Page 8 of Rebel

There is a reason we chose Dead Ringers for our name.

Like she knows I see too much, she smirks at me, downing her drink, and stands. “I’m going to dance.” Unconcerned that she’s completely alone in unfamiliar surroundings, she heads right into the middle of the dance floor and starts to move to the beat. Every eye turns to her—how could they not?

Sitting back, I drape one leg across the other, my arm thrown over the back of the sofa, and watch the show.

“Are you okay?” Trav asks softly. “Need to get some air?”

It’s our code for getting me away from temptation, giving me time to work through my addiction. After all, addiction doesn’t just go away overnight. It’s a constant battle to say no. Some days are easier than others, and we’ve made it a point to stay as far away from temptation as possible, but this life goes hand in hand with the darkness that drove me to the needle in the first place.

For the first time in a long time, though, I’m not thinking about what I could numb myself with or where a dealer could be—no, my focus is completely on her.

Beck Danvers is a goddamn mystery, and I used to love mysteries, but not anymore.

She’s dangerous to everything we’ve worked so hard for, but I can’t seem to stop myself from watching the show she puts on. She’s completely oblivious to every single person watching her with need and envy. It’s like she exists in her own world, free of judgment and rules. I envy that. I want that.

I want the freedom and ecstasy I see on her face, something I used to find in the high of my addiction, but here she is, mostly sober and dancing like no one cares.

How does she do it?

“Nah, I’m good, man,” I admit, sipping my beer.

“You sure?” Trav worries, watching me with concern before he glances to the side. I follow his gaze to see someone snorting coke off a woman’s chest in the dim corner. Usually, that would send me fleeing, but not tonight. Tonight, I want to stay, so I harden my resolve, ripping my eyes from the sight and back to Beck. I allow her to distract me from the clawing ache at my insides demanding I join them.

Trav and Kolton have seen me fall off the wagon more times than I can count, but this time I’m determined to stay clean. I won’t wreck my life or theirs any further. It’s been six months, and so far, so good. I see them share a worried look, one I was always too fucked up to notice, but I ignore it.

“What do you think her story is?” I ask over the music.

“Who knows, but she’s exactly what we need,” Kolton replies.

“But can she perform?” I retort. “Has she ever been on a stage? We didn’t check that shit.”

“We didn’t have time since you kept chasing off the good talent,” Trav grumbles. “But I like her. I have a good feeling about her.”

Something in his tone makes me look at him. He’s watching her, and I see his eyes soften and flame with desire. Shit. Trav never fucks around, not after . . . Well, he doesn’t. When he feels, he feels hard. Something aches in my chest as I watch him watch her, because why wouldn’t she fall for Trav? He’s the whole package. He’s a good man, he has his life together, and he’s practically a fucking saint for putting up with me for so long. I want him to be happy. He deserves it.

I tell myself it’s because of the band. If they broke up, it would ruin us, and we can’t afford that.

It’s the only reason I do what I do next—to protect them. “We should make a pact. No touching this one.”

“What?” Trav spins on me, his mouth agape.

“We can’t afford to lose Beck if she is as good as she seems. It’s our last chance, and there isn’t room for mistakes. So a pact, we don’t touch her.”

“That would be a you problem,” Kolton scoffs, but I see him shoot her a sad, longing look. “But fine, a pact. We don’t fuck Beck. Trav.”

We both look at him, and his eyes go back to her before dropping. “For the band,” he murmurs.

“It’s done then. Beck is off-limits. Now, let’s finish our drinks. Tomorrow, we’ll work on getting her stage ready.” I grin with glee, knowing just how much she will hate it.

“I don’t like this new side of him,” Kolton whispers to Trav, even though I overhear. “He was more fun when he was an addict.”

I flinch, knowing he didn’t mean to hurt me, but it cuts into my chest, ripping open the insecurities I’ve fought since I was a child.

I’m too old, too outdated, and no longer talented.

I’m a boring workaholic.

Closing my eyes, I fight through them, trying not to fall back into old habits. A noise startles me from my meditation, and all three of us leap to our feet when we realize it’s Beck.

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