BADDY: A Small Town Crime Romance

by Nikki Wild

“Anywhere you wanna go, man,” Mickey said. “You know how tickled I am to see you in the passenger seat? Shiiiiiit…”

  I threw him a punch as he laughed at my scowl. It was really getting to me. I was a driver. It’s what I did. My blood was gasoline. My heart was a battery. My hands fit on a steering wheel like a man fits inside a woman.

  That got my head wheeling in a dangerous direction. For a brief moment, I wondered what it might feel like to drive myself deep into little Misty’s willing depths…

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, throwing that idea straight back out of my head. “I’ll have a car again soon enough. You’ll see.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Mickey said, watching me watching the road. “Cheer up. Parole don’t last forever.”

  No, but it might last a lifetime, depending on how long you had to live. Helping Misty was the right thing, the only thing, but it wouldn’t all be skinny whores needing a fix, and I knew it. I could be a frog in hot water. I might be boiled alive. And if I never drove again, before I went to my eternal punishment?

  Well, that’d be almost as bad as never fucking again.

  Almost.

  Chapter 14

  Misty

  This time when I got home from work, it was a smell that had me pausing at the door.

  A good smell. Melted cheese. Cream of mushroom soup. Fried onions, and chicken.

  After a particularly long and poop-filled shift at the shelter, I all but floated into the kitchen like one of those cartoon characters following the scent to its source.

  “You look like you got hit by a truck...”

  Alright. Maybe it didn’t smell that good after all. Rev stood with a knife in his hand, looking down at his fingers as he made quick work of some chard. That’s right. Chard. Not iceberg lettuce. Not even baby spinach from a bag. Chard.

  He was smiling, which indicated that he was joking. But he was also quite intent on his knife work. I watched in stunned silence as he turned the huge, leafy greens into a tidy pile of chopped leaves and sliced stems. The stems went into a Dutch oven on top of the stove where onions were frying. The source of the melty-cheese smell was yet to be revealed. Was it nachos?

  If it was nachos, I really wouldn’t stand a chance against him…

  I noticed Purrloin lounging on top of the toaster oven, watching Rev intently. It never ceased to amaze me that she tolerated him so well. Here he was, a stranger, a man, no less, in her kitchen - and she was taking notes on his technique so she could host her own dinner party. Traitor.

  “What’re you making?” I finally managed to ask the logical question.

  “Chicken Divan with some sautéed veggies,” he answered, leaning back against the counter. He kept one eye on the simmering pan, the other judging me. I looked down at my scrubs. Alright. Sure. I could use a shower.

  “Kennedy has a bladder infection,” I said by way of explanation, pointing to one stain on my pants. “And Joshua…well, he just has a lot of drool to share with the world.”

  “I’m going to assume those are pets at the shelter. What about the…purple stuff?”

  “Oh,” I said. “Red got adopted. But he gets carsick, so he needs to get medicine…but he also gets medicine-sick so…”

  “You do get paid for that job, right?” he smirked. I wished he was wearing an apron or a goofy hat or even a sweater. Instead, he was wearing a damn-near see-through undershirt, his tattoos on full display, his lean waist twisting with muscular grace as he simultaneously stirred the vegetables and reached across the kitchen for a mysterious brown sauce.

  “In kisses,” I said, enjoying the shocked look on his face as my words hit home. “Yeah. Of course I get paid. Not a whole lot, but enough.”

  “But really, deep down, you do it for the kisses,” Rev grinned, somehow still managing to cook like a pro while not even looking at what his hands were doing.

  “They’re the best in the world,” I shrugged.

  “Baby, you only think that because you haven’t had one of mine,” he said with a wink, leaning down to open the oven. That delicious, mushroom-y, cheesy, chicken-y smell hit me like a tsunami, and I almost forgot to hate him for trying to flirt with me. He glanced up from below, which made him look awfully adorable, his black eyes wide open under dark brows. “So, are you gonna shower, or am I eating this alone?”

  “Hey,” I protested. “Whose house is this again?”

  “Homeowner doesn’t trump cook.”

  “Says who? Are those Queensbury Rules? I’m calling the league…”

  “The sooner you get cleaned up, the sooner you get your lips on what you so clearly want,” he taunted, and now there was no way to ignore the hiss that sharpened my breath.

  “Fine,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “But only because I was going to shower anyway, because I’m not an animal.”

  “No, you just like kissing ‘em,” he said before I could escape the kitchen’s building heat. I shot him a glance over my shoulder and regretted it at once. He was smirking again.

  I flipped him the bird and went to take a shower.

  A cold one.

  The shower gave me time to talk myself down. I was feeling wild because I was hungry, and he was saying all that shit because…well, because that’s what a guy like Rev does. Still, one question lingered:

  What the hell was this convicted criminal doing making a three-course meal with chard?

  “Much better,” Rev nodded with approval as I emerged, hair still wet, into the dining room. At least there weren’t candles. There was wine, though. At least, I thought it was wine. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was vodka. I gave him a questioning look, tipping the bottle. He shrugged.

  “I drank whiskey last night,” he said. “I’m going backwards through the alphabet.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “Well, then you’ll need these…”

  I threw open the freezer and reached past a couple bags of vegetables to grab a couple of frosted glasses I kept in there for the hard stuff. Rev looked surprised as I poured us each a double shot. I wasn’t a lightweight, and I wanted to remind him that he wasn’t the only one in the room who could play in the big leagues. I was Millions Constantino’s daughter, I had his blood in my veins, and that afforded me a certain level of genetic badassery.

  “Cheers,” I said, and we went shot-for-shot, eyes locked over our glasses. Slammed ‘em down, and he poured us another. But this one would go with dinner, and I settled down across from him, the plates steaming and piled high.

