"What's ironic," I said, bitterness seeping out with each word. "Is that Vince didn't have to go far from home for temptation."
Presley gasped. "What are you talking about?"
"Come on! The constant parade of maids in miniskirts?" I asked. "The Davis house is like a stand-in for the Playboy Mansion circa 1987. Marrying our mother did not cramp Vince's style one bit."
"That's true," Jett agreed.
"You guys—" Presley started but then just shook her head. She looked crushed.
Rafe was undeterred. "Rouge Nation has a good thing going. We've actually got a shot, you realize that? Dion, don't you want to get out from under Anthem's shadow? Show Vince that we can do this? I am not going to allow the two of you to fuck that up because of your damn hormones."
Rafe shoved past Dion to the front of the bus.
"Come on, Rafe," Dion called after him. "Fuck."
Dion followed his brother, leaving me alone with my two disappointed sisters.
"I hope the sex was worth it," Jett said. "Because you just betrayed Rafe's trust."
"This didn't happen in a vacuum. Dion betrayed it too," I said. "And why the hell are you taking his side?"
"Because it was wrong, Nik," she said.
"Wrong? How the hell was it wrong?" I asked.
"You didn't think of the band," she continued.
"I always think about the damn band," I barked. "That's all I ever thing about. Maybe I want to think about myself for a change."
Presley sat down on the bottom bunk and pressed her fingers to her temple. "We all only think about the damn band. Maybe it is time we stopped thinking about the band, and we all thought about ourselves."
"What are you saying?" I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes.
"What I'm saying is that maybe we need to take a break," she said.
"A break?" I asked. "There's a bidding war for us between record labels!"
"So?" Presley asked. "Rogue Nation is about to explode. We'll be your side project."
"You're my sisters," I said, dropping down next to her. "You'll never be my side project."
"That's sweet," she said, giving my hand a squeeze. "But this Rogue Nation thing is real."
"If Rafe gets over this," I pointed out.
"Rafe will get over it," Jett said, flopping on the floor in front of us. She pulled her legs into her chest.
"The point is, Nik, I think you've got to follow through with Rogue."
"You're the one with the passion, Nik," Jett agreed. "I've just been along for the ride. But I miss school."
My heart raced with panic. "Presley, you want this too, though. You love to sing."
"Of course I want this," she said. "But I'd love a solo career. And a fashion line. And maybe a fragrance."
Jett rolled her eyes. "Gwen Stefani is her role model."
Presley wrinkled her nose. "Gwen's better than a Kardashian."
I sniffled. "So what are you saying? Satan's Sisters is breaking up?"
"I'm not saying that," she said. "I'm saying I think we need to consider our options."
I looked at Jett. "Do you agree?"
"I don't disagree," she said, taking my other hand. "I think it's something we all need to think about."
"I'm not saying break up," Presley clarified. "But I'm saying maybe hiatus? Then you can work on Rogue Nation, Jett can go to school, and I focus on a solo project."
Unable to keep them back any longer, tears streamed down my face. "I did all of this for us, so we could stay together," I said through my sobs. "And hiatus means break up."
"Hiatus does not mean break up," Jett said. "We just should take a break. Explore our other interests."
"But music's been our life," I argued through sobs.
"Exactly," Jett said. "And sometimes it's hasn't been good to us."
"Don't bring our father into this," I started.
"It's kind of impossible not to," Jett said. "Mom was a 20-something-year-old girl saddled with three kids she had with a failed musician with a drug problem. Music was not good to us."
"But it ended up being," I argued.
"Maybe for you," Jett said. "Maybe for me too, but I am curious to see what my life is like without it."
We sat for a minute, lost in our own thoughts. Presley's voice broke through the silence. "So about you and Dion—"
"I don't want to talk about it," I said.
"Dion's going to break your heart it you're not careful," Jett said. "Like father like son."
"Now wait a minute," Presley said. "Dion and Vince are nothing alike."
Jett raised her eyebrows. "Please."
