Scandalous Beat (The Tempest Rock Star series Book 6)

by Michelle Mankin

  * * *

  “Miriam, are you sure about this?”

  I smoothed my short skirt and glanced down at my sister Ann. Eyes a solid green hue narrowed in concern behind her black rimmed glasses.

  She was always the cautious one, my little sister.

  Me?

  Not so much.

  Ok, I had been cautious with Juaquin fearing his rejection.

  But I could be brave

  I had to be.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” I took a determined step away from the double bed Ann and I shared. A narrow cardboard box served as a lamp-stand and separated it from the other one where my mother slept after her night shifts. The bright red numbers on her digital alarm clock accused me. My curfew had already passed.

  It couldn’t be helped. The first of many transgressions tonight if things went according to plan. Firming my resolve, I glanced down at my outfit. My gauzy top that had a tendency to slide off one of my shoulders did nothing to hide a black bra beneath. My pleather mini skirt in red barely covered my ass. Three-inch heels that I could barely walk, let alone dance in, but they were sexy so I had to try. Being out on tour with the backing of a big label like RCA, it wouldn’t be long before the guys in Tempest got the recognition they deserved. And when they became rock stars, and we all knew they would, the groupies would follow. It was now or never to get Juaquin to notice me the way I wanted him to. Surely I could manage not to fall on my ass if I leaned onto Zackary’s arm. The handsome senior, Romeo to my Juliet in the upcoming play, awaited in the other room. He was my ticket into Footit’s, seeing that he was tight with one of the bouncers at the club Tempest was headlining tonight.

  “Bryan’s gonna freak when he sees you.” Ann studied me from her position on the bed. She looked like a young fairy tale princess in her white ankle length eyelet embroidered nightgown and spectacles. “What if he tells mom?”

  “He won’t say a damn thing unless he wants me spilling about all the times I’ve seen him and Lace Lowell up here at night while mom’s been working.”

  “Dizzy’s sister?” Ann’s delicate brows rose above her frames. “But…”

  “I know she’s with War. But I think our brother wishes it were otherwise.” I was pretty sure he didn’t want his best friend and the lead singer in the band to know how deeply his feelings for Lace ran. Not that it wasn’t obvious seeing them dancing together at the prom. But then again, my brother’s obsession with the former songstress for Tempest wasn’t the only secret within the band.

  “I gotta go.” I sighed. “Or I’ll miss the opening number.” I was dying to see Juaquin twirling his sticks up on the stage. He was mesmerizing to watch when he got going. I wanted to hear him calling out the beat. I wanted to feel each one. Over the sound system each strike against the drumheads would resonate inside my chest, and I knew that might very well be the closest I ever got to experiencing his heart beating next to mine. On that dismal thought, I leaned over my sister. My breasts practically tumbled out of the two-sizes-too-small bra as I kissed the top of her head. “Don’t wait up.”

  “You know I will. I won’t be able to sleep until I know you’re home safe. Footit’s isn’t exactly in the best part of town, and Zackary has a certain reputation.” She frowned at me. “You would do the same for me.”

  “I would do anything for you,” I stated firmly without hesitation.

  “You do too much already.” Her voice warbled, her eyes filling while mine remained dry. Not that I didn’t feel emotions as deeply as she did. Not that I didn’t love Ann as much as she loved me. It was only that I had learned to be more guarded with those fragile things. The last time our mostly absentee father had returned had taken care of that. His repeated criticisms had taught me to put up barriers. After re-breaking my mother’s heart, he had drained our meager savings dry with his binge drinking, and abandoned us once again, leaving us with nothing but each other. I didn’t have much to give to my sweet, younger sibling. But whatever I did have, I passed on to her. My nicer second-hand clothes I had Lace alter to accommodate Ann’s smaller frame. I often went without lunch so I could buy Ann books she wanted that the library didn’t own. My birthday money funded visits for her to the zoo because she aspired to be a veterinarian.

  “I don’t deserve you, Ann.”

