Presley said with a smirk.

  "That's not fair," Rafe said to Jett. "Not at all."

  "But it's true," Jett said, marching down the stairs to confront him.

  "Presley. Jett," I said, standing up from behind my drum kit, looking between the two of them.

  "No, Nik, I will not shut up," Jett fumed. "There is nobody in this room who loves music more than you."

  "Well—" Presley started.

  "Pres, you are a great singer and an excellent front-woman, but you do not love music—music, not fame—more than Nik."

  Presley shrugged. "You were the first to pick up an instrument."

  "Presley and me, we kind of just did it because we were around it all the time," she said. "But you, Nik, this is your passion."

  "She's right," Devlin said, coming back into the room. He was drying his hand on a paper towel. "Ace loved giving you drum lessons because you were so damn into it."

  "Where's Dion?" Vince asked.

  "He's not feeling 100 percent."

  Vince's face turned red with anger. "I am going to rip this kid a new asshole."

  Devlin stepped in front of Vince and touched his arm lightly. "I already did. And I think he got the message loud and clear."

  "I have passion too you know," he said to no one in particular. He plucked at his bass and sulked.

  "Everyone in this room as the passion," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

  "But not like you, kid," Devlin said, shooting me a grin.

  I chewed my lower lip. I hated it when Presley and Jett talked up my passion and talked down their own. I knew Jett wanted to go to college and Presley just saw her voice her way into something that resembled a multinational corporation rather than a band. But it was nice being in the band together. I shivered thinking about how Satan's Sisters felt like the only thing that kept us together these days. Particularly after I moved out of the house. If we didn't have the band, we'd probably barely see each other.

  Dion stumbled out from the bathroom, his hue still a bit on the green sign.

  "Hey, dad, what's up?" Dion mumbled. He staggered to the edge of the stage and sat down.

  Vince balled up his fists. "I get you the deal of a lifetime and this is how you handle it?" Vince seethed.

  "Do we have to do this now, Dad?"

  "When do you suggest we do it?" Vince asked, his voice raising.

  Dion groaned and dropped his head in his hands. "Maybe when the room isn't spinning so much."

  "This is an embarrassment," Vince railed. "This entire tour is an embarrassment."

  Rafe took a step forward to confront his father. "What are you talking about? The tour's been good."

  "When the opening, unsigned act behaves more professionally, and creates more buzz, than the headliner? That's an embarrassment."

  "Oh fuck off," Dion muttered.

  "I will not fuck off," Vince snapped. "After your escapades with the groupie in San Francisco, you guys are a laughing stock. Satan's Sisters is the only reason why the industry is taking this tour seriously. Don't think Grim hasn't noticed."

  I winced at Vince's words. Dion's response was to lay down on the filthy stage and curl into the fetal position. Dion was in no shape to process what his dad was saying. This wasn't constructive.

  "Come on, Vince. It's rock and roll," I said. "You had groupies."

  "I also had business sense," Vince said. "Why did you think we had so many groupies? It was the scene. Scene's change."

  Devlin clapped Vince on the arm. "Maybe give the kid a break, Vince. You're forgetting touring is a lot of pressure."

  Vince shook Devlin's arm off. "I think he needs to learn how to handle it."

  "So you're saying the groupies were for show?" Presley asked, her eyes wide, treating the revelation like Christmas.

  "I don't know how much was for show," Devlin said, squinting his eyes at Vince. "But I remember pulling out head out of a few toilets back it the day."

  Vince sighed. "The point is; Rogue Nation needs to do something."

  "So what do you suggest?" Rafe snapped. "You come in here with all your criticisms. How about giving us a solution?"

  Vince turned to Rafe. "Why do you think Satan's Sisters is getting buzz?"

  Rafe shrugged. "Because they're hot chicks?"

  "Because we're new," Jett added her two cents.

  "Because you're good," Vince corrected her. "You play like a team, your melodies are solid, and you can read the audience."

  "What do you mean, read the audience?" Rafe asked.

  "They know what the audience wants and gives it to them," Vince said. "Like trotting out that old war horse Rhiannon but pushing its tempo up to speed metal? It was exactly what the crowd wanted."

  "Nik's the one reading the audience," Jett said. "The tempo change was her call."

  "So Nik's got a knack for it," Vince said. "Then let her read Rogue's. She's part of the band, boys. Use her."

  Rafe swore. "She's been with the band fo
r like five days."

  "I don't give a shit if she's been with the band five minutes," Vince barked. "While you and your brother are out chasing pussy and good times, she's the one taking this band seriously."

  Rafe slumped against the back wall of the stage and sulked.

  "We do Ruined Nik's way," Dion croaked from his fetal position on the floor.

  "What did you say?" I asked, rubbing my ear. Did I hear him correctly?

  He cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. "We do Ruined your way, your tempo."

  "The audience is going to hate it," Rafe argued.

  "So let them," Dion said, inching himself up to a sitting position. "If they hate it, we know Nik's full of shit."

  My body broke out into a nervous sweat.

  "What if they love it?" Jett challenged, shooting me a smirk.

  "If they love it, then Nik deserves to be in this band," Dion admitted. "Can we go now Devlin?"

  Devlin took Dion by the arm held onto him while Dion climbed his way to his feet. "Vince, I gotta take the kid to the doc, get an IV of fluids going, sober him up for tonight."

  "Do what you need to do to make sure this band gets on stage tonight," Vince said. He turned on his heel and walked out of the club.

  Devlin held Dion up on one side, and Rafe grabbed him from the other. The three staggered after Vince.

  Jett let out a low whistle. "Guess the heat's on, Nik."

  "You got this," Presley said, stomping her way backstage. Jett nipped at her heels.

  I just sat behind my drums, excitement mixed with dread. Here was my shot for Dion to accept me. But messing with Ruined was a huge gamble. Was it worth the risk?

  "So, is it cool if I go?"

  I jumped at voice and looked up. The sound guy stood and pulled on his jacket. I'd forgotten he was here. So did everyone else.

  "Yeah, I think so," I said, slumping further behind my drum kit. "Sound check's over."

  "For what it's worth, I liked the song," he said. "It sounded fierce at the slower tempo."

  I nodded at him. "Thanks. You think the fans will like it?"

  He shrugged. "Fans are weird. Maybe they'll surprise you."

  He saluted me and then walked out of the venue.

  "I hope you're right," I whispered.