"You just don't know him," Presley said, crossing her arms. "You never gave him a chance."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Jett asked. "Give him a chance to do what?"
"I don't know, you just never bothered to get to know him," she snapped.
"I'm not interested in a replacement father," Jett said, her spine straightening.
"He can be a friend. Did you consider that?"
"Nope, not even a little bit."
"God, Jett, you are so damn frigid sometimes."
"And this is why we need a break," Jett said, scrambling to her feet. She stalked to the bathroom and slammed the door.
Presley laid her hand on my leg and squeezed. "Nothing's forever, Nik."
"I thought we could be," I whispered.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Viva Las Vegas?
I took the stage in Sin City in a hell of a mood and my drums took a literal beating. But I worked out my angst on my drum kit and the love we got from the audience was magnetic. With Dion preening for the crowd and Rafe lost in his jams, I wondered why the hell I was jeopardizing such a great thing by messing around with Dion. Rogue Nation was a kick ass band. I mean, did Fleetwood Mac teach us nothing?
But as my drums kept time to Dion's lithe body strutting across the stage, my hormones threatened to take over. When he flashed me his wicked smile, it was all I could do to stay upright on my throne. My mind wandered to the night in the motel, the two of us twined into each other. No complications, he had said. My heart broke all over again.
The set ended and we stepped off stage to thunderous applause. I expected the roadies to work their magic and break down the gear, but instead, I was dragged back out for an encore. I looked out at the crowd, a mass of bodies, all on their feet. Screaming for Dion. Screaming for Rafe. Screaming for me.
I started to settle back behind my drums when Dion's voice broke through the noise.
"Oh no, you don't, Nik," his voice boomed into the microphone. "You come on up here."
My stomach dropped when the crowd screamed even louder and he lead them into a chant. "Nikki! Nikki! Nikki!"
I climbed out from behind my kit but remained back behind him. He put the mic in the stand and picked up his acoustic guitar.
"Nik the other members of Satan's Sisters wrote this song on the bus on the way to Vegas," he said, tuning the guitar while he talked. "I thought it was an awesome song and then they started talking about selling it. And I said, hell, Rogue Nation will buy it if Nik will sing it." He winked at me. "Ready, babe?"
With the spotlight on me, and my eyes went wide. I clamped my open mouth shut and gave a quick shake of my head.
"I think she needs some encouragement," he called to the crowd. Screams erupted and the chants started up again. He covered the mic with his hand and whispered into my ear, "You've got this. And I'm right beside you. I won't let you fall."
I swallowed my fear and took the mic. He opened with the haunting chord progression and my voice warbled out the first few notes. The crowd went quiet and my heart raced. I was losing them. I glanced at Dion. He pressed on with the music, building the song. I caught the beat, matched him, found my voice. He smiled at me as we hit the first note of the chorus and the crowd erupted.
"Take us home, Nik," he called out to me, then we shared the mic
rophone on the final chorus. Once he played the final notes, he pulled me into him and kissed me in front of 500 fans.
And they all lost their shit.
The crowd was still screaming as the roadies whisked us off stage, separating me from Dion. I had about 100 questions to throw at him, starting with why the hell did he just kiss me in front of 500 screaming fans. But before I could locate him, Devlin met me in the wings and scooped me up into a big hug.
"Girl, I don't know whether to hug you or skin you," he said, clearly opting for the former. "I hoped I'd imagined you and that rascal getting close. But dammit if you don't both work together damn good."
"Imagined?" I asked, taking in what he was saying.
"You think you can fool this old man? How many miles have I logged with bands? I think I know when who's messing around with who."
"What gave us away?" I asked, heat creeping up my neck.
"It was Dion," he said. "There wasn't a revolving door of women."
"But in San Francisco—" I started.
"That was pure show, honey," he said. "Dion didn't bed any woman on this tour. He only had eyes for you."
