Bad Boy Rebel (Salma Rebels Book 1)

by Skye Darrel

  I throw up my hands. “I don’t get him.”

  “He likes you. Plain as day.”

  My face warms when I think of his guest room, the sensation of his tongue inside me, before I remember how he left the bar this afternoon and shake my head. “Doubt it.”

  “Doubt all you want, but he’s head over heels.”

  He has a strange way of showing it.

  Juno pours herself another shot. Only a quarter of the bottle is left. She downs the glass and falls silent, staring at the jukebox with vacant eyes.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” I ask.

  “Shoot.”

  “Cora told me about you and Eugene.” I wait for her response, ready to drop the topic altogether. Juno and I may be fast friends, but I have no wish to dig up old wounds.

  “And what did my daughter say?”

  “Um, that Eugene Wade is her dad. And, well, you didn’t marry him.”

  She chuckles. “Say it out loud, city girl. I don’t mind.”

  “So . . . how’d it happen? How’d you meet him?”

  “The eighth grade happened. We saw each other at lunch and it was love at first sight. You might think me peculiar. But that’s how it happened, I saw him and I knew. He did too. By tenth grade, we were an item. This wasn’t puppy love either. He loved me like only a Wade could.” Juno’s eyes go soft. “It was total. Complete. Almost suffocating. Almost. He would’ve jumped off a cliff for me.”

  I perk up. That sounds like Asher with me yesterday, but I don’t know about the cliff part. “Was Eugene hot?” I could smack myself for asking that, but I’m too tipsy.

  Juno waves her hand. “Oh yeah. Hottest guy at school.”

  I giggle. “Really?”

  “Really. He had girls asking about him from the next county, I’m not exaggerating. But he always stayed true to me. We waited until senior year to take our clothes off, and when he did, well it was the worth the wait for me. We made Cora that spring. We weren’t planning on it, but I don’t regret my baby at all. ”

  I’m surprised how well this conversation is going.

  I ask Juno why Eugene’s name isn’t on Cora’s birth certificate, why the secrecy, and Juno puts a hand on her hip. She’s still smiling, but I can tell she’s defensive about Eugene.

  “He wanted to step up,” she says. “He wanted to be a father, and I knew he’d be a good one. I’d seen him taking care of little Pris and Ash.”

  Juno tells me that not long after Priscilla’s birth, when Eugene was seven years old and Asher only two, their parents died. The father had a stroke. The mother died of kidney disease.

  Eugene grew up fast. Relatives pitched in as guardians, but it was Eugene who kept the three siblings together as a family. He’d been like a father to Pris and Asher.

  “He was strong,” Juno says. “Eugene Wade had no choice but to be strong, and he was. I loved that about him.”

  “Then, what happened when you had Cora?”

  Juno gives me a sad smile. “He didn’t abandon us, Natalie. When I told him I wanted to keep my baby, Eugene supported me. He wanted to stay in Salma’s Hope. He was only seventeen, mind you, and he had a baby sister and brother to worry about too. Pris had just turned twelve, Asher thirteen. Eugene needed a career to support them. He’d already been accepted into West Point, which was no easy feat. If the school had found out about our baby, they would’ve rescinded his admission. West Point frowns upon that sort of thing.

  “I talked with my parents. We decided it was best to keep Cora a secret until Eugene made himself in the world. Thinking back, that’d been a mistake, but we can’t fix the past, can we? He visited every chance he had. He became an officer, a good one, and he went to Afghanistan. He planned to leave the Army after ten years, but . . .” Juno’s voice cracks and she looks away. “War is war. I heard it said women suffer the most in war, and that sounds about right. Eugene never came back.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, but I’m even sorrier for Cora.

  “I know my daughter doesn’t have the kindest feelings for her father, but she’s young. Someday, I hope she’ll understand. Or maybe she won’t and that’s fine too.” Juno finishes the bottle of Jack. “Want to know what Asher was like in high school?”

  “Do I even want to know?”

