Page 107 of Rebel

“We can do that.” Trav grabs the notepad from Ben and starts to scribble down names. I wait as he thinks then keeps adding more. My eyes cut to Ben as he watches him. He glances at me and nods, and I relax since I know he’s going to help.

If he had kept coming for the guys, I would have had no choice but to destroy him—in for a penny, in for a pound.

I owe them that much for sticking with me despite all the shit I’ve put them through.

“Can you think of anymore?” Trav asks, passing the notepad over. Chase frowns, grabbing the pen and scribbling two more names before handing it to Kolton. Kolton reads it carefully and adds a couple more.

“They don’t work anywhere near us anymore, but you never know.” He shrugs. “I don’t know if this is helpful”—he passes it to Ben—“but I hope it is. For what it’s worth, we really liked her. She was . . . She was and always will be a Dead Ringer. We might not have been able to save her, but we want to get her justice.”

“Thank you.” Ben takes the notebook, closing it. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Good. In the meantime, we’ll keep our eyes and ears open.”

“While preparing for tour.” He smirks as he stands. “For what it’s worth, Beck, your sister always wanted you here. She always said you were talented, and maybe she was right. Maybe you were always meant to be here.” He wanders away.

I throw down some cash, but Chase rolls his eyes and shoves it between my tits before pulling out his wallet and leaving his own stack. I raise my eyebrow at him. “Pretty girl, I’m rich, we all are, and when you are, you can buy us food, but until then, no girl of mine pays for anything.”

It shouldn’t warm me inside, but it does. Fuck, I’m a sucker.

I’m a strong, independent woman. I don’t need a man to pay my way, but I can’t help but admit that it gives me a thrill to see him taking care of me when all I’ve ever done is take care of everyone else.

“He’s right. We better get back to practicing or our label will have our heads,” Trav adds, making us all groan in unison.

There is no rest for the wicked.

FORTY-EIGHT

\We seem to have gotten lucky that nothing came out the other night—no bad press or stories from girls wanting to hook up with Chase—but it means we need to be on our best behavior. We still have Beck’s arrest hanging over us, and although Kolton’s sister disappeared so they technically can’t charge her, we need to be good.

It doesn’t stop us from making the most of the tour launch party though.

Technically, the tour doesn’t start for another few weeks, but management felt it was in our best interests to reconnect with the industry. They even left the party up to us, and I completely forgot about it until the day before. Everything had been planned and handled so far in advance—before Beck even came on—that it’s a rush to get ready for it. This is the unofficial party. The official one will be filled with our top fans, critics, other bands, crew, and lots and lots of industry professionals.

This one is for the rock stars, for our friends, family, and people, where we can cut loose and be free. We received warning texts this morning reminding us that no pictures were to be taken and put online without their approval, to be reasonable, and not attract any cops. That was their only warning. We are on thin ice, so we need to make sure we stick to that and have a good fucking time.

Leaning into Beck’s door, I can’t help but grin. The party is already in full swing downstairs. Vendors set up all day, and we were locked away rehearsing, but now, music pumps through the house, and the smattering of voices belonging to people who are already here reaches us.

People are in the pool, drinking or fucking. Beck’s and our rooms are out of bounds, thank fuck, but everything else is fair game.

“Are you ready?” I ask her. She’s nervously fussing with her hair and biting her perfectly painted lips.

“No.” She huffs. “Everyone down there is famous and rich, and I’m just me.”

“Beck Danvers from Dead Ringers,” I remind her. “You’re one of us.”

“I don’t feel like that right now,” she says, turning around. Her expression is filled with anxiety, something I know very well.

“I still get anxious at these parties, but everyone is here to help us celebrate. They are all friends or friends of friends, so we have no enemies here. I promise.” I grip her chin and kiss her, unconcerned about red lipstick coloring my lips.

“How do you manage your anxiety at them?” she asks.

“I get drunk.” I wiggle my eyebrows, and she giggles, the sound making my chest cave open. God, I would do anything to hear that sound every single fucking day of my life.

Making Beck laugh is better than winning any award.

“You look incredible,” I whisper. “That should have been the first thing I said when I walked in here.”

Her top is made of strings of jewels, barely covering her nipples, and when she moves, I swear I see them flash. It cowls around her neck, and the jewels reach around the sides like a lover’s touch. Her leather shorts are skintight, leaving nothing to the imagination, and they remind me why I can’t even be near Beck without getting hard. Her hair falls in waves down to her hips, and her lips are a deep, purple-hued red. Her ears are filled with piercings, and I find myself grinning when I see the one I gave her earlier. The small stud is black, clashing with the silver jewels of her other earrings, but it matches the one in my lobe, and something about that makes me want to slam inside her hot body as I stare at that small sign of possession.

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