Rock 'n' Roll Rebel

by Rylee Swann

  “No.” I scowl. “You know Mom and Dad won’t let me until I’m eighteen. And you were what? Driving by sixteen? So unfair.”

  He chuckles. “You’re a girl. It’s different for you than it was for me.”

  “If you mean unfair, double standard, you’re right.”

  He’s silent for a minute while he navigates through traffic. “At least you’ll be eighteen soon.” He glances at me, his eyes questioning. “Got plans for the big day?”

  I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. I wonder if he heard what I said to the reporters.

  “Nah, the usual. Party hat and cake.”

  To this, he busts out laughing. “I heard a different story.” Damn, here it comes. “Although, a party hat and cake could make for some kinky fun.”

  I turn to him and stare, openmouthed. Is this really Dean, my straight-laced, genuinely nice brother?

  He glances at me and winks. “What’s the matter? Pussy got your tongue?”

  I’m mortified. I’ve never heard him talk like this. Heat rises to my cheeks. “Oh my god, Dean. Shut up!”

  “Aww, did I embarrass you?”

  I know he’s messing with me but I won’t give him the satisfaction. “Cut it out.” I’m playing the role of sullen teenager, but I have to admit, I’m kind of enjoying this.

  Dean suddenly seems approachable. Maybe he can be my confidant during this hell week. I need someone to talk to. And—bonus—who knows my parents better than him?

  He laughs and pulls up to a restaurant, stopping in front of valet parking. I guess we’re not just going for burgers and fries. Barberian’s Steak House is one of the most expensive restaurants in Toronto. The valet opens my door and I get out while he rushes around the hood to open Dean’s door. I catch Dean handing him money—a flash of brown, meaning one hundred dollars.

  I’m wearing denim shorts over thick black tights and a flowing, oversized tee. As we walk inside, I whisper to Dean. “I’m underdressed for this place. You should have told me.”

  “Right this way, Mr. Fahr,” the maître d’ says as he leads us to a table in the main dining room. It’s about half filled, which I’m grateful for. I want to be able to talk without being overheard.

  “Nah,” Dean says. “You look perfect for the daughter of a rock star. French boho rock. Where’s your beret?”

  “Mom told you about my beret?” The maître d’ pulls out my chair and I sit. “Dad thinks it’s stupid. I think Mom wishes she had one.”

  Dean laughs and sits across from me at the small table for two. “If Dad thinks it’s stupid, then it’s the height of fashion.”

  I can’t help giggling. Dad has the worst fashion sense and no amount of Mom’s intervention over the years has rubbed off on him.

  When we’ve gone over the menu and decided, Dean motions for a waiter, who scoots over quickly. He orders a mountain of food while I opt for a salad and a baked potato. Dean also orders a half carafe of red from the wine menu.

  “I’ll have your best on tap in a large stein.” I give the waiter my best adult look but he shakes his head sadly.

  “I’m so terribly sorry but the drinking age—”

  “That’s quite alright. My sister’ll have a pop.” Dean looks at me with a clearly amused face at my attempt and I just sigh in defeat.

  Soon garlic bread is delivered to our table and the wine is poured by the sommelier. He waits patiently until Dean takes a first taste. He makes such a big show of swirling the glass and sniffing it, I want to kick him under the table. Finally, he takes a sip but instead of swallowing, moves it around his mouth like it’s mouthwash.

  I do my best not to huff.

  At last, he swallows it, nods his approval.

  The sommelier gives a half bow. “Excellent, sir.” Then he fades off into the background.

  “What the hell was that?” I grab a piece of bread and make a point of rolling my eyes.

  “What?” Dean’s had a lot of practice with the fake innocent expression he’s sporting.

  “When did you become such a showboat?” I nod my head toward a couple of tables on the other side of the room. “You know you’re being stared at? Recognized?”

  He laughs, leaning closer to me over the table. “Of course. Look, it comes with the territory. Besides, it’s not going to last so I might as well enjoy it.”

  “You do enjoy it.”

  He lifts his glass of wine and toasts me. “I do. It’s fun.”