  She laughs. “I know what you’re thinking, city girl. Hotshot quarterback must be a jock, dating all the cheerleaders and whatnot. Asher wasn’t like that all. He was a looker like his brother, but he wasn’t a talker like him. Asher was quiet. Intense. Always frowning. You could never figure out what he was thinking. I’d already graduated, but Coach Putnam knew we were close, and he used to visit me and complain about how Asher Wade would sit through pep rallies like he was attending a funeral. Unbefitting of a quarterback. We don’t like lone wolves in this town. I don’t know, he had anger in him, always did. This town used to call him a bad boy, but I think he was just lost in his own way.”

  Juno goes on for a while about Asher’s high school antics. The fights. Arguments with teachers. It seems Asher was super smart and got good grades, as long as he wasn’t in detention.

  But I’m secretly pleased about the lack of previous doll faces.

  “Now Priscilla Wade—” Juno’s face brightens “—she was the sweet one, an angel on earth, always helping out around town with anyone who asked. Pris could get Asher to crack a smile. They were inseparable, and even though she was younger, he listened to that girl. The teachers would call Pris when they had a problem with Asher, and she’d talk him down from whatever foolishness he got himself stuck in. He loved his sister dearly. And she, I think, balanced him.” Juno sighs. “But there was one time he did not listen to Pris.”

  I swallow. “When?”

  “After Eugene died. I was there when they found out. It was December, two days before Christmas. We were sitting in the living room chatting, and the door rang. Asher opened it. Outside stood these two soldiers in blue. A woman and a man, full uniform and everything. Right away Pris knew. I knew. We held each other, but we didn’t cry. That would come later. But Asher? He was nineteen and back home from college. He went hysterical, cried his eyes out. The only time in my life I’ve seen him shed a tear. One of the soldiers handed him a handkerchief and said, ‘No shame, son.’ Asher’s tears dried up. He became quiet, more quiet than he’d ever been.”

  Juno’s eyes are distant.

  “He stopped playing football. He buckled down and studied hard so he could graduate early. Then he enlisted. To avenge Eugene, he actually told Pris that. She tried to talk him out of it. I tried too. We told him he was joining for the wrong reasons, but he wouldn’t hear of it.” Juno shakes her head. “Two months after that, Verne Resnik proposed to Priscilla.”

  My heart thumps as Juno’s eyes meet mine.

  “And the rest,” she says, “happened.”

  Juno falls silent.

  I think about how much Asher has lost and wonder how it changed him. I rethink my own life. Sure, I’m not in a good place career-wise, or personal wise, or anything wise, but I still have Mom and Dad. We’re not on speaking terms, but they’re out there. Asher has no one, unless you count Juno—and maybe me.

  But what am I to him?

  A stray girl who happened to land on his porch.

  “Time to close up,” Juno says. She gets her purse from under the register and studies me again. “You gonna be okay alone?”

  “Yes. Leave the dishes, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Don’t eat all the cheesecake, hon.”

  “No promises.”

  Juno laughs as she comes around the bar. “Go Panthers.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a saying we have in Salma’s Hope.”

  “Oh right, your football team.”

  “That’s how it started, but it means more than that now. It means hope and joy and everything good. In Salma’s Hope, it’s like saying hello or goodbye or how was your day.” Juno smiles. “G’night, hon. Go Pant
hers.”

  “Go Panthers,” I say.

  After cleaning up the bar, I go upstairs and check my phone.

  No messages from Branigan, which is either really good or really bad. I open my browser and find I haven’t been locked out of Branigan Realty’s online listings, which is good. I enter a new listing for Gatsby’s Victorian and hope for the best.

  I have a long list of missed calls, the first few from Chief Dunkel.

  When I call him back, Dunkel apologizes profusely. He didn’t mean to tell my boss where I’m staying. He had no idea who Branigan was, which is a bit odd, since Liam Branigan the Third usually makes sure you know who he is. My boss is very successful, very wealthy, and runs a very big real estate business. He needs everyone he meets to understand that.

  Chief Dunkel sounds so miserable, I tell him to forget it.

