Sinners On Tour 04 Wicked Beat
Dedicated to the memory of
Jimmy “The Rev” Sullivan,
who will continue to rock the rhythm of my heart
forever.
Rebekah adjusted the pillow beneath her older brother’s head. She smoothed the blanket over his lap. Plucked a stray hair from his hospital gown and flicked it onto the powder-blue carpet. Shifted his arm into a more natural position at his side. Licked her thumb and rubbed at a spot of mustard near the corner of his mouth.
Wincing, Dave turned his head, trying to escape her spit bath. “Will you knock it off, Reb?”
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m just nervous. Are they really coming?”
“Of course they’re coming. They’re back on tour next week and haven’t fired me yet.” Dave scowled and clutched his blanket with one hand. He could almost grip it tightly now. Rebekah wavered between pride and despair when confronted by how far Dave had come since his accident and how far he had left to go in his recovery. “And they are never going to go for this plan, Reb. Never.”
“I’ll just be filling in for you temporarily, Dave. Until you can go back on tour with them. You’re unquestionably the best front of house engineer on the planet, and you’ve come up with the perfect solution for their dilemma. They’re not going to fire you.”
“They don’t really have a choice, Reb. I can’t continue as their FOH if I can’t reach my soundboard. And even if I could reach it, there’s no way I can adjust the sliders fast enough to keep up with the band during a live show.”
“But you will, Dave. You just need more time to recover. I can work your soundboard until you’re ready to go back to work. I’m happy to help you out.” In reality, he was helping her as much as she was helping him. No metal band wanted to hire a female live sound engineer. Dave had warned her before she started school. Told her she’d be stuck mixing pop music at mall concerts. She’d been determined to show him otherwise, but so far, determination had gotten her a long way toward nowhere. If someone would just give her a chance, she would show them that a woman could be just as metal as a man.
“I know how much you want to help, sis, but I don’t think they’re going to agree to this. You’ve got to start at the bottom and work your way up, not expect to land a job with one of the biggest bands in the industry straight out of school.”
Heart sinking, she sighed. Tried not to pout
too
much. She knew he was right, but patience had never been Rebekah’s greatest virtue. Actually, patience didn’t even know where she lived.
“But I will do my best to make them see that this is a viable solution,” he said. “That you’re good enough to take my place.”
She smiled a make-big-brother-feel-like-a-superhero smile. “Really?”
“Just don’t be too disappointed if they say no.”
It would crush her. She worshipped Sinners and every note of every song that had ever been produced by their talented hands, fingers, mouths, feet, and any other body part they used to create music. In college, Rebekah had done her capstone project on Sinners. It had been proclaimed brilliant and propelled her to the head of her graduating class. Dave smiled, his gaze moving from hers to her recently dyed hair. He cringed.
“Has Mom seen your hair?” he asked.
Rebekah grinned and smoothed her platinum blond, shoulder-length hair with one hand. She’d recently dyed the under-layer cobalt blue. Since she’d regrown hair, she liked doing things that brought attention to it. Strange how being entirely bald at twenty-four would do that to a girl. Besides, Rebekah had always loved putting her mother into apoplectic fits, even if it meant being subjected to regular exorcisms. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
“Um, no.”
“Good.” She giggled. “So are
all
the band members coming to visit you?” Her heart thudded with excitement.
Dave grinned at her. “Will Trey be with them, you mean?”
Busted. She sorta had a panting-lust-thing for Sinners’ rhythm guitarist, Trey Mills, and Dave knew it. Probably because every time she talked to Dave, texted, or emailed him, she always asked how Trey was doing. Dave would always tell her
who
Trey was doing instead. It had not managed to decrease her interest even a little. On the contrary, Trey’s long list of conquests had made him more intriguing. Rebekah was sure he could teach her a thing or two in the bedroom, and she was sorely in need of some attention in that department.
“I’m not sure if Brian’s back in town yet,” Dave said. “He’s probably still in Kansas City with his wife, but I’m pretty sure the rest of them will stop in. Including Trey-Can’t-Keep-It-In-His-Pants Mills. You’d do best to stay away from him, Reb.”
Uh, no, that would not be best by any stretch of the imagination. The man was made to be devoured whole. Who cared about the following indigestion? Not her.
