The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance)

by Sterling, Jillian

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "Dion should go on a pre-show bender every day," I mumbled to myself as we wrapped up our final song. Post IV drip and anti-nausea meds, and our set was on point. The crowd practically tossed themselves at his feet, scantily-clad women taking up the entire front row. Vince stood at the side of the stage, looking at Dion with a measure of pride. Dion beamed at his dad. They had a heart-to-heart at the doctor's office during the IV drip procedure.

  The crowd was still revved up from the set and Dion didn't want to get off the stage. He turned to me and Rafe. "We can't walk off yet," he called over the crowd. "One more song."

  "What do you want to play?" Rafe yelled.

  "Ruined," Dion said.

  "I thought we agreed to keep it off the set list," Rafe argued.

  Clearly, the weren't cowed by Vince's threats at all.

  "What the hell," I yelled over the crowd. "You guys actually went out of your way to slash it from the set list?"

  Dion smiled at me. "And I want to play Ruined Nik's way."

  "Nik's way?" Rafe asked. He looked like he was ready to explode.

  "And acoustic," he said, swapping out his electric guitar for his Brock Model OM acoustic. It was a sexy guitar. "You lead us in, Nik."

  "Nikki leads in? Really?" Rafe asked.

  Dion flashed me a sexy grin. "And take it easy on me, I've never done this before."

  My heart raced at his approval. I launched into the new beat and Dion picked it up easily on his guitar. The song was stunning, his smooth voice hit at all the right notes. Unlike anything Rogue Nation had ever played, it brought the crowd to its knees. One of the "front row hos" removed her bra and tossed it at him.

  I wiped down my face with my hand towel and, after acknowledging the audience with a wave and a bow, walked off stage. Rafe followed behind me with Dion last to leave the stage.

  "Good job on Ruined," Rafe admitted as we walked. "That shit was epic."

  I started to say thanks but he disappeared into a crush of backstage revelers. The greenroom was overrun with people. The smell of hot food wafted from the room, and my stomach growled. But there was no way of reaching it. I opted for an ice cold bottle of water from a cooler installed outside the door.

  Vince sidled up to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "Nicely done, Nik. That was exactly what the crowd wanted." I took in his compliment and smiled.

  "So, what is all this?" I asked, cracking open the water.

  "Grimm through that you guys needed a little pick-me-up."

  "Grimm just decided to throw us an impromptu party in Seattle?"

  "I'm not going to bullshit you, Nik," Vince said.

  I chugged down some water. "I appreciate that."

  "This is really for the Sisters, to keep you three happy while you are on a Grimm tour. He knows that the boys give you a hard time. He's nervous with SubPop is sniffing around."

  "There they are!" Presley's voice carried over the sounds of the party. She shoved her way through the crowd, pulling Grimm's A&R guy behind her. Even in jeans and an overpriced t-shirt, he still looked constipated.

  Vince nodded at the guy. "Eric."

  "The song, Ruined, it's all anyone is talking about right now," Eric said, pulling out his buzzing Blackberry. "I think that song will absolutely chart. I just texted Grimm about it, and he wants it recorded immediately."

  "But we're on tour," I said.

  "What's the next stop?" Vince asked.

  "Spokane," Presley said, wrinkling her nose at the city.

  "That's good. We can record at Amplified Wax. It's a good studio," Vince said. "What producer does Grimm want on this?"

  Eric glanced at his Blackberry. "You."

  "Me?" Vince said. "I haven't produced any of Rogue Nation's music."

  "He wants you," Eric said. "Said Anthem's albums were always strongest when you produced them. He thinks you can turn this song into number one."

  Presley squeezed Vince's arm and beamed. "He's right."

  "I appreciate everyone's confidence," he said. "But I think they'd be safer with one of those hit factory producers."

  "Stop the faux modesty!" Presley said with a laugh. She leaned into him. "You've got this."

  "Dion and I will butt heads the whole time," he said.

  "Not if he's butting heads with me," I grumbled.

  "I hate to agree with her but..." Eric said.

  I rolled my eyes. "You know, I just want to get out of these sweaty clothes. Please tell me the dressing room is clear."