  “That’s silly.” She sniffed and swiped at gathered tears that had been about to spill. “I wish you wouldn’t put yourself down.” Her shoulders went back. Her spine straightened. She looked much older than fourteen though she perched like Humpty Dumpty on the mound of discarded outfits on our bed. “I wish you wouldn’t dress like that either or hang around guys like Zackary. They only want one thing, you know. Your value as a person is far greater than you think it is.”

  “You sound like mom.” A scoffing sound escaped my lips. “I don’t have your brains, Ann.” She was right when it came to my self-image. Our father had done more than deplete our bank account. He had left behind an unhealable void in my heart with his harsh words. “I’ve got to use what I do have. I’ve got these.” I stuck out my tits. I had filled out and then some since I had turned sixteen. I liked to think I was shaped like Sophia Loren, one of my favorite Hollywood glam era movie actresses. I circled my hand around my face. “And this.” In my theatre classes I had learned techniques to enhance my features. I plucked my dark brows into dramatic arches to accentuate my grey-green eyes. I swept a bronzer to hollow my cheeks, and I glossed my lips to make them appear lush and full. “I’ll just have to get by with my looks.” I stamped my knuckles to my cocked hip and forced my expression to match the cynical tone I used. So what if beauty was only skin deep? I might long for a happily ever after like in Ann’s favorite stories or my old movies. But I knew they were only fantasies. Fantasies didn’t exist outside the pages of those books or the frames of those films. Fantasies were for ingénues, young and artless girls who were determined to get their hearts curb stomped. Not me. I was finished playing that role.

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “Maybe there are a lot of people in this world who place a premium on what their eyes can see, but I think you know that’s not true if someone really cares about you.” My extremely precocious sister captured my hand and squeezed it. “And I know you Miriam Diana Jackson. I know your heart. It’s a prize for anyone who looks beyond the superficial and finds it. You’re a caring passionate woman. And if Juaquin doesn’t recognize that, he isn’t worthy of you.”

  * * *

  Juaquin

  “Madre de Dios.” Miriam. Here at Footit’s. Wearing next to nothing so everyone could clearly see what I already knew. Miriam Jackson was no little girl anymore. My grip tightened on my sticks. The wood creaked beneath the strain and snapped in two. Tossing the broken pieces aside, I stood and kicked my drum stool behind me. The white bread pendejo with her was touching her in a way I couldn’t allow. “I’m going to kill that motherfucker.” I leapt from the riser.

  “Tranquilo. Calm down, Juaquin.” Sager Reed, my adopted brother, best friend and the bassist in the band grabbed my arm. My hands in fists, I bared my teeth as I turned to scowl at him. If he had been anyone else his ass would have already been laid out on the stage for putting his hand on me.

  “She needs protecting,” I snarled.

  “Sí. I agree.” Sager had an idea the direction my thoughts ran with Miriam, but he was the only one. Gracias a Dios. Thank God. If her brother knew how close I had come to kissing her today, he would never let me near her again. “But Bryan’s already seen her. Let him handle it.”

  I gave him a nod while watching our lead guitarist undo the strap to his guitar.

  “Hold this.” Bryan thrust his Epiphone at me without making eye contact because he was glaring at her. He was clearly as unhinged by Miriam as I was with her in that skimpy outfit hanging on some shithead. Stomping from the stage, he hit the dance floor and barreled his way through the crowd that readily parted for him like the Red Sea for Moses.

  “What the hell a
re you’re doing here?” Bryan roared at a volume that didn’t need a mic to amplify it. Several in the audience tittered nervously and gave the angry Tempest guitarist a wider berth, but an even greater number anticipating a fight circled closer.

  “Go away, Bryan.” Seemingly unafraid, Miriam raised her chin to her brother and positioned herself between him and her soon-to-be-dead escort. “Leave us alone.” She flicked a long strand of her black hair over her shoulder. “I don’t need your protection. Get back on stage.” Grey-green eyes the same shade as Bryan’s flashed with the heat of her temper. Fascinated, I couldn’t look away. When it came to her, I was pretty sure I had been fucked since the first time she had scooted close and smiled at me.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Miriam,” Bryan hissed the reprimand. “How the hell did you even get in? You’re underage. Did you use a fake ID?”