A set of knuckles rapped against the door.
Was that them? Rebekah’s heart skipped a beat.
“Come in,” Dave called.
The door swung open and the man of Rebekah’s wet dreams poked his head into the room. Jet-black hair obscuring one sultry green eye, sexiness oozing from every pore, Trey Mills scanned Rebekah from head to toe. Her entire body flushed with heat. Trey offered Dave a crooked grin. Her temperature rose another few degrees.
“Sorry to interrupt the festivities, dude.” Trey lifted both dark brows, one pierced with a tiny silver hoop. “We’ll come back later.”
He closed the door.
Oh
my
God, he’s getting away!
Rebekah raced across the room and jerked the door open. “Wait, don’t go. There are no festivities. I’m Dave’s younger sister, Rebekah.”
***
Eric dropped his hand from Jace’s forehead and gaped.
At her.
For like five minutes.
He forgot why he’d had Jace in a stranglehold. Something about an engagement ring and Jace’s dominatrix girlfriend, Aggie. Forgot that he couldn’t wait to pick up a new custom-made cymbal for his drum kit after they visited what’s-his-name—
Dave!
—who’d just been brought home from the hospital. Forgot that walking required a sequence of left foot, right—not left foot, left, left, stumble, right foot. Forgot that in order to inhale, his chest had to expand.
Eric choked on his own tongue.
It was her. Standing right there. About shoulder high. Petite. Feminine. Blond-and-blue-haired. Both beautiful and adorable in her mismatched tube socks, a purple tank top, and a green miniskirt. It really was her. The woman of Eric’s wet dreams.
And she was gushing all over Trey.
Son of a bitch.
Wait
, Eric thought. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Perhaps the signs were all wrong. He’d never actually seen her before, so he had to be sure. Eric lifted the long lock of hair that he dyed a different vibrant color every forty-nine days without fail and stared at it. His memory had served him correctly. It was currently cobalt blue—the exact same shade as the under-layer of
her
hair. What were the chances? It had to be kismet. Destiny. Fate. Providence. All of the above…
She’d said her name was Rebekah. That was Eric’s favorite name. At least, now it was.
Rebekah tore her eyes off Trey long enough to notice Eric examining his own hair like an idiot. “Nice color,” she said with a devilish grin.
Eric gaped.
At her.
For like five minutes.
Conversation continued all around him, but he couldn’t stop staring. His eyes grew dry and itchy because he refused to blink.
Something slapped him alongside the head. Eric started and turned his head to find Sed, Sinners’ lead vocalist, looking at him as if waiting for something. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Do you think we should give her a chance?” Sed asked.
Apparently, Eric had missed something while he’d been gaping, stumbling, asphyxiating, gaping some more, and not blinking—in that order.
Jace pounded Eric on the back. “You okay in there, Sticks?” he asked. “Did you have some bad cheese?”
Cheese? What the fuck is cheese?
Eric’s brain usually worked pretty well, but apparently not with that sexalicious creature in the room.
“I promise to do my best,” Rebekah said, her soft voice mixing all sorts of strange emotions in Eric’s chest. She released Trey’s arm and moved to stand directly in front of Eric. The strawberry scent of her shampoo made his knees weak. Or maybe it was that pair of baby blue eyes gazing up at him from beneath thick, black lashes. “Will you let me work for you?” She touched the center of his chest and his heart leapt against her fingertips. “You won’t regret it.”
Eric swallowed hard. He had no idea what she was talking about, but her working for him in any capacity sounded fine and dandy to him. “Yes.”
She emitted a happy little squeal, wrapped her arms around him, and squeezed. She almost set him off balance as she hopped up and down excitedly. Before he could sweep her into his arms and carry her off to the nearest justice of the peace to recite eternal vows, she released him and hugged Jace, then Sed. Eric cringed when she plastered herself to Trey. It was one hundred percent obvious who she wanted. Now that he and Trey Mills were the only two single guys left in this band, Eric thought he would have pretty good odds of picking up a nice girl for himself.
No such luck.
Trey whispered something in her ear. She giggled and whispered, “Not here.”
Eric turned, found the nearest wall, and repeatedly banged his head against it.