  "Jett was in there reading," Presley said. "So you know there's no partying happening in there."

  Eric and Vince were already plotting the single release so I headed to the dressing room. I shut the door to the outside party, and enjoyed the silence of an empty room. I made my way over to my tiny corner of the dressing room. Presley took up most of the makeup table, her products sorted in orderly drugstore groupings. I dug through my duffle bag for a clean top and pair of jeans. Only after I pulled them out and dropped them on my little clearing on the table did I notice a piece of paper with my name on it.

  I unfolded the note and as I read the words, I felt the blood rush from my head. Woozy, I fell into the chair behind me.

  Stop ruining Rogue Nation. Last warning bitch. Then you die.

  "What the hell?" I muttered, reading the words again. I took a deep breath, an attempt to steady my racing heart.

  "Nik?" Jett called, opening the door. The sound of the crowd spilled into the quiet room.

  I wiped at my eyes. "What's up?"

  "You okay?" she asked, walked toward me.

  "Fine," I said.

  She snatched the paper out of my hands and read it. "Shit. We got to tell Vince. And Devlin."

  I shook my head. "It's no big deal, really."

  "You were threatened," Jett argued. "That is a really big deal."

  "Not really, Jett. It's just Dion and Rafe screwing with me."

  "Those boys may be a lot of things," Jett said, shaking her head. "But something like this? I don't buy that."

  "Dion's wanted me out since the beginning," I argued. "He's just trying to scare me."

  Jett eyed me. "You really think so?"

  "Who the hell does this, Jett?" I continued. "It's just a band. It's just music."

  "There are some messed up people out there, Nik," Jett said.

  "No one more messed up than the Davis family," I said. "Believe me, this has got Dion's name written all over it."

  "You sure about this?" Jett asked. She didn't look convinced. "I mean, unhinged people target celebrities all the time.

  I laughed. "Celebrity? Now you sound like Presley. I am the furthest thing from a celebrity."

  "Satan's Sisters profile is rising," Jett countered. "Rogue Nation is on the cusp of something. You have to admit this."

  "Yes, but celebrity? None of us are keeping up the Kardashians here."

  She giggled. "You're right. That was a very Presley thing if me to say," she giggled. "But for real, are you sure it's nothing to worry about?"

  "Positive," I said. "Dion's getting his rocks off with this. No idea why, but that's all it is."

  There was a knock on the door. Presley poked her head in. "Hey, someone out here wants to see you, Nik."

  "I'll be out in a second. I still need to change," I said. "Who is it?"

  Presley came in and shut the door behind her. "That cute doctor guy—"

  "Pre-med," Jett corrected her.

  Presley rolled her eyes. "Pre-med. Whatever. He was at the gig tonight too."

  "He really is a super fan," Jett said.

  "Maybe he's got a super crush on some cute little drummer," Presley razzed.

  "Shut up," I said, throwing my sweat soaked t-shirt at her. She squealed in horror and jumped back. I pulled on a new t-shirt and felt the waist band of my jeans. It was still damp, but not completely soaked. I decided to leave them on.

  "You aren't changing your pants?" she asked.

&n
bsp; "I really hate having an audience," I said.

  "You need a wax or something?" she tossed off.

  "Presley!" Jett yelled.

  "What?" Presley said.

  "That's so personal," Jett said. "Like invasively so."

  "Please," Presley said. "If Nik's gonna getting lucky, she needs to think about these things."

  "No, I do not need a wax," I barked back at her. "Honestly, sometimes having sisters is the worst. Brothers would never ask that question."

  Presley raised an eyebrow. "No? Let's call in Rafe and Dion and see?"

  I turned my back on them so they didn't notice my face flare red. Instead, I unbuttoned my jeans and kicked myself out of them. I tugged on a clean pair and turned to face my sisters, giving Presley a dirty look.

  "Maybe you should put the dirty ones back on?" Presley offered.

  "What's wrong with these?" I snapped.

  "They're super baggy," she said. "You have like zero ass in those."

  "They're comfortable," I said, pulling a studded belt through the belt hooks and securing it around my hips.

  Presley rolled her eyes. "Would you at least not wear that baggy-ass t-shirt too?"