  “What if I did? You don’t control me. I’m my own person, Bry. Almost as old as Lace.” I could only see Bryan’s profile, but I could tell she had hit the mark she’d been aiming at with that last remark.” Every line in her brother’s body drew tight. “I’m old enough to know my own mind. Old enough to date whomever I please.” Her gaze flicked upward and connected with mine briefly, too briefly for me to figure out what it meant. “Besides that, I know secrets you wouldn’t want shared.”

  “Alright, fine, stay then,” Bryan decided, though his grip on his temper whitened his knuckles. “But I’m taking you home after we’re done. I don’t care…”

  “Ok motherfuckers, the nonmusical portion of tonight’s entertainment is over.” Warren ‘War’ Jinkins, our asshole of a lead singer wrapped his ringed fingers around the center mic, his amplified voice drowning out the rest of whatever else was said between Bryan and Miriam. Slinging the tail end of his headscarf behind his shoulder, he gave an imperial chin lift to Dizzy Lowell our rhythm guitarist on his left and then another one to my brother on his right. “Now let’s fuckin’ rock this place. ‘My Way or the Highway’.” He raised a brow. Dizzy grinned in response, the silver hoop on his lip ring glinting in the lights as he strummed a power chord on his SG. Sager followed on his Fender. I crashed in on percussion long before Bryan returned on lead guitar. I looked back out. I couldn’t find Miriam. The crowd had already swallowed her up.

  Tempest played loud and tight. I went insane with my sticks and practically stomped a hole in my bass drum. My kit suffered the jealous rage I would have preferred to unleash on Miriam’s date.

  Towards the end of our set, I spotted her again as I clamped my fingers around my cymbal to dampen the chime. I found myself imagining I had my fingers clamped around the windpipe of the unworthy asshole with her instead. He had his hands on her ass as they slow danced. She swayed her hips like a goddess, her movement mesmerizing even though the music had temporarily stopped. War droned an overlong monologue, but I wasn’t registering it. Not with that cabrón touching her.

  Those long legs.

  Those lush new curves.

  That body to make me lose my mind and a spirit to make me forget all the rules.

  “Hola, Juaquin. Let’s have a beat for the encore, hombre.” War banged his mic on my snare. My gaze snapped to him as feedback screeched over the sound system. Everyone automatically covered their ears. I would have been pissed at War except his antics resulted in Miriam stepping away from her dance partner. Her hands on her ears, her gaze gravitated to mine, but instead of it skittering away as it often did whenever we were alone together, it lingered like it had at her apartment earlier. The heat of it lit me up. My body drew taut. Her cheeks bloomed dewy pink as if she knew what staring into her eyes did to me and that she was experiencing a similar reaction herself. I imagined stamping my mouth to hers. Her lips parted. Were they as soft as they looked? I had to know. I had to taste her. If only…

  “Ready, brother?” Sager suddenly appeared in front of me. Dazed, I blinked at him while wading through my private reverie. “We need the count for ‘Truth’.”

  “Claro. Sure.” I hit my sticks together. “Uno. Dos.” The band kicked in on three. Sager resumed his position at the front edge of the stage. Dizzy drifted backward and placed his foot up on my riser watching me with a definite question mark in his gaze. I glanced away. What the hell could I say? I had a thing for Bryan’s sister. Yeah, that wasn’t going to go over well with anyone. Like the band needed any more drama.

  Minutes later, sweat dripping down my face, I struck the last beat of the final number. I hadn’t removed my shirt like the others, even though it stuck to my damp skin. They were lean and ripped. Me not so much. My stomach hung over my belt like my father’s. Yet another impediment for Miriam and me beyond our age difference and her brother. Miriam Jackson was an impossible dream. I would have to be content with my forbidden fantasies.

  “Great show.” Pete, a mechanic from the auto shop I had worked at before the record deal slapped me on the back as I stepped off the last step of the stage behind Sager.

  “Gracias.” I took the Rainier beer he offered, uncapped it and chugged it dry. When I finished I realized Sager had already taken off with Missy Rivera, a pretty girl that all of the guys in the band had been with at least one time except me. Too shy with women and too tangled up in my feelings for Miriam. Someone passed me another bottle. I should have insisted on water instead. Beer would only add to my gut, but I needed something to take off the sharp edge I hadn’t been able to dull since Miriam had arrived. Hopefully, Bryan had taken her and the temptation she represented far away.