Rebekah carried her suitcase up the stairs of the tour bus and came to a screeching halt. This was not the bus that had been ripped in half and caught on fire in Canada, was it? It couldn’t possibly be, but who could tell beneath the piles of debris that littered the aisles and every available surface?
A black-haired, tattooed man, wearing a pair of black, baggy jean shorts over red plaid boxers, emerged from one of the piles. He had various chains connecting his nipple piercings to God-only-knew-what in his pants. Rebekah hadn’t even noticed him sitting there on what might have been a sofa or a cardboard box or a stuffed grizzly bear trophy.
“You must be the new FOH engineer.”
A thrill of pride made her chest swell. Sure, it was mostly due to her brother’s misfortune that she, Rebekah Esther Blake, was Sinners’ temporary front of house soundboard operator, but she was here and ready to prove herself worthy. “That’s me,” she said, beaming. She quickly forced the ear-to-ear grin from her face. She should probably try to act a little more butch or these tough roadie guys would eat her for breakfast.
“I’m Travis. That’s Jake. Marcus should be here soon.”
Rebekah scanned the piles of debris until she saw the movement of a blond mohawk near what appeared to be a dining table under a mountain of laundry and beer cans.
Jake stood, wiped his hand on his black T-shirt, and then extended it in her direction. “Dave’s sister, right?”
“Um, yeah.” She took his hand and shook it. “I’m Rebekah, but most people call me Reb.”
“Are you sure that’s not short for rebel?” Jake asked as he took in her funky clothes and blue hair.
Travis laughed. “That would make more sense, if you and straightlaced Dave come from the same family.”
“My mother has disowned me no less than a hundred times.” Rebekah grinned over memories of all those small victories. “She’s only disowned Dave about a dozen.”
Travis laughed, dark eyes twinkling with merriment, and shook her hand.
“So, where do I sleep?” she asked, wondering if there were even beds in this mess. And then she realized the mess
was
beds. Bunk after bunk filled with spare pillows, blankets, potentially clean clothes, and obviously dirty clothes. Obvious, because she could smell them from where she stood.
Someone stomped up the steps behind her. “I’ve come to rescue you,” a deep voice said behind her.
She turned and found Sinners’ drummer, Eric, standing behind her. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, looking like he’d just discovered the puppy he’d always wanted under the Christmas tree. “Rescue me? From what?”
“Do you really think we’d make you stay on the pigsty bus?”
“I don’t mind,” she said.
“The place is highly toxic to sensible females.”
She laughed and slapped him on the arm. “Then I’ll be perfectly fine.”
Eric paused and raked a hand through his crazy hair.
For some inexplicable reason she wanted to run her fingers through it too. Like a work of art, Eric Stick’s hair demanded attention. It was long on one side—something to hold on to. The other half was sheared off short. She imagined it would feel soft and silky beneath her fingertips. A row of inch-long spikes ran from forehead to nape, separating long locks from short fuzz. It was shiny and ebony except for the long lock that curled around his throat and hung down to his left collarbone. By some strange coincidence it was dyed the same blue she’d chosen to dye hers—for the sole purpose of ticking off her mother—not a week ago.
She wondered if his was real hair or fake extensions. She reached up and ran a finger over the long, blue strands. They felt real. Silky. Smooth. Warm from his body heat. She stroked the lock again between her fingers and his throat. His Adam’s apple dipped as he swallowed hard. She cocked her head at him, really seeing him for the first time. When she really looked at him, he was actually very attractive. Why hadn’t she ever noticed him before? Obscenely tall (from her low vantage point) and lean. Rugged features. Strong jaw. Straight nose. Thin lips with a ready smile and a sexy cleft in the middle of his chin that begged to be stroked with her fingertip. He was no Trey Mills, but…
Rebekah’s gaze lifted to Eric’s eyes, which were the color of a clear winter sky. “Will Trey be on the other bus?” she asked.
Eric’s slim black brows drew together into a scowl. “Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”
“Then I’m there.”
She turned, brushed past Eric, and trotted down the bus steps.
“Later, Reb,” she heard Travis call from inside the pigsty bus.