  I shake my head and tear off a piece of the garlic bread. It’s time to strike before Dean gets the upper hand. “So, you heard about what I said. Is that why you invited me out tonight?”

  He chuckles and takes a sip of wine. “I did hear about it but that’s not why I asked you to dinner.”

  “No?”

  “No. Seriously. I wanted to spend some time with you. It’s been a while.” He motions with his glass.

  I study Dean for a second. Blond hair and bright blue eyes just like our dad. No wonder he’s a heart throb. He’s my big brother and I trust him so I know he’s not laying a trap. I take a bite of bread and wash it down with a sip of pop, quietly grumbling to myself that it’s not a better beverage.

  He winks with a teasing smile. “I spoke to Uncle Guy. Mom’s not going to hear about what you said from him.”

  I nearly choke. “Umm, thank you.” Coughing, I take a sip of water rather than my pop to clear my throat. “It was a stupid thing to say.”

  “But they got under your skin, eh? Paparazzi can be such a pain in the ass.” He leans in close again. “Did you mean it?”

  Ah, crap. Hear it comes.

  I shrug and chew on my bread.

  “Raven. Come on, you can talk to me.” He pins me with a serious look. “Do you have a boyfriend? Someone you’ve already decided will be the one?

  I come close to choking again and my cheeks flame with heat. “Oh my god, Dean, shut up.”

  He sighs. “I know this is embarrassing for you. I also know that Mom and Dad are terrible at this kind of discussion. One of my worst memories is when Dad tried to have the birds and the bees talk with me. What a nightmare that was.” He grimaces and takes a fortifying sip of wine. “I couldn’t figure out a thing he was saying, then he couldn’t run away fast enough. It was awful.”

  “Well, at least he tried. Mom has never said a single word to me about that.” I didn’t expect to be having this talk with Dean, of all people, but now that the topic has been broached, my resentment comes out in a rush. “Not a single word. Not a hey, Raven, do you know how babies are made? Or even, do you have any questions? What kind of mother doesn’t prepare her daughter? I mean, she must want me to learn it on the street.” I tear at a chunk of bread until there’s nothing left but crumbs on the plate.

  Dean leans back in his chair and raises his eyes to the ceiling, taking a deep breath before looking at me again. “Yeah, I know. I see how frustrated you are. It’s a really hard situation. You know Mom’s history, don’t you? How her manager took complete control of her when her singing career was just starting? How he made her do despicable things when she was barely sixteen?”

  I shudder. “Yeah. Wolf somebody. I read the book Dad wrote.”

  “Yeah, right. Wolf.” Dean growls out the name and takes a swig of wine like he needs to cleanse his mouth. “It’s not Mom’s fault that she doesn’t know how to have the sex talk with you. To be honest, I think she still has issues about that time of her life. Dad helped a lot to banish those demons, but I think a few still linger.”

  “Wow, I never thought about it like that.”

  Dean nods. “I didn’t either, at first.”

  “So, what changed?” I wave my glass at him. “I mean, how are you so… I don’t know, all put together now?”

  “It took a lot of hard work.” He leans in closer to whisper, “I see a therapist. Have been for years.”

  My mouth drops open. I couldn’t be more shocked if someone had stuck electrodes on me and pulled the lever.

&
nbsp; “You see a shrink?” I whisper back.

  “A psychologist. I can give you his name if you’re interested.”

  “I… I… don’t know…”

  “It’s okay. Think about it. You know, kids of famous parents are expected to be messed up. Meantime, do you have any questions for me? About your plans for your birthday?”

  I stare at him, my mouth back to hanging open.

  He reaches out, lays his hand over mine. “It’s fine, Raven. You can ask me anything. I won’t judge you and I’ll answer as honestly as I can.”

  Tears spring to my eyes. “Thank you, Dean. I love you so much.”

  He smiles warmly. “I love you too, little sis.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Fringe

  “I didn’t expect this.”

  Angie and I pull up to a spacious four-bedroom home. It’s modern, well-kept, and nothing indicates that it belongs to a Lucifer’s Angels club member.

