Bad Boy Rebel (Salma Rebels Book 1)

by Skye Darrel

She’s out of sight, but out of mind will take some doing.

  Every muscle in my body is primed, my cock straining in my briefs and my balls heavy.

  After five minutes I’m still at the window, part of me hoping she’ll come back for directions so I can push her against the wall and hitch that skirt up and check what color her panties are, so I can get the taste of her pussy on my tongue.

  Hansel tilts his head and stares at me in confusion.

  I need a cold fucking shower. That’s what I need.

  “Stay,” I tell Hansel. He barks.

  I toss Natalie’s card on the coffee table. Then I head upstairs to the bathroom and tear my clothes off, my dick bobbing between my legs like a damn log. Standing under a cold spray, I let myself soak, the water soothing the rush of heat, and after a long while of thinking about Hansel’s nose, my erection fades. I turn off the water and rake a hand through my hair.

  Walking to my bedroom, I ignore the two shut doors in the hallway. The empty rooms behind them that I never enter.

  I change into clean briefs and jeans, not bothering with a shirt.

  Downstairs to the kitchen. I drink a beer and lean over the sink and stretch my neck until something pops. I grab my handgun on the counter and rack the slide. One round in the chamber. I keep a weapon in reach no matter where I am.

  Back in the living room, I sit on the couch with my second beer while Hansel perks up. He wants to play catch, but I shake my head and he whines again.

  “Later,” I say.

  Woof.

  Canine for yes.

  “What do you think about Natalie, Hans?”

  Woof. Woof.

  “Yeah. Trouble, isn’t she?”

  Hansel puts a paw on the couch.

  Definitely trouble.

  I felt something when I saw her, and I don’t just mean the swell in my dick. She’s trouble in more ways than one. The best thing she can do for her safety is to leave town, but I saw the desperation in her eyes. She’s not budging until she sells Gatsby’s house. Desperate people make mistakes. I know that better than anyone.

  Doll face.

  She has an innocence that makes my heart tender. Appearances can be deceiving, but there’s no lie in Natalie.

  I couldn’t let her stay at Ruby’s Motel. That place is seedy as fuck and it’s not safe. So I sent her to Goldilocks Inn and it’s the best I can do.

  If Priscilla were alive today, she’d do more to help Natalie. Pris had always been generous and kind, even with complete strangers. She’d treat Natalie like an old friend, show her around town. If Pris were still alive, this house wouldn’t look the way it does today.

  But she’s dead.

  And I won’t rest until the man responsible is dead by my hand.

  Verne Resnik.

  He’s my target. My mission. I can’t get distracted by some doll-faced real estate agent.

  I could warn her though. I could warn Natalie about the dangers in Salma’s Hope. On the surface, my hometown is idyllic, a quaint spot for family vacations and boat trips down the river, but it’s rotten at the core.

  As long as Verne Resnik still breathes, this town will be a snake pit. As long as Resnik’s casino still stands, this town will suffer.

  Resnik has no idea I have him in my sights, no idea I’ve been investigating his casino. He suspects nothing, the best mindset for an enemy to have.

  But Resnik is no fool either. I know he keeps tabs on me. He’s got eyes and ears in town, and he still sends his thugs driving past my house every few days in their red pickup trucks to check what I’m doing.

  I can’t warn Natalie without risking my cover.

  She should be safe with Juno, one of the few people I still trust in town.

  I get my phone. Holding Natalie’s card still fragrant with perfume, I dial Juno’s number. The call goes right through. Rowdy voices in the background. No doubt she’s working the bar at Goldilocks Inn.

  “Asher Wade. You never call anymore except to ask for something. Well don’t be shy, spit it out.”

  I can almost see Juno putting a hand on her hip.

  I tell her about Natalie Whipple the real estate agent who’s new in town, who doesn’t have much money, and who sticks out like a girl scout on safari. “She needs a room,” I finish.

  “Wish you’d show me such attention.”

  “I’m serious, Juno.”

  “Fine, fine. I can’t say no to you.”

  I give Natalie’s description.

  “What’s she to you, Asher? You in love?”