  “Ms. Whipple, if I’d known what that sonofabitch was up to, I would’ve run him out of town my own damn self.”

  “It’s okay, really.”

  Dunkel sighs. “Juno told me Wade handled them.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tanned their hides,” he says with relish.

  “Um, she told you about the fight?”

  “The quick version.”

  I sink into bed, relieved Asher won’t be arrested, but also concerned that the town’s top cop is praising what was basically a bar brawl. My mom, a lawyer, would go bonkers right now.

  Dunkel assures me that if Branigan ever comes back, he’ll send that man right off to the highway, and I thank him.

  I look at the rest of my missed calls, all from Asher. No messages. While I consider whether to call back, he calls again, and the ringtone nearly gives me a heart attack. Freaking Asher Wade. I tap Accept.

  “Natalie,” he says in a flat voice.

  “What, no doll face?”

  “Hey, doll face.”

  “You left here in a hurry,” I say. “Enjoyed your run?”

  “I wasn’t running from you,” he says. “I needed to think.”

  Reaching into my bag, I dig out the lock of hair he’d returned to me from Titus. I rub it between my fingers. “You can’t think around me?”

  “No.”

  “Think about . . . ?”

  “Your safety. People close to me tend to die.”

  I don’t know if I should be touched, annoyed, or downright mad. He’s right. He’s lost so much, but at the same time, I don’t want a man who treats me like a distraction to his revenge plan. “Asher, the universe doesn’t revolve around you.”

  “I know, doll face.”

  “Juno said you like me,” I say like a total idiot.

  “I love you.”

  He’s always been direct. “If you really love someone you don’t need to say it.”

  “Where the hell did you hear that?”

  “Dunno, a movie I think.”

  “It’s bullshit,” he growls. “I love you and I’ll say it to your face whenever I want.”

  I’m silent for half a heartbeat. “Actually, you’re saying it over the phone.”

  “I’m on my way to Goldilocks. Stay there.”

  I shuffle to the window. The sun has set and the sidewalk below is empty. After dark, what passes for downtown Salma’s Hope turns into a sleepy haze, the few streetlamps glowing warmly in the summer night.

  “I’m going to bed,” I say.

  “Natalie—”

  I hang up and climb into bed and stare at the ceiling. I’m not playing hard to get. I’ve seen my friends do it in college and it always felt like theater. What’s the point? I hung up because I’m tired, and after everything that’s happened today, I can’t take any more surprises. Not from Asher or anyone.

  How can we be a couple?

  Him with the scars I can’t begin to understand. Me, a silly girl trying to find her place in the world and failing badly.

  What happened yesterday in his guest room was a mistake. That’s what I’m thinking when he calls again and says he’s almost here.

  15

  Staking My Claim

  Asher

  My phone buzzes.

  Natalie’s tone is curt. “You’re not coming in.”

  “Then I’ll wait outside.”

  “Have fun sleeping with the fireflies,” she says.

  “I’ve slept in ditches with goat manure, bugs are nothing.”

  Natalie pauses. “Was that a joke?”

  “It’s also true.”

  “What do you want? It’s one in the morning.”

  “Show me your picture.”

  “Picture?”

  “You were sketching a picture when we started on my lawn. Told me you’d show it to me when you finish. Is it finished?”

  I hear her breathe faster.

  “It’s a drawing of you. Nothing special. And it’s not finished.”

  “Show me anyway. I want to see it, come out with your notebook and show it to me.”

  Natalie ends the call without answering.

  I sit on the hood of my car and soak in the summer night. A single streetlamp casts a warm light over the back lot of Goldilocks. The shops on Main Street have all shuttered, and the sidewalks are deserted. Crickets and cicadas clack in the night while a thousand stars glitter overhead.

  It’s peaceful.

  On nights like these, my thoughts wander back to childhood, when Eugene would take Pris and me exploring along the river. We used to go on these long summer hikes and sleep under the open sky. Eugene worked through high school and never got below an A-, but he always found the time to go on hikes with us. Pris loved those hiking trips. She’d scramble over every boulder and splash along the pebbled banks of the river in her bare feet while Eugene yelled for her to watch out for sharp rocks.