  I looked to Jett for moral support but she just shrugged. "I agree with Presley. You look like you're going to a rap concert circa 1992 with the baggy clothes."

  Presley rifled through her trunk and pulled out a top fashioned from two old concert t-shirts. It was skin tight and low cut. "Here, this is perfect," she said, holding it up to me.

  I eyed it. "Can I even wear a bra with this thing?"

  "I don't," she said.

  "You don't need to," I sighed, tossing it aside. My C cup was just big enough to be uncomfortable braless.

  "If I had boobs like that, I'd be sticking them out every chance I got," she said with a jealous sigh.

  "Please, Presley, you stick you're boobs out anyway," Jett teased.

  Presley giggled. "You're wearing a demi-cup, you should be fine."

  I left my bra on and pulled the shirt over my head. With a strategic pull and tuck, the bra was hidden.

  Presley surveyed me. "That's way better. Now you can get out there and charm that handsome doctor!"

  I snorted. "I don't charm guys, Pres. You do."

  "You should tell him about this note," Jett said, her eyes had a devious sparkle to them. "Boys love a good damsel in distress."

  "What note?" Presley asked, concern creeping over her face.

  "It's nothing. Just Dion being Dion," I said. "And he's the one I should have a word with."

  I snatched up the threatening note from the dressing room table and crushed it in my hand before stalking out into the party. I saw Dion across the room, holding court with five of the "front row hoes." I stalked towards him.

  Brian stepped into my path. I stopped short to keep from careening into him.

  "Hey, Nikki," he said. "Excellent show tonight. Really great."

  "Thanks, Brian," I said, staring past him to Dion, who draped his arm around three of the girls at once.

  "What happened to Ruined though?" Brian continued. "I mean, as a slow song?"

  "You didn't like it?" I asked, one eye still on Dion.

  "Ruined was kind of ruined," he said, repeating Dion's words.

  I glared at him. "I think it worked."

  "Well, I mean, sure," he backtracked. "I guess the girls in the audience liked it. If that's what the band's going for now."

  I squeezed the crumpled up note in my palm and held back the tongue lashing I wanted to give him. "And if it is?"

  He clenched his jaw and shoved his hands into his back pocket. "Nothing wrong with expanding the audience. Just don't forget the true fans. You know, the ones who were there from the start. I hate it when bands do that."

  I took a step back from him. "No chance of that. Rogue Nation appreciates the fans that got them here."

  His face relaxed. "Good."

  I glanced over at Dion again. His head was thrown back, in the middle of a laugh. Two more women joined the group and they were in the middle of a deep kiss. Dion looked like the cat that swallowed a canary. "Let me talk to Dion about that. Right. Now."

  I pushed past Brian and headed straight for Dion.

  "Which of you girls wants to play out all of my fantasies?" I heard him say as I marched up to him. He called out over the girls' raised voices. "No need to argue, ladies. My favorite fantasy includes all five of you." They cooed appreciatively.

  "I need to talk to you," I said, throwing the crumpled note at him. It bounced off his chest and landed on the floor. “Like spray painting this shit on the bus wasn't enough. You have to go leave these notes in my dressing room now?"

  "Whoa, steady there killer," Dion smirked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "You're so disgusted having a girl on the tour you've got to resort to intimidation?" I said, my voice rose high enough that the people around us stopped their conversations to watch. "You really think these stupid anonymous threats would scare me? Make me quit?"

  "What stupid threats?" he asked, tilting his head to the left.

  "The threats in your damn note," I said and kicked the wadded up paper towards him.

  He threw up his hands. "What note, Nikki?"

  I pointed to floor. "That one!"

  He bent over and snatched it up. He smoothed it out. His face went dark as he read it. "Nik, I didn't write this."

  I put my hands on my hips. "Of course you did."

  "Nik, this wasn't me."

  "Stop lying, Dion," I said. "You get your rocks off scaring me, but it's not cool. Not at all."

  Dion took a step towards me. "You're nuts. Why would I threaten you?"

  I refused to back down. "Don't gaslight me!"

  Dion wrapped his hands around both of my arms and squeezed. "I'd never do that to you, Nik. Never."