  “Most of the LAs are successful, legitimate businessmen. It’s the younger, newer members who think they have something to prove. They’re the ones with the chips on their shoulders, who get into scrapes with the law, but the older guys can be insufferable douchebags, too.”

  Littering the yard, driveway, and block surrounding the party house are member motorcycles.

  Angie frowns and passes the house, pulling into a parking spot a couple of blocks farther up. Hands still on the steering wheel, engine on, she looks at me. “Are you really sure about this?”

  “It’ll be fine.” I give her a reassuring smile. “Come on.”

  She doesn’t look reassured but shuts off the engine, grabs her purse and we both get out of the car. I put my hand on the small of her back as we walk up the block. There’s no sound of a party as we approach the house and Angie looks at me questioningly.

  “Kegger has a large finished basement that he had soundproofed for club parties like this. Everyone in the club loves him.”

  She nods as we walk down a short slope devoid of snow and ice to the basement’s private entrance where I open the door for her. That’s when the driving beat of music so loud it vibrates my bones hits us.

  There’s a few kegs sitting in ice buckets on the other side of the door, so I lead Angie there, grab a couple of large plastic cups and fill them. Handing one to her, I take a long swig as someone claps me on the back. Turning, I come face to face with a broadly smiling Kegger.

  “Glad you could make it, Fringe!” he booms, the strength of his greeting only partly necessary as the music lowers to slightly less eardrum-blasting.

  I nod and raise my cup to him in a salute but he’s already moved on to Angie. “And who do we have here?”

  I stifle a sigh. Kegger is in his late fifties, has a wife, or old lady as they’re referred to, but is ogling Angie like she’s the first woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

  Forcing myself to remain polite, I make the proper introductions.

  Angie nods and offers a small smile. “Pleased to meet you, Kegger.” She offers her hand timidly for a handshake.

  He takes her hand and brings it to his lips, making a show of being gallant, but he’s rubbing her palm with his fingers. Fucking lug nut.

  “Well ain’t you a pretty little thing.” He holds on to her hand a couple of beats longer than necessary.

  “Thank you.” She smiles but glances at me like she’s asking for rescue.

  “Hey brother, looks like a great party.” I clap him on the back to distract him from Angie.

  He grins, showing off his gold tooth. “Make sure you grab some grub before all these animals scarf it up.”

  We nod, chat for another second or two and then leave him to make our rounds.

  Deeper into the belly of the beast we go while I upnod or raise my cup as I’m greeted. The party must have started much earlier, because most of the boys are trashed and my boots are sticking to the cement floor. Looking down at the sexy shoes Angie is wearing, a fancy pair of black high heels, I guide us to a less crowded spot where we can stand without being constantly bumped.

  I take another swig of beer then bend low to her ear. “Want some grub?”

  She looks up at me and laughs. “Maybe later.”

  I laugh with her then notice Skull making a beeline for us. Good. Since he knows I’m here, we can leave all the sooner.

  “Hey hey hey.” He claps me on the shoulder as I shake his offered hand. “Good to see you, brother. Just get here?”

  I nod and remind myself to be well-mannered. “Angie, this is Skull. He’s a lieutenant in the club.”

  Skull smiles widely. He’s a decent enough looking guy but something about him is greasy. “Fringe is a lucky man, Angie.”

  At least he didn’t pull fucking “Game of Thrones” kiss her hand bullshit.

  “Oh, you’re being too kind, Skull. So, you’re a lieutenant. That must be exciting.”

  He shakes his head, his eyes narrowing. “Fringe got it wrong. He can’t seem to keep our titles straight, but, yeah, it’s more of an honor than anything else.” He claps me on the shoulder again. “Welp, I got people to see and beer to drink. Glad you two could make it.”

  Once he’s gone, I lean in toward Angie. “Holding up okay?”

  “Yes.” She smiles and there’s that sweet twinkle in her eyes again. “Except for all these weird nicknames, it feels like any other house party.”

  “Ah, hell. Now you’re thinking I’m not very original with my nickname.”

  We both laugh and settle into a more relaxed stance.