  One summer, we spent three whole weeks trekking upriver, camping in the wilds. Pris and I were in middle school, and Eugene had hit his stride at Salma High. He’d brought Juno along too, and I remember thinking at the time this strange girl with her big boobs was trying to steal my brother away. Juno Newlin won me over of course, Pris too. A big heart will do that.

  We found this perfect little cave a few miles north of town and built ourselves a camp. We vowed to tell no one else about our discovery. We named that cave Neverland, our secret getaway. We went up there every summer until Eugene graduated.

  I didn’t know it then, but those would be the happiest days of my life.

  The night before my brother left for West Point, he said it’d be my responsibility to look after our baby sister. And look how well I did.

  “I finished it.”

  Natalie’s voice startles me.

  She’s standing at the back entrance to Goldilocks with her notebook and pencil, and for once, no messenger bag around her shoulder. “Your portrait,” she says, walking over to me. “The lighting here adds a debonair quality to your face.”

  “Debonair? What is that, French?” I know what debonair means, but she looks so good in her little dress patterned with flowers, I want to get her riled up before she kills me with sheer cuteness.

  She rolls her eyes and shows me her notebook. “Check it out.”

  It’s a portrait of me staring slightly to the side. Chiseled jaw, stern eyes, tousled hair. “I don’t look this pretty, doll face.”

  Her face reddens. “It’s pretty accurate.”

  “Why aren’t you in art school again?”

  “Parents were against it, they wanted me to have a real profession.”

  I look at her. “You parents must be blind.”

  “Be nice.”

  “So what, they wanted you to sell houses?”

  “No,” she says with a sigh. “That’s on me. I listened to my parents for a while in college. By the time I was brave enough to do my own thing, I was already a junior. Too late to change my major to studio art. But art history was the next best thing, which has very little to do with art actually. After I graduated the only job I could find was with Branigan Realty, who needed a
‘presentable’ female agent. Got my license and thought I was lucky to have a job.” She leans against the bumper. “I’m a total failure.”

  “You’re not,” I say. “You found what you wanted. That takes time. You’re chasing your dream now.”

  Natalie gives me a sidelong look. “Giving me career advice?”

  “I wouldn’t dare.”

  She hugs the notebook to her chest. “Thanks.”

  “Tell you what, paint a portrait of me, and I’ll put it on my wall. Better yet, paint yourself. I’d rather look at that.”

  Natalie stares at me with her lips tightly pressed.

  I lift her onto the hood and bring my mouth to hers. My cock hardens at once, but I ignore my urges and focus on her pleasure, kissing her sweet lips as my tongue slides over hers.

  She moans softly.

  I run my fingers down her chin as she wraps her legs around my hips, her feet planted on the bumper. The skirt of her dress slides higher and higher.

  I’m no good for her. Too many broken things in my past, but her big eyes pull at me and so do her hands around my waist.

  Our bodies press together, my erection pushing through my jeans into her panties, her breasts mashed against my chest, and I can feel her hard nipples.

  I growl in her ear, “Last chance to get away, little girl.”

  “I’ll stay right here.”

  She lies back on the hood, still holding her notebook, her dress pulled up to reveal baby pink panties with a tiny ribbon at the front.

  “Princess panties again?”

  Her cheeks are red.

  I strip to the waist and wrap her notebook in my shirt. I place the bundle carefully on the ground and turn my hungry eyes on her feminine charms. I hold her legs apart, admiring the sweep of her curvy hips that feel like heaven under my firm hands.

  My cock throbs with heat.

  She looks so innocent, but I know she didn’t pick those panties by accident. “I’ll ask you one more time. Has anyone been in your pussy before?” My tone voice is husky, barely controlled. I could sink my teeth into the flesh of her thighs.

  “N-No.”

  “And why is that?”

  Natalie pouts. “I never met the right guy—”