  “No,” I say in a loud voice. “But Gatsby’s selling his house because of me, so she is here because of me. I don’t want her to get hurt. That’s all.”

  Juno sighs. “I’ll look out for the girl.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Go Panthers,” Juno says.

  “Go Panthers,” I say.

  Juno hangs up first.

  Natalie will like Goldilocks, which is a luxury resort compared to Ruby’s.

  If she’s lucky, she’ll find a buyer for that gaudy monstrosity next door and go her merry way. And if she’s not, if she catches the wrong kind of attention, that of Resnik or his men, then I’ll protect her if I have to. Even if I’m a shitty protector.

  That’s decided.

  Hansel sits up, wagging his tail, and I scratch his neck. “We’re causing a disturbance, buddy. Ease up on the barking.”

  Hansel licks my fingers. He’s a border collie and had belonged to Priscilla. He doesn’t like guns and barks up a storm twice his size when he hears a shot. I look into Hansel’s too-human eyes and wonder what he’s thinking. As a puppy, he’d been inseparable from Pris.

  “You miss her don’t you?”

  Hansel lets out a sad whine and lies down on the carpet with his muzzle between his paws. I miss my sister too.

  3

  Rebel with a Cause

  Natalie

  I walk into my room at Ruby’s Motel, change into shorts and a loose tee, and swap my slingback heels for ballerina flats. I wipe off my lipstick. Much better. I stuff everything into my luggage and take one last look at the dingy room.

  Asher was right.

  This motel isn’t fit for human habitation. I’ve been so busy since I got to Salma’s Hope that I ignored the yellowed sheets and the ancient wallpaper stained with mildew. The tiny bathroom reeks of bleach, but I can still smell stale urine underneath.

  Mr. Nelson the Pool Expert would not call this a room, and I agree with him.

  The only thing I want today is to be as far away from here as possible. Ruby’s is right off the highway exit next to a gas station. I guess it’s true you get what you pay for.

  In the front office, the clerk has his eyes on a football game on TV. The counter is piled with Chinese takeout cartons from a diner behind the gas station called Bob’s Authentic Hunan Cuisine.

  The clerk gives me a sour look after I announce my departure. “Leaving so soon?”

  “You should clean your rooms better.”

  “We’ll look into it.”

  Dragging my roller luggage and with my pink bag at the hip, I leave Ruby’s forever.

  Sweltering out. Humid too. The parking lot is empty except for my yellow Beetle, a beatup station wagon, and a red pickup truck.

  There’s a baby stroller near the vending machines by the front office. The baby inside is red-eyed and cries softly.

  I frown. “You should not be out here by yourself.”

  The baby holds out chubby little hands, and I don’t have the heart to leave. I’m about to tell the clerk when I hear footsteps.

  A nervous woman runs out from behind a garbage dump and heads toward the stroller as she stuffs a white baggy into her pants. She shoots me a glare before she pushes the stroller away. Seconds later, a man walks out folding a wad of cash into his pocket. He sees me and smiles calmly, then hurries to the red pickup.

  I’m not a nosy girl, but this whole scene screams social services.

>   The man leaves by pickup and the woman drives away in the station wagon. I’m pretty sure it’s not sugar in her baggy. Nothing I can do, but I hope the baby’s okay.

  I get in my Beetle and follow a winding road through the woods, my mood improving as the greenery gives way to fields and buildings.

  Salma’s Hope is a small town tucked against the Potomac River on the border between Maryland and Virginia. There are more trees than people. One week ago, I would’ve called this place sleepy, but after what I’ve seen today, maybe not so much.

  It’s late afternoon when I enter Goldilocks Inn on Main Street.

  I find myself in a small diner. Maybe I got the address wrong? Locals sit around tables watching a football game on a flat-screen hanging from the ceiling. A jukebox in the corner plays an old Taylor Swift song from when she still sang country. Football posters cover the wooden walls. There’s only one team, the Salma Panthers.

  The smell of fried food makes my stomach grumble.

  A teen girl with platinum blonde hair gets my attention and blows a pink bubble that pops. She chews thoughtfully. Her name tag reads Cora.

  “Welcome to Goldilocks. How many in your party?”

  “Um, one? I’m here for a room.”