  An hour and too many cervezas later, the crowd had mostly cleared out. Leaning heavily against the bar, I felt a soft tap on my shoulder.

  “Hola, amigo,” a soft feminine voice greeted.

  “Lace?” My eyes were wide as I turned to face her. I hadn’t seen her since the big confrontation between War and her. “What are you doing here?” The usual halo of platinum surrounded her pretty face, but it lacked luster, and her golden eyes were absent their usual bright sheen.

  “Not expecting me, huh?”

  I shook my head while doing a quick survey of the room.

  “They’re not here,” she announced dispassionately. “I gambled, and I lost everything, Juaquin. Even before I got kicked out of the band.”

  “I don’t know, maybe…”

  “I know. It’s over. I’ve seen Bry with the others. He wants me to see him with the others. Just like I wanted War to see me with Martin. We all have our closure now. Closure is good, right?” Her eyes filled. I was pretty sure in response to the sympathy in mine. “Anyway, don’t feel sorry for me. I just came to say goodbye. To Dizzy. To you, of course.” Her voice thickened. “After my brother, I think I’ll miss you the most.”

  “I’ll miss you, too, amiga.” I opened my arms. She stepped into them. Besides Miriam, she was the only woman I could be myself around. I felt her draw in a deep shaky breath before she wiggled free and stepped away from me.

  “Take care of yourself, Juaquin.” She ducked her chin. “Don’t hate on Warren too much. He has his reasons for being the way he is. And tell Bry…” Her voice cracked. “Never mind. I can’t help the way I feel. I love both of them even though I know I shouldn’t. And I want them both to be happy. Tell them that.”

  I watched her bleed back into the crowd. I saw the door to the bar open letting in the outside light from the parking lot before it closed again. The door receded in my vision then seemed to swell again. Everything felt wrong. Periodically, I would get these feelings. Only two people knew about them. Sager and my abuelita. She called them premonitions. A sliver of chill raised the hairs on the back of my neck, trepidation freezing my limbs. Because of Lace? I started to follow her. Someone suddenly stepped into my path.

  “Juaquin, hurry. Come with me.” Addy Footit, the owner of the bar, a blonde in her mid-thirties, took my arm in her surprisingly firm grip and dragged me into the long back hallway that led to an alley behind the building.

  “Qué pasa? What’s going on?”
I asked her, my stomach icing over with the chill that only a moment before had laced my skin.

  “Trouble.” She didn’t break stride but turned to shoot me a worried glance. “With Bryan’s sister and the guy who brought her.”

  “Fuck!” I pushed past her, throwing the metal door open and scanning the dimly lit narrow strip of concrete bordered by a chain link fence. My vision tunneled on the two of them. The pendejo had Miriam cornered. She wielded a broken beer bottle. Brandishing it back and forth, her fingers blanched around the glass. She had the guy at bay, but blood was about to be spilled. His blood. Because the fear in her eyes made me completely lose it. No managing this anger through poetry like I had learned to do in all those afterschool classes at St. Mary’s. No words would stem the eruption of beast-like rage rising in me. Not when I could clearly see that her lips were bruised from his unwanted kisses and that her blouse had been torn by his grasping, greedy hands. Her gaze hit mine. It brimmed with relief then dropped in shame.

  “I told her to get Bryan.” Miriam’s voice sounded rough. Had she screamed for help? Was that how Addy had found her?

  “You get me instead. Did he hurt you?” I took a step toward her.

  “I’m ok.” She took a step back. “He wanted…” She swallowed. “I said no. I was waiting…hoping…I told him…”

  “She wants you, you fat asshole.” The pendejo spit the words out in disgust. In disbelief.

  “She told you no, motherfucker.” I didn’t doubt that he could see the blood in my eyes. “Apparently you don’t listen well.” I expanded my chest and threw my arms wide talking with my words and my hands in all my Latino glory. “Apparently you need a lesson from someone who speaks a language you can understand, ese.”

  “I don’t speak Spanish.”