The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance) by Jillian Sterling Read Free Book Online Page B

fancy tech party," Presley
cooed. "You've got to look smokin'!"
    "Who's hosting?" I asked.
    "Something something dot com?" Presley said
rolling her eyes. "Does it matter? We're in San Francisco. Tech parties
are the best parties."
    "There'll be food," Jett said. "Tech nerds
are all about the snacks."
    With the promise of food in my belly and along with maybe a
decent craft beer, we headed to the tour bus so I could clean up. Jett mussed
my hair with pride as we made our way to the lot where it was parked. Presley
gave a blow-by-blow of my performance, which was unusual since her preferred
topic of conversation was, well...Presley.
    We came up on the bus and Presley stopped mid-sentence, her
mouth hung open.
    "Pres? What's up?" Jett asked.
    Presley lifted her hand and pointed at the bus. Red spray
paint covered the side of it, and my face burned as I read the words scrolled
in a poor imitation of graffiti print.
    Cunts can't drum
    Gashes belong ass up, not on stage
    Whore on tour
    "Lovely," Presley said, wrinkling her nose.
    "Well, cunts can't drum. You do need arms for
that," Jett sighed, trying to lighten the mood with her literal
interpretation.
    "Unless you're Rick Allen,' I said, referencing the
drummer from Def Leppard who lost his arm in a car accident. I tried to shrug
it off, but I was shaking.
    "We better find Devlin," Jett said.
    "This should not have happened," Presley fumed.
"Vince needs to get security on this tour." Presley may be a lot of
annoying things, but she took her big sister role very seriously.
    Rafe and Dion's loud laughter carried over from the other
side of the bus. Presley stepped around the bus and yelled to them, "You
guy's better come see this."
    The boys jogged to the bus, coming to a dead stop when they
rounded the front of it and saw its graffiti covered side. Rafe let out a low
whistle.
    "Devlin see this yet?" Dion asked, his lips tight.
    "No," Presley responded, crossing her arms.
"You guys have any idea who could have done this?"
    Rafe glared at her. "What exactly are you saying there,
Sis?"
    "She's saying that you guys weren't exactly happy about
us going on this tour. Or about Nikki joining the Nation," Jett said, and
she narrowed her eyes. "So we're all wondering if you guys had something
to do with it."
    "That's a shitty accusation," Rafe said. He took a
step towards her, expecting her to back down. Instead, she took two steps
towards him, and got right in his face.
    She pressed a finger into his chest. "That accusation
is not exactly unfounded."
    "We didn't have anything to do with this," Dion said,
his voice sharp. "She's on this tour, she played a solid set. Bullshit
with Rafe in the opening number notwithstanding."
    "She saved that opener," Jett argued. "No one
recognized the damn song his rhythm was so off."
    "Jett," I said and shook my head at her.
"Let's just call Devlin and get this fixed. I just want to go to
bed."
    Presley held up her phone. "I just sent him a text.
He's on his way."
    The five of us stared at the bus in silence. Then Rafe
pointed to the back wheel.
    "They're not only assholes, they're litterbugs,"
he said. Just behind the wheel were a bunch of discarded spray paint cans.
    Dion went over and picked one up. He shook it, then did the
same with a few more. "They were in a rush to get out of here. These cans
are still pretty full."
    "You know what that means?" Presley asked, a
devious smile spread across her face. She started snapping pictures of the
vandalized bus.
    "Jesus, Presley. This is not the time for Instagram
selfies," I grumbled at her. "Especially not with that."
    "Please," she said, waving a manicured hand at me.
"I'm taking pictures of the evidence and then we're going to cover this
shit up."
    "You can't cover up the evidence!" Dion argued.
"The cops need to come and look at it."
    "The cops can't do shit," Presley said.
    I glanced at Jett. "What do you think?"
    Jett sighed. "I hate to agree but malicious mischief is
a misdemeanor at best. Hurting