  Cora gives me the once-over before she glances at the bar, where a full-figured blonde woman is wiping the counter. “Mom! There’s a lady here who wants a room! Do we still rent the loft?

  I feel a swell of pride at being called a lady. “I’m Natalie,” I say.

  “Natalie wants to rent a room,” Cora yells.

  The blonde woman walks over.

  “Just so you know,” Cora whispers to me, “my mom always checks ID at the bar. It’s the law.”

  My pride deflates. “I’m twenty-three.”

  “Sure, whatever, not me you have to convince. But if you’re gonna lie about your age, you should go with twenty-one cause you must be like what, sixteenish?”

  The blonde woman reaches us, mercifully. “Natalie Whipple? Asher said you were coming.”

  “That’s me.” Doll face extraordinaire. “You must be . . .”

  “Juno Newlin,” the woman says with a smile. “Cora sweetheart, it’s fine. Finish sorting the menus. I’ll show Natalie around—and stay away from the bar. If anyone orders a drink tell them to wait until I get back.”

  “Your obedient servant, Mother.”

  Juno brings me up a narrow staircase to a clean loft space, with a freshly made bed and a window over the sidewalk below.

  “You can sleep here,” she says.

  I set my luggage by the bed. The room is bigger than my studio apartment in DC. “How much?” I ask.

  “On the house.”

  “Really?”

  “Asher vouched for you. No charge.”

  Surprising. “How do you know him?”

  “This is a small town, people know each other. Get settled. Room’s yours as long as you need it. Can you pay for meals?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m not that broke.”

  “Good to know, city girl.”

  I run my hand over the crisp sheets. Not that broke yet.

  I’m starving, but first a nap.

  By the time I wake up, it’s dark out. I go downstairs to find Goldilocks crowded. All the tables are full, so I slide onto the only empty stool at the bar.

  Cora’s chatting with a moppy haired boy in the corner. He says something that makes her laugh, flirting maybe, and I look away. The wonders of teenage love. I never found it myself.

  Juno finishes pouring a drink and walks over. Her smile calms me like my mother’s once did.

  “Want a menu?” she says.

  “Just give me something fried please.”

  “Not watching your figure?”

  “I refuse to let society define how I should look.”

  Juno laughs. “Smart girl.”

  Smart and perpetually single so I might as well be comfortable. Juno leaves with my order, and I let myself relax before an elbow bumps mine.

  A grizzled man on the next stool scowls at me.

  “You old enough to be in here?” he says.

  Dunno why he’s cranky, but I know why I am. “I’d tell you if I weren’t. Since we’re such good friends.”

  “Tourist?”

  “Business trip,” I say. Before Mr. Cranky can ask if I’m old enough to go on business trips, I take out my phone and flash my excuse-me face.

  There’s a text from my boss, Liam Branigan III. Mr. Branigan is super polite to clients and an asshole to anyone else, especially everyone below him, and he’ll be sure to let you know if you’re below him.

  Natalie, check the listing for Gatsby’s house. Read Nelson’s review. How could you fuck up so badly?

  My stomach sinks. I open my browser and flip to the listing on Gatsby’s Victorian at 1723 Beech Road. There’s a single post from Nelson the Pool Expert.

  Natalie Whipple lacks basic knowledge of what a swimming pool is. Grossly inexperienced. Furthermore, a lunatic lives next door. Completely unacceptable. I will NOT be buying this house, and I urge anyone reading this to stay away from that godforsaken nightmare. Branigan Realty Group has lost my business.

  Nelson’s comment is followed by three pictures that show the front of Asher’s jungle lawn, complete with guns and warning signs.

  I feel nauseous as I text my boss that it’s not fair, that I did my best to show Nelson the property, and I went out of my way to disclose the neighbor problem.

  Freaking Asher Wade.

  Branigan texts back: You have 30 days to sell Gatsby’s house or you’re fired.

  Then the three dots again. A second later: Correction. I gave you 30 days. You have 23 days remaining.

  I put my phone away.

  “Problem?” Juno asks. She sets down a plate piled with fried shrimp and scallops with a side of thick coleslaw.

  I meet her kind eyes. “You know the big house next to Asher’s?”

