Page 12 of Rebel

Rachel sighs in displeasure and all eyes turn to her. “I don’t know. I don’t think it works.” She frowns, eyeing Beck. “She looks cheap.”

I expect Beck to shrink under her gaze, but if anything, she stands taller. “Well, I’m wearing an outfit worth more than yours, so . . .” She shrugs.

Rachel’s eyes narrow as I cover my chuckle with a cough. She’s always been so judgmental, and although I know it’s because she cares, that wasn’t cool. “Amusing, fine, this one can stay. Oh, you need to cover that scar. We represent the fantasy of perfection.”

“No,” Beck argues. “The scar stays. It’s my body and my choice. We aren’t just a fantasy, we are people, and that’s what they want. They don’t want to look at us and just think we’re perfect, untouchable beings. They want someone they can relate to. They want to know we are people too, and that our music is real. This isn’t just a show we put on for money, but because we can’t do anything else, and we are right there with them through the good and bad. That’s rock and roll. I thought you would have known that.”

I glance at Rachel, who narrows her eyes. “Cover it,” she commands.

“No,” I say, frowning at her. “She’s right, keep it. It makes her real. Without it, she’s too perfect. She looks like a model.”

Beck grins at me, and I ignore Rachel’s glare. “Next outfit?” Beck asks, and we all groan. Chuckling, she ducks behind the curtain.

“How the fuck do we survive all the outfit changes?”

“Pact,” Kolton grumbles.

I turn to look at him and find he has a pillow over his junk. “Maybe remind yourself.” I smirk. “Huh, Chase?” I elbow him and turn to see him grabbing a pillow too. “Jesus fucking Christ.” I groan, dropping my head back.

“Well?” Her voice makes me lift my head, and I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood.

She twirls, and the tiny silk slip flares out, showing the lacy shorts underneath. The deep red-and-black lace slip hugs her figure, barely covering her ass. All I can do is nod, and they swiftly push her back inside to try on the next outfit.

This one is a long, baggy band T-shirt they made into a dress, the sides completely gone.

The outfits get better and better until all three of us are sweating and holding pillows in front of our jeans. I don’t know how we’ll survive the tour, but when she steps out again, I lose all hope.

“This is for the new rebranding, the album work, and the posters,” they begin.

Across her pierced nipples are X’s made from black tape, and she has on a thong and nothing else. She turns, and I swallow my fucking tongue. Down her spine is an arrow, which points at our logo situated just above her ass. Standing, I throw the cushion and flee, unable to stay any longer.

I can barely see where I’m going. I hit the first room and lock the door, realizing it’s the downstairs bathroom. Shoving my jeans down, I grip my cock.

My grip is tight as I remember her twirling in the skirt, the hint of her nipples, and the curve of her ass. I work my dick hard. My balls are already tight just from the memory, and my loud pants fill the room as I spit in my hand and stroke my cock harder.

Would she look at me with flashing eyes and a cocky smirk while I sank into her tight pussy? Would she scream?

Fuck!

Groaning her name, I spray my hand and the sink, the orgasm storming through me.

Fuck. Breathing heavily, I wash up and shove my dick back in my jeans. When my heart stops racing, I open the door and step out, only to freeze when I see Chase storming from the room with Rachel on his heels.

She grabs his arm before he hits the stairs, and he frowns at her. “What’s up?”

“Are you sure about her?” Rachel asks, moving closer to Chase. “I can get rid of her if you want. She doesn’t seem like the right fit.”

Chase frowns down at her hand before stepping back. “The band voted, so Beck is in. Do as she asks.” He hurries upstairs with heat in his eyes, and I know exactly what he’s going to do.

I watch her as her jaw ticks and she spins away with a huff. For a moment, I notice the venom on her face before it transforms to a bright smile when she sees me. “Everything okay?” she asks.

“Sure, is everything okay with you?” I ask, leaning into the wall.

Sighing, she clutches her iPad. “Yep.” It’s too bright, too fake.

“You don’t like Beck, huh?” I question, needing to know what her issue is. She’s never been like this in the past, and she cares about the band more than anything, so it must be Beck.

I need to figure out why because we can’t have anything getting in the way of the tour.

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