Heartbreak Beat

by Elle Greco

  “Did it?” he asked, his hands pulling at my underwear. “Maybe it was a woodpecker.”

  “You said ‘woodpecker,’” I teased, touching his hard-on through the confining cotton of his boxers.

  Dion laughed. “What are you, a ten-year-old boy?”

  Another knock, this time harder. I went limp against the mattress in defeat.

  “Nope, it’s a knock,” I said. “Probably Mrs. Roper. I told you not to turn up the speakers so loud.”

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed and reached for my robe. Immediately, I regretted the swiftness of my movements. My ass dropped back down onto the bed, dizzy.

  “Easy, Nik.” Dion’s arm was around my back, holding me steady. “Slow down, babe. You only just got the stitches out. I’ll deal with Mrs. Roper.”

  He got up and plucked a pair of sweatpants off the floor. He stepped into them, and I stared at his firm abs as he secured the string around his hips. I kept my admiring eyes on his perfect ass as he walked out of the bedroom to get the door.

  Pulling my robe around me, I took my time getting up. By the time I stepped into the living room, Jett was shrugging off her vegan leather jacket while pacing around my coffee table.

  “Jett, what’s up?” I asked, tying the belt of my robe tighter around my waist.

  “You got any coffee?” she asked. Her eyes were bloodshot.

  “I’ll put a pot on.” I headed to the coffee maker.

  “You sit. I got this,” Dion said, wrapping one arm around me and steering me away from the kitchen.

  “Dion, I can handle a pot of coffee.”

  “Hmm,” he said, looking me up and down. “Who almost fell getting out of bed just now? Be with your sister. Let me do this.”

  I smiled, relenting. Then I crossed the room to Jett, stilling her frantic movements and guiding her to a stool at the breakfast bar. I sat down beside her. Once Dion got the coffee brewing, he made a nod at the door.

  “You two want some alone time?” he asked. “I can go out and get bagels or something.”

  Jett shook her head, sniffling. “No, this concerns both of you.”

  I chewed my lower lip, and my eyes darted between her and Dion. “What’d we do now?”

  “I thought we all agreed that the subject of me and Nikki was off-limits,” Dion said over me, his voice raised. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

  It didn’t take any time for Presley and Jett to accept our relationship. Although Rafe was a little slow to come around, he did eventually. Vince was more circumspect than angry. His concern was Rogue Nation. If Dion and I broke up, he didn’t believe the band would survive it. I pointed out that No Doubt went on to have a fruitful career even after Gwen Stefani and Tony Kanal split up. Of course, this ended up causing a big fight between me and Dion. Dion insisted that we were for keeps. He was pissed that I even considered breaking up an option. It was kind of cute.

  Pamela, however, was furious. She exploded and threatened to call the cops. Not like they could do anything. We were both of legal age, and we were not blood related. But she went so far as to dial 911 on her phone and press call. Vince grabbed the phone out of her hand, but since 911 was on the line, they sent a car over, and she threatened to press charges against Vince for spousal battery.

  In short, it was a shit show.

  So of course it blew up the internet. Alice “Banshee” Monroe, Grimm’s head of PR, spent close to a week fielding phone calls. She’d cackled the entire time.

  “It concerns you two, but it has nothing to do with you two,” Jett said, resting her elbows on the counter. Her back was slumped. She looked defeated.

  “Jett, what’s going on?” I asked.

  “Presley…” She stopped and shook her head. “No, wait. Pamela…” This time she dropped her head into her hands and sighed.

  Dion leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his dead sexy chest. “It involves your mom and your sister?” He looked over at me, eyebrow cocked. “You better steel yourself, babe. I expect this will be a doozy.”

  Dion wasn’t wrong to assume that. I shifted my butt on the stool beside Jett and gave her shoulder a playful nudge. “What? Did you kill them and you need help hiding the bodies?”

  She kept her forehand in her hands. “That’s one solution.”

  Shit.

  “What’d they do now?” I asked, the humor draining from my voice.