  "Hey," Brian said, pushing through the circle growing around me and Dion, Jett and Presley following behind him. "Everything okay here?"

  "Nik?" Jett asked, looking back and forth between me and Dion. "Are you alright?"

  "Holy hell," Presley yelped. "Don't touch her!"

  I shrugged Dion's hands off of me. "I'm fine. It's fine."

  "Don't you tell me you are fine," Presley railed. "Dion, stop leaving those stupid notes. The bus was kind of weird but kind of funny. This is now officially creepy."

  "Fuck this," he exploded. "I didn't mess with the bus. I didn't leave any notes for anyone. She drums, I accept it. I'm not mad anymore. You Benson women are all fucked, you know that?"

  Dion stalked off, the front row 'hoes trailing behind him.

  "He's an ass," Presley spat out.

  "If it wasn't Dion..." Jett started.

  "It was Dion," Presley insisted. "He's trying to get a rise out of us."

  "Well, it's working," I said, ignoring Jett's unease. I rubbed my arms where Dion's hands gripped.

  Brian rested his hand on the small of my back. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

  "Nah, it's nothing," I said. "My arms are fine. Sore from playing two sets tonight, that's all."

  "How about I get you a beer?" he asked.

  "That'd be great, thanks," I said.

  Brian walked towards the cooler filled with beer, which was right by Dion, who held court at the ratty old couch, groupies flanking him. One was giving him a lap dance.

  "Turn that shit up," Dion called out to no one in particular. But Saving Abel's Addicted came on full blast, and the groupie girl's top was off before the first verse was over.

  "Wow, this is nuts," Brian said, returning with two beers. He pushed one into my hands, staring at the scene unfolding between Dion and his front row 'hoes.

  "Thanks," I said, noticing that the PBR can was open. Dion was behind the threat; I was certain of that. But after reading that note, I didn't want to take chances with any can or bottle that I did not open myself. I put it on the console table beside me. "Never been backstage before, I guess?"

  "Is
this normal?" he asked, eyes wide. Lap dancing girl's bra was off.

  "Pretty much," I said. "Although Anthem's backstage parties were total debauchery."

  "Really?" he asked, his eyes on the lap dancer. I shook my hair off my face and puffed out my chest to accentuate my cleavage. I was no match for her though. She was shimmying out of her skirt, leaving her in just a thong and high heels.

  "Yeah, someone would have been having sex on the dirty couch by now," I said. This time, I leaned into him. He smiled down at me and slipped an arm around my shoulders.

  Dion's eyes were no longer on the writhing blond in front of him. They were on me. And Brian. And Brian's arm around me.

  Dion stood and gripped the nearly-naked woman by the ass, grinding his pelvis into hers. He glared at me. I reacted by my snaking my arms around Brian's neck, hip pressing into pelvis.

  "Oh, wow, hey there," Brian stammered, placing an awkward hand on my butt.

  That's when my bravado disappeared. I grabbed the open can of PBR off the table and made of a show of drinking it. But instead of putting it to my lips, I dumped it all over Brian.

  He jumped back as the cold beer sloshed all over his Rogue Nation concert tee. "Shit!"

  I rose my hands in mock surrender, sending the can to the floor, where it bounced. A new wave of beer soaked his sneakers, splashing along the cuffs of his jeans. I cringed. "Sorry."

  "You damn well should be," he snapped, hands balled into fists.

  "It's just beer," I said, inching back from him.

  He shook his head, tossing off a half smile. "Yeah, sorry, just surprised me. That's all."

  "Well, sorry," I said. "I'll get you a new t-shirt from the merch table."

  "Can you ask Dion to sign it?" he asked, perking up.

  "Um, sure," I said, glancing back at him while I walked away.

  I headed out of the greenroom, through the hallway backstage and then into the eerily quiet club. Just a few die-hards were finishing their beers while the staff cleaned up for the night. I spotted our roadies Beef. He was called Beef because he was exactly that: Beefy. He was in the middle of packing up a pile of CDs. There was a stack of t-shirts in the open box beside him.

  "Hey, Beef, can you grab a t-shirt for me? Medium?" I asked.

  He folded his arms. "You paying for it? Cash only, credit card machine is packed up."