  “Zacharias Gatsby’s place. Asher said you’re trying to sell it.”

  “Failing to. I mean, the house itself is in good shape.” As long as you’re not anal about pools. “Asher’s place is the problem. I guess you know him pretty well, but have you visited him lately? People care who their neighbors are and his lawn is a horror show.”

  Mr. Cranky spins on his stool. “You talking about Asher Wade, little lady?”

  “My name is Natalie, sir.”

  “You talking about Asher Wade, Natalie?”

  “Stay out of this,” Juno tells him. “Not your concern, Dale.”

  Cranky Dale turns indignant. “No one badmouths Asher Wade in my bar. That boy took us to the state championship!”

  “This is my bar,” Juno says sternly.

  Dale grumbles and drinks his beer while staring holes into my head.

  “I’m sorry,” Juno says to me. “The Salma Panthers are our local high school team. People who grow up here follow the Panthers religiously.” She gives Dale a sharp glance. “But that’s no excuse to be ill-mannered.”

  “Asher played football?” I say. Easy to picture him tackling someone.

  “Played?” Dale blurts out. “He was the star quarterback! Unstoppable! Eleven years ago we called him the Fury of Salma. And the other teams called him the Terror of Salma. They pissed their pants when Asher Wade took the field. That boy used to be a hotheaded rebel who couldn’t stay out of trouble, but he delivered touchdowns every single game. Just like his brother Eugene before him. They were heroes, Natalie, and I ain’t talking just football either. They were in the Army too, fine soldiers, both of them. They deserved better than they got.”

  More people at the bar listen in. “Amen,” someone says.

  That sorta explains the guns. “What happened to them?” I say.

  “Afghanistan,” Dale says. “Eugene was an officer, he went first and died over there. Asher went next—for revenge, I’d heard. Don’t know if he ever found it. He must be what, twenty-eight now?” Dale shakes his head.
“He spent damn near nine years in the Army. Wasn’t the same after that.”

  A man beside Dale speaks up. “Asher got kicked out of the Army for shooting someone he shouldn’t have. Civilians, that’s what I heard.”

  “Asher Wade would not do that,” Dale says.

  “I heard he asked for a discharge,” a woman at the end of the bar says. “It was right after Priscilla drowned.”

  “Priscilla,” Dale starts to say, “now that there is a real tragedy—”

  “Enough!” Juno cuts in. Her voice silences the bar. “People hear too damn much in this town.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat.

  Even Dale is taken aback. “I’d better shut up,” he says to me.

  “You should’ve shut up five minutes ago!” Juno says. “Pay them no mind, Natalie. Lots of idiots work the rumor mill in Salma’s Hope. How’s the shrimp?”

  I try one. “Delicious.”

  “Enjoy. And the rest of you, no more jabbering about things that don’t concern you.”

  Everyone nods.

  I glance at Cora in the corner, and she stares at her mom with a worried face. Juno walks to the register at the other end of the bar.

  Her eyes are wet.

  I help Cora stack chairs on tables after Goldilocks closes. A cook named Rene talks with Juno behind the bar. She still looks upset.

  Chewing gum nonstop, Cora thanks me for helping with the chairs.

  It’s the least I can do. Juno may be letting me stay for free, but I’m no freeloader and I think they can use the help. I haven’t seen any other staff besides Rene.

  “Is it only the three of you here?” I ask.

  “Pretty much.” Cora blows a bubble as we finish the last table. “When school starts, it’s just my mom and Rene. Maybe a part-time server if Mom can afford it. You’re from the city right? You must think this place is a dump.”

  “No, it’s cozy.” I mean it too.

  Cora smiles. “I’m not a fan of cozy. I like glitz. Ever been to Lucky Cherries? The casino outside town.”

  I shake my head. “Is it glitzy?”

  “Very glitzy. Opened six years ago. The owner is this guy called Verne Resnik, who’s super hot too, but I’ve never met him in person. I want to work there someday,” Cora says with a dreamy look. “Then maybe I’ll earn enough to get out of this town and move to LA. I want to be a model. But Mom always says the casino is ‘bad.’ She never tells me why though. She wants me to study hard and go to college.”