  Bad decision.

  “Well, lookee here, brother. Look-it what you brought for us. Mmm mmm.” I don’t know this punk’s name, but he’s one of the younger members.

  I open my mouth to reply but he’s already grabbed Angie and plastered his lips to hers. She yelps and struggles to get out of his grasp as one of his filthy paws moves to her breast. He looks at me and winks, his lips still glued to hers.

  Blood pounds in my temples, taking away my ability to think rationally, throwing me into pure animal instinct. I step forward, grab him by the arm and wrench him free of Angie. In a single fluid motion, I punch him in the face. He’s completely caught off guard and my punch lands squarely on his jaw, staggering him backwards. He wavers, his arms pinwheeling, but he can’t catch his balance and lands hard on his ass.

  The music abruptly stops and all eyes turn to us.

  Throwing my arm around Angie, I pull her in close as Skull manages to get right in my face.

  “What the fuck, Fringe?” His eyes are cold, narrowed, his lips tight and thin.

  There’s nothing for me to do but return the stare. I’m not backing down. It could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and maybe the last, but my brain is screaming fight instead of flight.

  “Son of a fucking bitch put hands on my woman.” I spit the words out, my tone low and dangerous. “She is not community property, Skull.”

  “Alright, I hear you, but that doesn’t give you the right to punch a brother.” He’s still glaring, posturing, ready for battle.

  By now the asshole is on his feet and standing almost shoulder to shoulder with Skull. Others have come up, formed a semicircle in front of Angie and me. This could get much uglier, very fast.

  And, still I can’t control my mouth. “He’s not my brother. None of you fucking are! I came here tonight out of respect for the invite, no other reason.” I look around to some of the others. “Can’t you all get that through your thick fucking skulls already?”

  Angie’s shaking against me. Of course, she’s terrified. Any sane person would be. I guess at the moment I’m crazier than a loon.

  Skull lifts a finger and pokes it into my chest. “You’re tempting me, Fringe. That what you fucking want?”

  I tense harder than I already am. If it’s a fucking fight he wants…

  “Fringe, please, don’t.” Angie grasps my arm like she can hold me back. Like she can contain a whirlwind.

  “Listen to your w
oman, Fringe,” Skull growls.

  Ever so slowly, I loosen my hand until it’s no longer forming a fist. With a tight nod, I take a backward step, pulling Angie with me. Skull and the others take a step forward, but they keep the same distance between us. I think they might be letting us go but I don’t let down my guard.

  Another couple of backward steps, then I turn, keeping my eyes on Skull and crew, and move fast with Angie through a parting sea of Angels to the exit. Opening the door, holding it open for her, she steps through.

  I’m right behind her, but Skull has one more parting shot. “We’ll talk real soon, you and me, Fringe. Real soon.”

  Finally able to hold my tongue, I say nothing and quickly follow Angie from the house, letting the door slam shut behind me.

  We don’t stop until we reach Angie’s car. She takes out her keys but her hands are shaking too much to unlock the door. Gently, I put my hand over hers and take them from between her fingers.

  Unlocking the door, I note the near panic in her face and speak quietly. “I’ll drive, if you don’t mind.”

  She nods and I walk her around to the other side of the car, letting her in. Making sure she’s secure, I race back to the driver’s side and throw myself behind the wheel. I start the engine as Angie collapses in her seat.

  “I’m so sorry.” Pulling away, I keep an eye on the rearview mirror to make sure we’re not being followed. As soon as I speak, Angie bursts into tears, sobbing uncontrollably. The sound makes my heart hurt. I can’t believe I put her through this. What was I thinking bringing her here in the first place?

  She breaks through my self-hate when I realize she’s saying something. I can barely understand through her sniffles, but at last, I figure it out after she repeats herself. “I’m the one who said, what could happen in thirty minutes?” She’s crying and laughing at the same time.

  She’s one amazing woman.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Raven Dawn

  I learned a while ago that the backdoor emergency exit of the penthouse leads down one flight of stairs to the floor below us. From there, it’s a simple elevator ride to the lobby.