Wicked Beat (Sinners on Tour 4)

Son of a bitch.

Wait, Eric thought. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Perhaps the signs were all wrong. He’d never actually seen her before, so he had to be sure. Eric lifted the long lock of hair that he dyed a different vibrant color every forty-nine days without fail and stared at it. His memory had served him correctly. It was currently cobalt blue—the exact same shade as the under-layer of her hair. What were the chances? It had to be kismet. Destiny. Fate. Providence. All of the above…

She’d said her name was Rebekah. That was Eric’s favorite name. At least, now it was.

Rebekah tore her eyes off Trey long enough to notice Eric examining his own hair like an idiot. “Nice color,” she said with a devilish grin.

Eric gaped.

At her.

For like five minutes.

Conversation continued all around him, but he couldn’t stop staring. His eyes grew dry and itchy because he refused to blink.

Something slapped him alongside the head. Eric started and turned his head to find Sed, Sinners’ lead vocalist, looking at him as if waiting for something. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Do you think we should give her a chance?” Sed asked.

Apparently, Eric had missed something while he’d been gaping, stumbling, asphyxiating, gaping some more, and not blinking—in that order.

Jace pounded Eric on the back. “You okay in there, Sticks?” he asked. “Did you have some bad cheese?”

Cheese? What the f**k is cheese?

Eric’s brain usually worked pretty well, but apparently not with that sexalicious creature in the room.

“I promise to do my best,” Rebekah said, her soft voice mixing all sorts of strange emotions in Eric’s chest. She released Trey’s arm and moved to stand directly in front of Eric. The strawberry scent of her shampoo made his knees weak. Or maybe it was that pair of baby blue eyes gazing up at him from beneath thick, black lashes. “Will you let me work for you?” She touched the center of his chest and his heart leapt against her fingertips. “You won’t regret it.”

Eric swallowed hard. He had no idea what she was talking about, but her working for him in any capacity sounded fine and dandy to him. “Yes.”

She emitted a happy little squeal, wrapped her arms around him, and squeezed. She almost set him off balance as she hopped up and down excitedly. Before he could sweep her into his arms and carry her off to the nearest justice of the peace to recite eternal vows, she released him and hugged Jace, then Sed. Eric cringed when she plastered herself to Trey. It was one hundred percent obvious who she wanted. Now that he and Trey Mills were the only two single guys left in this band, Eric thought he would have pretty good odds of picking up a nice girl for himself.

No such luck.

Trey whispered something in her ear. She giggled and whispered, “Not here.”

Eric turned, found the nearest wall, and repeatedly banged his head against it.

Chapter 2

Rebekah carried her suitcase up the stairs of the tour bus and came to a screeching halt. This was not the bus that had been ripped in half and caught on fire in Canada, was it? It couldn’t possibly be, but who could tell beneath the piles of debris that littered the aisles and every available surface?

A black-haired, tattooed man, wearing a pair of black, baggy jean shorts over red plaid boxers, emerged from one of the piles. He had various chains connecting his nipple piercings to God-only-knew-what in his pants. Rebekah hadn’t even noticed him sitting there on what might have been a sofa or a cardboard box or a stuffed grizzly bear trophy.

“You must be the new FOH engineer.”

A thrill of pride made her chest swell. Sure, it was mostly due to her brother’s misfortune that she, Rebekah Esther Blake, was Sinners’ temporary front of house soundboard operator, but she was here and ready to prove herself worthy. “That’s me,” she said, beaming. She quickly forced the ear-to-ear grin from her face. She should probably try to act a little more butch or these tough roadie guys would eat her for breakfast.

“I’m Travis. That’s Jake. Marcus should be here soon.”

Rebekah scanned the piles of debris until she saw the movement of a blond mohawk near what appeared to be a dining table under a mountain of laundry and beer cans.

Jake stood, wiped his hand on his black T-shirt, and then extended it in her direction. “Dave’s sister, right?”

“Um, yeah.” She took his hand and shook it. “I’m Rebekah, but most people call me Reb.”

“Are you sure that’s not short for rebel?” Jake asked as he took in her funky clothes and blue hair.

Travis laughed. “That would make more sense, if you and straightlaced Dave come from the same family.”

“My mother has disowned me no less than a hundred times.” Rebekah grinned over memories of all those small victories. “She’s only disowned Dave about a dozen.”

Travis laughed, dark eyes twinkling with merriment, and shook her hand.

“So, where do I sleep?” she asked, wondering if there were even beds in this mess. And then she realized the mess was beds. Bunk after bunk filled with spare pillows, blankets, potentially clean clothes, and obviously dirty clothes. Obvious, because she could smell them from where she stood.

Someone stomped up the steps behind her. “I’ve come to rescue you,” a deep voice said behind her.

She turned and found Sinners’ drummer, Eric, standing behind her. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, looking like he’d just discovered the puppy he’d always wanted under the Christmas tree. “Rescue me? From what?”

“Do you really think we’d make you stay on the pigsty bus?”

“I don’t mind,” she said.

“The place is highly toxic to sensible females.”

She laughed and slapped him on the arm. “Then I’ll be perfectly fine.”

Eric paused and raked a hand through his crazy hair.

For some inexplicable reason she wanted to run her fingers through it too. Like a work of art, Eric Stick’s hair demanded attention. It was long on one side—something to hold on to. The other half was sheared off short. She imagined it would feel soft and silky beneath her fingertips. A row of inch-long spikes ran from forehead to nape, separating long locks from short fuzz. It was shiny and ebony except for the long lock that curled around his throat and hung down to his left collarbone. By some strange coincidence it was dyed the same blue she’d chosen to dye hers—for the sole purpose of ticking off her mother—not a week ago.