Eric loped down the steps and came to a halt beside her. She glanced around the parking lot looking for another bus. She’d only seen one bus when the taxi had dropped her off. It wasn’t like a big ol’ tour bus was something she could have easily overlooked. Behind the pigsty bus, she spotted the large, black moving van with Sinners’ red logo painted on the back, but nope, there was no other bus in sight. “Where’s the other bus?”
“Sed’s bringing it. He called and said he was on his way. And before you ask, yes, Trey is with him.” He rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head.
She set her suitcase at her feet to wait. Rebekah took another glance around the parking lot and noticed a vintage Stingray Corvette parked under a palm tree. That hadn’t been here when she’d arrived. She’d have noticed it for sure. The car was a real beauty that had been manufactured in 1965. Maybe ’66. Shiny emerald green paint. Its convertible top had been left down. Good thing it didn’t rain often in Southern California.
“
Sweet!
” she said, practically salivating over the car’s beauty and the raw power she knew would be under its hood.
“What?” Eric asked.
She pointed enthusiastically across the parking lot. “That gorgeous hunk of metal over there.”
Eric’s gaze followed the tip of her finger. He scratched behind his ear when his eyes located the object of her obsession. “You mean my car?”
She glanced at him, eyes wide. “That’s yours?”
He grinned and nodded. “Yeah. I’m so proud of her. She died at only two stoplights today.” He held up two fingers.
“She died?”
Eric scratched behind his ear again and stared up at the clear sky. “I can’t seem to get her timing right. Or maybe I didn’t gap those new spark plugs correctly. I’m not sure.”
“Mind if I take a look?” Rebekah left her suitcase by the bus and was heading across the parking lot before he could answer. He caught up with her in two long-legged strides.
Before Rebekah’s failed stint as an oil-rigger and a crab fisherman, um, fisher
wo
man, she’d had a failed stint as an auto mechanic. Not because she had been bad at it, but because no one took her seriously. She
had
been bad at rigging oil and fishing crab—five-foot-two and a hundred and six pounds soaking wet did not make her suitable for many of the jobs she insisted she wanted.
When she reached the car, her heart sank. The camel-colored, leather interior was totally trashed. “What did you do to her?” she bellowed and turned on Eric, who took a step backward, his smile fading.
“She was like that when I got her.”
“And you just left her like this? How long have you had her?”
Eric tipped backward at the hips, lifted his toes off the ground, and stared at his black Converse high-tops. “Uh, around ten…”
“Ten days?”
“Uh…” He shook his head.
“Ten
weeks
?”
Eric cleared his throat. “Um… ten… years.” He whispered the last word.
She slapped him on the chest with the flat of her hand. “How
could
you? She’s a priceless work of art and you treat her like junk.”
“Junk? No, not junk. She’s my baby.” He patted the door affectionately.
“Your baby? That pisses me off even more.” Rebekah moved around to the front of the car to pop the hood. “If the engine looks as bad as the interior, I’m gonna scratch your eyes out.”
Eric covered his eyes with both hands.
And he had reason to. “Oh, dear,” Rebekah gasped as she tried to make heads or tails over what someone had done to the once glorious V-8 engine. “Is that? Is that… a
coat
hanger holding open the carburetor choke?”
“I tried to fix her,” Eric said, his eyes still protected by his long-fingered hands.
He looked ridiculous. And somehow endearing. She smiled to herself and propped up the hood with a metal rod—another coat hanger.
“Are you sure
you
should be the one trying to fix her?”
“I have a repair manual for this model,” he said. “A really good one.”
“We’re going to need it to figure out how to straighten out this disaster.”
He lowered his hands from his eyes. “
We’re
going to need it?”
“I’m sorta a mechanic. Or I used to be. If you want, I’ll help you get her running properly. I don’t do interiors though.”
He hesitated.
“Do you have a better suggestion?” she asked, running a finger along the side of the engine block and finding seeping oil. Blown head gasket.
Wonderful.
She sighed heavily. This poor car. How could he claim that it was his baby?
Eric moved to stand beside her, looking at the completely fucked up engine with something that bordered on pride. “When I had her towed to my house from the junkyard, I promised myself that I’d do all the work on her myself. She
does
start now.” He glanced at Rebekah. “Sometimes.”
“I’m surprised she runs at all.”
