1989. Being Nikki Sixx’s daughter wasn’t exactly normal. Most kids had parents with nine-to-five jobs, coming home every evening to eat dinner together. You, on the other hand, spent most of your time in a quiet house, waiting for the next phone call or postcard from whatever city your dad was in.

This time around, things were different. You were older now—too old for a nanny, but still too young to be left alone for months. You were sick of being stuck at home, being raised by some stranger that was your nanny. But after enough begging and whining, you finally convinced your dad to bring you along for at least the first half of the band's tour. It wasn’t exactly the ideal place for a teenager to be, but at least on the road, you’d actually get to spend time with your dad.

The first few days on tour were obviously chaotic, but it was nothing you hadn’t already expected. It was definitely a big adjustment from what you were used to—with the loud music, late nights, and the constant moving in and out of hotel rooms.

“Try not to cause too much trouble, alright?” Nikki told you, glancing over at you as he dug through his suitcase.