Page 11 of Rebel

“Says who?” I counter truthfully.

His hand drops as he eyes me, the silence stretching on as he searches my gaze.

Does he see the truth?

For a moment, I’m sure he does.

“Ms. Danvers,” I hear someone yell, and it breaks the tension.

Groaning, I down the coffee and search for somewhere to hide before looking at Kolton with pleading eyes. “I seek sanctuary.”

“Nope, no can do, sweetheart. You are on your own.” With a wink, he hurries out.

“Ah, Kolton, have you seen Ms. Danvers?” The woman is much more cordial and almost nice to him. Figures.

He chuckles. “In the kitchen.”

“Traitor,” I call as I hear him laugh and retreat just as a woman rounds the corner.

“Ms. Danvers, we are ready for our next outfit. This way.” She gestures for me to follow her, and with no choice, I do as I’m told.

Once back in the sitting room they turned into a dressing room, I let them hurry me back to the middle of the space and into the next outfit. This time it’s to get management’s approval of the outfits, but I don’t even get any privacy. They tell me they need to know my body to dress it, but it feels so invasive, my skin crawls.

“This scar, we will need to cover it,” the man comments.

“No,” I snap, putting my foot down, knowing which one they are talking about. It’s on my side, and it’s all I have left of her.

“But—” He starts to protest, and I meet his eyes.

“I will wear what you say, do what you say, but we do not cover that scar, understood?” I warn.

He recoils slightly but nods, and I turn back, stroking it for a moment before I drop it and let them see so they will understand, but of course, they don’t.

They are so blind.

It will ruin us all.

EIGHT

Sitting on the sofa, squeezed between Chase and Kolton, I roll my eyes as they jostle, trying to take up the most room. Rachel is typing away on her tablet while we wait for them to finish dressing Beck. It has to be approved by everyone, including us, and I’m excited to see what they chose for her tour outfits.

My foot taps impatiently as I hear her grumble, and it makes me smile.

When Beck comes out, my jaw drops.

She was beautiful before, but now she looks like a rock star.

I hear them talking as they explain the first outfit and when she’ll wear it, but I ignore them and stare into her nervous eyes. They are lined and completely shaded with black eyeshadow, making them pop, and her lips are a soft pink. Her hair is in messy beach waves, hanging down to her hips, and around her neck is a spiked collar with DR proudly emblazoned on the front. My eyes dip to her body, and my dick hardens as I gape.

She has on a deep V-cut bra, her breasts almost spilling out. So much of her pale skin is exposed. Over the top of the bra and matching black panties is a fishnet body suit, with long sleeves and legs going right into platform boots.

She looks like a rock star’s wet dream. How the hell are we supposed to perform with her looking like that? I can barely speak, never mind sing, and my hands ache to touch her, not my drums.

“Jesus,” Kolton whispers.

I want to reply, but I can’t speak around the lump in my throat as she smiles at me like she knows my thoughts.

“I love it,” Chase states roughly, breaking the silence.

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