He flushed and looked across the parking lot. Rebekah stared at him, perplexed. He hadn’t been this cute ten minutes ago, had he? Maybe because he was so close, she was able to get a better look at him. And he smelled good. A hint of leather and aftershave and something utterly male. She suddenly wanted him to notice her. As a woman.
Rebekah shifted sideways and brushed her arm against his, pretending it was an accident. He didn’t move away, but he didn’t increase the contact between them either.
“You can keep that promise. If I do help you,” she said, “you’ll be the one doing all the work. I’ll just supervise.”
His bright, genuine smile did something strange to her heart. It soared upward, fluttering in her throat or thereabouts.
“That sounds like a plan, Reb.”
His hand slid across her lower back. A thrill of excitement raced up her spine.
“I don’t expect you to volunteer your help,” he said. What would you like in repayment for your assistance?”
His thumb rubbed a small circle at the base of her spine. Her breath caught. Why were her nipples suddenly erect? She thrust her breasts forward, wanting him to observe them, and not sure why the thought of him seeing her arousal excited her. She chanced a glance at him and found his eyes closed. Her heart sank a little. He wasn’t paying attention to her. She turned away from him slightly. Not exactly out of his one-armed embrace, but to be less…
engulfed
by the man. He stood over a foot taller than her, which made her feel very feminine and small. She wasn’t sure she liked that feeling.
“Uh, what did you have in mind?” she asked breathlessly.
“I give a pretty good massage,” he said, his low voice drawing goose bumps along the side of her neck. His eyes opened and immediately fixated on the small bumps at the front of her thin tank top. His breath caught. She tugged the hem of her shirt down, giving him a nice view of her cleavage as well. She pretended that was accidental too. He was definitely paying attention now.
Which would make
now
a good time to grab hold of the long side of his hair and pull those easy-to-smile lips against her throat.
Wait. What was
she
thinking? Trey—all cool, suave, and sexy—was the band member she wanted to tease mercilessly, not this silly guy with the… with the… mesmeric hands. Oh. Just his thumb rubbing in circles along her lower back had her muscles melting. Her belly quivering. Her nipples straining.
Eric moved behind her, and his long fingers dug into her shoulders with just enough pressure to have her swaying back toward those wonderful hands in bliss. His thumbs massaged either side of her spine as he worked his way lower. Lower. Lower. Mmmmm, lower.
“Sold!” she cried as a deep shudder shook her entire body. Dear God, this man’s hands…
Eric chuckled and those strong, long-fingered hands moved around her waist to splay over her belly. He drew her against his lean-muscled body. She tilted her head back and found his gaze locked on her neckline. He bent his head closer to her ear. “I’m good at other things too,” he murmured.
I’ll bet you are.
“Just not fixing cars,” she teased.
His hands rubbed her belly, and she longed for him to move them a bit higher to massage her aching breasts. If his hands felt that good on her back and belly, what would they feel like there? Oh, and down there.
“That wasn’t nice, little Reb.”
“Who said I was nice?”
“You look very nice to me,” he murmured.
She tugged the neckline of her shirt a little lower. Her nipples were scarcely covered now.
Eric drew a shaky breath through his teeth. Did he want her? She wanted him to want her. More like needed him to.
A loud, low rumble drew Rebekah’s attention. Thunder? On a sunny Californian day? A red Harley entered the parking lot and headed across the expanse of concrete in their direction. It pulled to a stop beside them, and its rider, dressed all in leather, shifted the bike on its kickstand.
“Tripod!” Eric greeted.
“Tripod?” Rebekah echoed.
The rider removed his helmet, revealing the cutest member of Sinners, bassist Jace Seymour. Jace was a perfect ten on the hottie scale. That dark beard stubble and bleached blond, spiked hair totally worked for him. Rebekah found each member of Sinners attractive in his own way. Lead guitarist Brian, with his cover model good looks, was a perfect ten. Vocalist Sed, all hunky and handsome, was another perfect ten. Rhythm guitarist Trey, sultry, sexy, with a heap of bad boy thrown in for good measure, was at least an eleven. And then there was Eric. Their drummer. She’d never really paid much attention to him. Too busy drooling over Trey. Trey—hummina, hummina, hummina—Mills. She wondered when he’d arrive.