He winked at me just as my pocked buzzed. It was the fifth time someone texted, my phone going off four times during our set. I pulled out my phone and was instantly flooded with a barrage of texts from my mother, each one more desperate sounding than the last.
It's Mom, call me.
You need to call me as soon as you can.
Are you off stage yet? You have to call me. Now.
Nikki, call me. Are you on his side too? Are you?
HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO ME I AM YOUR MOTHER.
"Sorry, Dion, Pamela's off her meds again," I said, holding up my phone. He gave me a sympathetic nod and then barked orders at the road crew.
I stepped away from the pandemonium, slipping out the stage door into the dry heat of the desert night. I was about to press the call button my phone when a slow clap echoed through the quiet alleyway. A familiar voice came out of the dark.
"That was quite an encore," Brian said, slipping out from behind a dumpster.
My unease grew as he took a step towards me.
"Brian? What are you doing out here?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. I reached behind me, feeling for the handle of the door but only touching air.
"Waiting for you," he said.
"Out here? Maybe you should go back in and hang out in the green room. I'm sure they have food, beer."
"I'm here for the music, Nikki, not the food or the beer. Or the sex."
"Sex? Who said anything about sex?" I tried to laugh, keep it light. But my laugh was hollow.
"I told you that you'd break up the band," he said, his voice unnervingly monotone. "I knew that this would happen."
"What would happen?" I asked, edging away from him.
"You. Dion," he said.
"Are you jealous?"
He slammed his hand against the metal garbage bin. The racket made me jump. "No I am not jealous. I am angry. You didn't listen to me."
"I don't understand," I stammered. "Listen to you about what?"
"I've been leaving you messages," he said, this time he raised his voice.
"You?" I gasped. "The tour bus? The texts? The flowers?"
"Did you like those flowers?" he asked. "You don't strike me as long stem roses type but I'm a bit traditional."
That's it, I wasn't hanging around waiting for this guy to pull something really psycho. I turned and grabbed for the backstage door. I yanked on it, but it was locked up tight. I heard a chuckle and then the ominous click of a gun being cocked.
I turned back to him and saw him holding a hand gun —no idea what kind—at me.
Trying to keep from panicking, I looked down the empty alley way. Anthem's big rig was parked at the end. They were changing over the stage. There had to be a roadie coming through, any minute now.
"I thought you were a fan," I stalled.
"I am," he said. "I'm Rogue Nation's number one fan, and that's why I have to do this."
"Rogue Nation—Dion, Rafe, they'll be pissed if you hurt me."
"Maybe for a day or two," he sneered. "I mean, Dion's got so many girls, he may not miss you at all."
That stung. But I ignored it. "No, they'll be pissed because I'm their drummer."
"Right now, you're Dion's whore, that's about the only thing I can see. Whore, whore, whore," he taunted.
"And you seemed so damn normal," I muttered under my breath.
Before I could react, the back of his hand smacked me across the cheek with such force, I fell back. The base of my skull knocked against the wall. The rough concrete scraped the skin on my back as I slid to the ground.
"See what you make me do?" he bellowed. "If you just walked away, Nikki, just walked away. If you
My unfocused eyes tried following him as he paced the alleyway, railing about my not listening to him, if I had only quit the band, this would never happen. A wave of nausea slammed into me, and I tried to keep my panic level down along with my pre-show snack. I sucked in a breath just as the backstage door slammed open. Dion walked into the alleyway and straight into Brian's gun.
"Well, hello there," he said, raising his hands. He looked down at me. "Nik, you okay?"
"I think so," I said, releasing my breath.
"What about you, Brian?" he asked. "Your name is Brian right?"
"Yeah, I'm Brian. I'm fine."
"I owe you a signed t-shirt," Dion said. He was calm, like ran into gun brandishing fans in alleyways all the time. No big deal.
"Really?" Brian asked. "I thought Nikki was lying about the t-shirt. That she never told you."
"She told me," he said. "In fact, I was kind of the asshole and refused to sign it that night. I gave her shit about begging for a free t-shirt. Did you know the labels makes us pay for those out of pocket? She didn't have the cash."