  She lifted her elbows off the counter and pushed her long red curls off her shoulders. “Pamela accused Presley of having an affair with Vince.”

  “Gross,” I spit out.

  Jett’s eyes cut from me to Dion and back to me. “You don’t actually think—”

  “Oh, God no,” I said, my mouth turned sideways in revulsion. “I mean, probably not.”

  “Probably not?” Jett repeated, her pale-blue eyes as round as saucers. Her lower lip trembled. She was barely holding it together.

  “They did spend an awful lot of time together on the tour,” Dion said.

  “Not helping,” I fired back at him before turning to my sister, who held her cheek in the palm of her hand. “They were working. On the backup vocals for Killing Hayley’s new album. Talking about her solo album too.”

  Jett swallowed. “So, you think there was nothing going on?”

  She looked hopeful.

  “I doubt it?” My voice cracked as my statement turned into a question. I didn’t want to believe there was anything going on. But Presley and Vince had seemed awfully cozy on the road.

  “Oh God,” Jett groaned, scraping her fingernails against her skull as she yanked her wild hair away from her face.

  Dion waded in cautiously. “Let’s go back to Pamela. How did you find out that Pamela thinks that Vince and Presley…?”

  Even Dion couldn’t bring himself to say it.

  Jett’s eyes welled up. “She kicked us out of the house!”

  “Us?” I asked. “You didn’t sleep with Vince.”

  “Not exactly a consolation, I guess? She probably wants to forget she ever had kids.”

  “Hasn’t that been her MO for the past twenty-odd years?” I asked.

  Jett leaned back on the stool, closed her eyes, and shook her head. “Presley at least has a recording contract, so she has money. I’ve got nothing but my car.”

  And, like Jett, her car wasn’t exactly flashy.

  When she opened her eyes, they were pleading. “Can I crash here for a while?”

  Before either Dion or I could respond, she plowed forward.

  “I know it’ll cramp your style, you guys just getting together and finally figuring it all out, but it’s just temporary. I’ll crash on the couch. I’ll barely be here when classes start up again.”

  “You want to sleep on my couch?” I asked.

  I twisted my body to look at it. That couch was my pride and joy. It was a snow-white midcentury-modern piece. It was a work of art. It was also uncomfortable as hell.

  “I wouldn’t ask if I had anyplace else to go,” she said. Her shoulders slumped, and she cradled her forehead in her hands.

  The coffee machine gurgled and spit out the last of the brew. I started to get up, but Dion was in the kitchen pulling out mugs before my ass left the barstool.

  “Of course you can crash here,” Dion said as he busied himself with the coffee setup.

  My heart leapt that he didn’t question it. Hell, even I did, and she was my sister.

  “But maybe we should get an air mattress or something?” I offered. “That couch could screw up your back.”

  “Not necessary,” Jett said, dabbing at her eyes with a knuckle. “I’ll get a job, figure something out before Amazon Prime can even deliver it. I promise.”

  “You can stay as long as you need to,” I said, reaching out and giving her forearm a squeeze.

  Dion slid full mugs of coffee in front of us. “Guess this means someone’s filing for divorce.”

  “She’s going to take Vince to the cleaners,” I said, taki
ng the cream Dion pulled out of the fridge. “Especially if this shit with Presley is true.”

  “It’s not true,” Jett said quickly, casting her eyes down at her mug. “It can’t be.”

  “It’s for the best,” Dion said. “Dad’s wanted to divorce Pamela for a while.”

  “Why’d he even stick around, then? Why not just go?” Jett asked.

  “Fear of alimony,” Dion muttered.

  I took a sip of coffee to keep from laughing. “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of a relief they’re splitting up.”

  “Sure,” Dion agreed, pouring coffee into his mug. “No one can bitch about how the hillbilly stepsiblings are sleeping together now.”

  I laughed out loud, and immediately winced in regret. It had been a month since I was shot, but my side still ached from the force of pressure that laughing exerted on my abs. It was worth it, though, when Jett cracked a tiny smile for the first time since she’d gotten here.

