Page 4 of Rebel

“I know what you’re saying. You don’t like her. Well, tough shit,” I reply. “She’s talented, and we need that. We need fresh blood, old man, so get over it.” I sink my shot as he glares at me.

“Who are you calling old, you punk? I’m only five years older than you,” he scoffs, pushing his hair back and posing like there’s a camera around. I don’t bother pointing it out, since it’s a habit for this royal prince. He’s such a poser. I hated him when I was first brought into the band. He’s a know-it-all, stuck-up bastard, but he’s damn talented, so despite all his flaws, I stuck around.

We became friends, fucked if I know how. He loves attention and spending sprees, while I prefer the quieter side of life, but it works, and Trav keeps us in check when we butt heads, but there’s always a space where our fourth should be.

It used to be Ila, Trav’s sister, who was our second lead singer, but then she decided to go solo and is killing it. We’ve had a few replacements since then, but none stuck around. Either Chase drove them away or fucked them and dropped them . . . Well, until the last one.

Tamping down the guilt and pain, I focus back on Chase, forcing a smile. I don’t want to go down that dark road again. It took me a whole bunch of fucking counseling to come back from what happened, and I’m determined to give this tour our best. It’s our last shot to make something of ourselves again.

We can’t afford to fail.

It would be the end of us all. We’d lose everything and go down as nothing but wannabes who couldn’t cut it.

“Is that a gray hair I see?” I taunt, and Chase’s eyes widen, his beer crashing to the floor as he races to the closest reflective surface and searches through his hair.

“Where? Where—oh, you little fucker!” He turns and launches himself at me. Laughing, I step to the side to avoid him.

“Getting slow. Is it your old age?” I tease.

We run around the pool table, keeping it between us as I grin and feint left. Pointing at me, he shouts, “You’re dead!”

“Sure, old man, but you have to catch me first!”

“No bloodshed inside. Take it outside,” Trav calls. “I’m sick of cleaning the floors.”

“Stay out of this,” Chase hisses. “I need to teach this little punk a lesson.”

“You are both children.” Trav sighs, and when I glance over, he’s nursing a cup of coffee, leaning against the door. “You aren’t setting a good example for Beck.”

“I don’t know, I’m kind of curious who will win,” comes a purring voice. We all whip around to see Beck curled up on one of the armchairs before the gaming TV, a beer in her hand as she watches us.

“How long have you been there?” I ask, confused.

“Long enough.” She smirks, and damn if my heart doesn’t skip a beat, especially when she meets my eyes with a knowing look. The woman is far too attractive. She could be a model, but here she is with us. When she stands and stretches, her dress rises, flashing her supple thighs. My dick hardens, and my mouth turns dry.

I know she’s bad news, and I know I should keep my distance.

Nothing good will come of this. How many times did we warn Chase away from fucking our new singers? I’m debating if I could cross that very same line now, one I’ve never even been tempted to cross.

Not until Beck Danvers.

She’s completely oblivious of the three hard gazes watching her as she saunters around the couch, the magnetism that makes her a natural singer stopping us in our tracks. She’s like a goddamn movie I can’t look away from.

“So who usually wins?” she asks as she stops next to the pool table.

“What?” I blurt, completely blinded by her.

An arm wraps around my neck and squeezes, dragging me down.

“I guess I have my answer.” She smirks.

Elbowing Chase, I feel him grunt as he tightens his grip. He’s surprisingly strong for a little motherfucker. Trav sighs and heads our way. “Break it up. No more broken bones, remember?”

“How many times has that happened?” She looks between us. “Should I be worried about you guys not being able to perform?”

“Oh, darlin’, we can perform just fine,” Chase flirts.

“I think I just threw up in my mouth,” she comments and covers her lips. “I’m going to shower. I have the overwhelming urge to scrub my skin.”

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