"I thought she was lying," Brian repeated.
"That time, no, she wasn't," Dion said. "But I can see why you didn't believe her."
"You can?" Brian asked, even though doubt flickered across his face.
"Sure," Dion said. "Bitches lie. Right?"
"Dion," I mumbled, I dropped my aching head into my hands. I couldn't focus my eyes anymore.
"Up you go," he said, his strong arms lifted me up off the ground.
"She was drunk," Brian said.
"Was she?" Dion asked. "She's got a nasty bump on her head there. Scalp's bleeding."
I reached up and touched the back of my hair. It was warm and sticky. "Dion?" I repeated. His strong arms held me close.
"You're okay," he whispered before turning his attention back to Brian. "You mind pointing that run in another direction?"
"It's not for you," he said. "It's for her."
"Right, but I'm next to her, so you understand why I'd be nervous."
"You two a thing?"
"Us? Nah."
"I saw you on stage."
"Come on, Bri," Dion said, going on the charm defensive. "Can you blame me? She's a hot piece."
Brian laughed. "No doubt."
"You'd tap that right?"
"I don't know."
"Come on, I saw you the way you watched her backstage in Seattle. Even in Frisco, helping her with her scraped up knee."
"Well, yeah, but you're—"
"You were backstage in Seattle. What did that look like to you?"
Brian left his hand on the trigger but he lowered the gun. "Yeah, you get a lot of girls, don't you?”
"That's rock and roll," Dion said, adjusting my dead weight. "Let's get her back inside. She's bleeding all over my jeans, and these are the expensive ones"
"No she stays," Brian said, raising the gun again. "I can fix this for you Dion. I can get rid of her. Let me fix this for you."
"Her drumming's pretty good, son," Dion said.
"No no no no no," Brian said, mania creeping back into his voice. "She's ruining your band, man. She's killing Rog
ue Nation. Don't let her kill the Nation. Don't let her—"
A crack boomed through the air, and Dion gave me a hard shove as a bullet come straight at me. But Dion wasn't fast enough. A burning pain ripped into my abdomen as I tumbled to the pavement.
Dion tackled Brian just as Devlin burst through the stage door.
"Did I just hear gunshots?" Devlin barked as he burst through the stage door just as Dion tackled Brian. "Holy fuck! Get security!"
From my vantage point on the pavement, everything happened sideways and in slow motion. When security pulled Dion off Brian, Brian's face was bloody and swollen. Dion shook the guard off of him and raced to me.
"Did anyone call 911?" Dion yelled, picking me up and holding me in his arms.
"Hang on, Nik," he said.
"I'm okay," I whispered. He ripped off his t-shirt and pressed it against my stomach. It felt warm and wet. Then he pulled me to him. "Dion? Am I getting your expensive jeans dirty?"
"Fuck my jeans, Nik," he said. "Come on, stay with me, babe. I need you, Nik. I need you."
"I love you too," I murmured, closing my eyes. There were a lot of legs surrounding us, and the light coming from above was blinding.
"Someone call fucking 911," Dion screamed.
And that was the last thing I remember. Everything went black.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Beep. Beep. Beep. It was long. It was sustained. It was high pitched. It was annoying.
My eyes fluttered open. The bright white around me was blinding so I slammed them shut immediately.
Was I dead?
I shifted my position, and a dull ache in my side turned into screaming pain. I gasped, my throat too sore to handle much more vocalizing than that.
Nope, not dead.
"Nik?"
I opened my eyes at the sound of Dion's voice, squinting through the bright white to see him slumped in an uncomfortable arm chair.
"You look like hell," I croaked after clearing my throat.
"You look beautiful," he said. I immediately felt bad about the hell comment.
"Is there water?" I asked.
He poured out a cup of water from the pitcher on the side table. He lifted it to my lips and I took a sip, the cool water a relief on my ragged throat.
The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance) Page 14