  “I hate to point out what we all know, but relationships with Vince aren’t forever,” Dion said, dumping sugar into his coffee. “You saw the parade of maids in their Hustler Hollywood outfits.”

  “Poor Mom,” Jett muttered.

  “Mom?” I asked, drawing my head back. “How can you even say, ‘Poor Mom,’ when she kicked you out? Pamela is going to walk away from this just fine.”

  “I just can’t help but—” Jett stopped and shook her head. “You know, she’s pushing fifty now. All that hard living is catching up to her.”

  “Pamela always lands on her feet,” Dion said, pointing out the truth about our mother.

  “She may be a train wreck, but she pulls it out more often than not,” I said, agreeing with him.

  “She won’t walk away from this destitute, that’s for sure,” he said.

  “Unlike you,” I said, trying to temper the words with a gentle voice. Jett was caught in the crosshairs of what was a long-standing feud between Pamela and Presley. Those two were oil and water. They never mixed.

  Jett planted her face into the soapstone countertop, and her back heaved with a new round of sobs.

  Dion and I sipped our coffee in silence and watched her sympathetically. After a minute, she finally raised her head, and I handed over a napkin. She rubbed at her tearstained face.

  “Is it okay if I bring in some of my stuff? I need to get to campus,” she said.

  “Of course,” I said. “While you’re out, we’ll have an extra key made up for you.”

  “Now that that’s settled,” Dion said, opening the fridge and glancing inside, “anyone want eggs?”

  “Yeah, right here. Scrambled, please,” I said, then turned my attention back to Jett. “Seriously, Jett, don’t feel sorry for Mom. Hell, she gave us next to nothing growing up. And even now she continues to lash out and take away.”

  Jett gave me a weak nod and slid off the barstool.

  By the time Dion plopped two plates of scrambled eggs in front of us—and a plate of avocado toast for my vegan sister—Jett had an army duffle filled with her stuff tucked into the corner of the living room. While she pushed the toast around on her plate, I dug right in. Hospital food made me appreciate something as simple as scrambled eggs. And Dion excelled at egg dishes.

  “You okay?” I asked around a mouthful.

  She sniffled. “Yeah, fine. Sorry. Just not hungry.”

  “So, what’s happening on campus?” I asked, forcing a chipper tone.

  She shrugged. “Meeting Rafe.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “He wanted to check out the school.”

  Dion’s fork stopped in front of his mouth. The eggs on the end dropped back onto his plate. “Rafe? At UCLA?”

  “Yeah, so?” she asked.

  “He couldn’t wait to get the hell out of high school.”

  “Everyone can’t wait to get the hell out of high school,” Jett said, pushing her plate away. I plucked up a piece of her toast. No way was I letting that go to waste.

  He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just surprised. That’s all.”

  “There’s more to Rafe than meets the eye,” Jett said. She got up and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze. “Thanks for the place to crash, Nik. Love you.”

  “Love you too,” I said, wrapping my arms around her slender middle and hugging her back.

  Dion walked Jett to the door. They said their goodbyes, and when the door was closed, he turned and faced me. “What the hell was that?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” I said, absently rubbing the scarring-over bullet wound. “All that matters is that Jett has a place to stay and Rogue Nation is number one on the alternative charts. The only thing that would make this better is if Satan’s Sisters came out of hiatus, but all things considered, I’m a pretty happy woman right now.”

  “And…” Dion said, flashing an expectant look at me.

  “And what?”

  “And you are about to have, like, twelve orgasms in a row,” he said. I took in his sexy swagger as he stalked toward me. “With the hottest guy in rock and roll.”

  “The hottest guy in rock and roll?” I mocked. “What? Is he here? Did someone else come over?”

  “You think you’re funny?” he teased. “Let’s see who’s laughing once we hit orgasm number ten.”

  I snorted. “I can’t have ten orgasms in a row. Never mind twelve.”

  “Your sister’s crashing on our couch,” he said. “That could put a crimp in our sex life. We’ve got work to do.”

  He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into him.

  “So, you’re disputing the orgasms and disputing that I am the hottest guy in rock and roll?” he asked, lifting me off the stool and carrying me into the bedroom.

  “Like that’s even a question,” I purred against his neck. “So, twelve orgasms? Are you ready to prove it?”

  “With pleasure,” he said, pressing one knee into the bed and laying me down on the mattress.

  Dion hovered over me and brushed a lock of hair off my face. “You know, Rafe’s new place is a two bedroom.”

  “I know,” I said, twining my calves around his legs. “You’re supposed to be in the second bedroom.”

  His hips settled between my spread legs. “There could be a vacancy. Make room for Jett.”

  “But then where would you live?”

  “Nik,” he said. His hard cock pressed against my lady parts, which tingled in anticipation.

  “What are you saying, Dion?” I asked, my voice a little breathy as he ground against me.

  “I’m saying, let’s make it official,” he said.

  “Rafe’s going to kill you if you move in with me,” I said.

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “You’re saddling him with the rent on a two bedroom in the heart of West Hollywood.”

  “Nik,” Dion said with a chuckle. “We’re not exactly broke here.”

  “But you will be if you keep spending like that.”

  He rolled off of me. “Fuck, Nik. Seriously? You are the most unromantic woman I have ever met.”

  “Fuck you, Dion,” I snapped back, giving his shoulder a shove. “I’m just saying…”

  “Do me a favor, Nik. Say nothing.”

  I sat bolt upright, wincing when my wound burned from the fast movement. “Are you kidding me?”

  He rolled away from me, reaching for a pair of discarded jeans that were on the floor beside the bed. I stared at his muscled back and ground my teeth.

  “This is what I’m getting at, Nik,” he said, rolling back toward me.

  When he turned around, there was a big-ass diamond ring flashing inside the Tiffany-blue box in his hand.

  “Dion,” I breathed, all anger leaving my body.

  “You know you’re a giant pain in my ass, right?” he said, taking my left hand.

  “Are you shitting me?” I shouted.

  To hell with Mrs. Roper. This was a shouting moment.

  Hi
s grin lit up the room. “Can I take that as a yes?”

  “Fuck yeah,” I said, blinking back tears as he slipped the platinum band on my finger.

  “So does this mean I can move in too? Or are you still worried about Rafe making the rent?” he asked, teasing. I shook my head, because I’d burst into tears if I tried speaking. “You’re it, Nik. I’ve known for a long time. That’s probably why I was such an ass.”

  “The biggest,” I said, a tear escaping before we both burst out laughing.

  Dion rolled back on top of me, layering a series of kisses from my mouth down to my neck. He loosened the belt of my robe, and his hand stroked my stomach.

  “I love you, Dion,” I whispered as his hands moved lower, heightening my arousal.

  His eyes lifted to meet mine. “Always?”

  “Always.”

  LA Rock Star story continues…

  with Love Song, coming soon to Amazon and KU.

  Stay up to date with Rogue Nation and Satan’s Sisters. For the latest info, giveaways, and even more goodies, join the email list.

  Acknowledgments

  Anthony and Syd, thank you. Thank you for keeping me grounded through my writer mood swings. I love you both so much. I could not do this without your support.

  Enormous gratitude to Ricci Fantasia, drummer for New England’s best rock band Shed (RIP), for guiding me through the intricacies of drumming. The time you spent on the phone with me, a veritable stranger, were a huge help.

  And to my readers. Thank you thank you thank you for reading, leaving reviews, and messengering me your support and love. There’s so much to read out there, and I am so grateful you chose to read mine.

  About the Author

  Elle Greco writes contemporary romance about bad-ass women and the people who love them.

  Under the name Karen Greco, she’s published three books (and one novella) in the urban fantasy series Hell’s Belle.

  While the genres she writes in are worlds apart, strong female characters are the chain that links them together.

  These women are magical. They wield wicked weapons. They play a mean drum solo. They fall in love. They rule the boardroom and the bedroom.