  “Speaking of finer things,” I said. “Where did you learn to cook? And…why? I mean, why did you make all this? You can thank me by keeping me alive, and finding out who’s after me.”

  “A woman my father kept around for awhile taught me,” he said. “She was Brazilian and took a liking to me. She was either going to teach me Portuguese or cooking, and I wasn’t much for learning a second language. Dear old dad made a mistake when he kicked that one to the curb, but that’s how he did things. He was always bringing in new blood…”

  “Huh,” I said, and thought about how I really knew nothing about Rev or his father, compared to how much Rev knew about me and mine. I guess that I’d learned something, at least. No mother, and a lot of not-mothers coming and going. Interesting.

  I brought the first forkful of steaming chicken to my mouth, discomforted by the way Rev gazed at me intently, waiting for my reaction. The minute it hit my taste buds, I was gone. My eyes rolled back into my head and I moaned - it was that good. When I opened my eyes again, I was still too distracted by the flavors in my mouth to notice how Rev was looking at me. Like he was wondering if I looked the same when I was doing something a little more intimate than eating...

  Why don’t you let him find out? whispered some awful voice in my head.

  “I made it because I missed cooking,” he finally answered the rest of my question. “The best you can do inside is fancy ramen. I like chopping vegetables. It’s…meditative. Helps you think.”

  “M
mm,” I murmured through another mouthful. I could understand that. I never did much cooking myself, but on the rare occasion that I did, it was nice...

  “This is also a celebration,” he said, lifting his vodka. I took his cue and lifted my own, one eyebrow quirked. My pulse sped up a little, hope entering my unwilling heart.

  “I got another lead.”

  “Do tell,” I said. But he wouldn’t; not until we had our drinks swallowed and another shot poured. And then he laid it out for me. I could tell it wasn’t much of a lead at all, but anything was better than what I’d managed to dig up. With the vodka and the food joining forces, I felt surprisingly calm for the first time in days. Things were happening. Rev was doing what he said he’d do. He was making people talk. He knew how. He had friends. He could help. He was going to save me.

  I found myself wanting to show him more than just a little bit of my appreciation…

  “I didn’t make dessert,” Rev said, snapping me out of a reverie I wasn’t aware I was in. Dirty thoughts were rolling through my mind. I looked down at my plate and was shocked to find that it was mostly finished. I was doubly shocked to discover that I was halfway through my fourth drink.

  My first thought was a crazy one.

  He’s drugged me. He’s drugged the food. Or the vodka.

  How else could I have gotten that lost in my own head, enough to have eaten and drank that much without noticing?

  But then I realized it wasn’t me that was thinking that about Rev. He’d been eating and drinking the exact same meal as me. No, I wasn’t the one who was afraid of Rev taking advantage of me.

  It was my father.

  My goddamn old man. Whose bedtime stories always taught me that given the slightest chance, a man would hurt me. Who scared away every boy who ever liked me. Who never stopped reminding me of all the ways a man could hurt a woman. He’s the one who taught me to never trust anyone with a dick between their legs. Even dead and gone, it was his voice in my head telling me to be scared, telling me to protect myself, telling me that I was better off alone.

  Alone, I was safe.

  Alright, I was drunk. Drunk enough to get angry at a dead man. Because I’d listened to my father my whole life, and where had it gotten me? Death threats and a spacious bed. Couldn’t even look at a man without seeing all the possible ways he could hurt me. Convinced I never needed a human body against my own. And missing out on all of it. All of it. Everything a woman needed. A man. Like the one sitting across from me, with his strong jaw and his inked arms and his blazing black eyes.

  Fuck it. What would my old man say if he saw me, wined and dined by the man who used to drive his getaway cars?

  And what would he say if he knew that my nipples were getting hard just looking at Rev? If he knew my lips were tingling, my eyes traveling every inch of Rev’s face, thinking of all the places my tongue could go?

  Alright, I was drunk. But I been thinking about Rev all goddamned day, and I was going to do something about it.

  And there was no one left to tell me not to.

  “Misty? Are you alright?” Rev asked. I’d been staring at him silently for far too long. I set my fork down.

  “It’s alright that there’s no dessert,” I said. “I can think of some other things to satisfy us.”

  He choked on his vodka, and I smirked. Finally, I was getting a response from him.

  “Damn, I knew it was a good meal, but…”

  “You want me, right, Rev?” I rose, putting my hands on the table, leaning forward, letting my arms squeeze my chest so that I could show off what little cleavage I had. “We’ve been dancing around that for days now. Weeks. Maybe you’ve always wanted me…”

  He stared up at me, his eyes unreadable, his jaw set.

  “What do you think I taste like, Rev?” I purred, tapping into some inner vixen I’d never met before. “Cotton candy? Do you want to know what color my nipples are? Want to know if I have an innie, or an outie? C’mon. Guess.”

  “Misty…”

  He growled my name so deep and low that I felt it in my bones, burning to my core, making my clit twitch. This hunger in me felt new. I liked it. I liked it so fucking much. His eyes never released me as I walked around the table, planting myself before him. Shoving the dishes to the side, I sat down, his face level with my knees.

  I knew what to do. I was made to do this. I’d get Rev inside me. In that moment, suspended in lust and anger and fear and need, it was my singular purpose. I grabbed his shirt and pulled, until he came willingly, rising and planting his arms on either side of my body, leaning in close so I could smell the man and vodka and warmth on his skin. He was above me now, he licked his lips, he pushed himself between my knees.

  “C’mon,” I whispered, my heart in my throat and my mouth wet with want. “Do it, Rev. Do what you’ve wanted to do to me since you saw me. Do whatever you want to do to me. I can take it.”

  “Fuck,” he groaned, and then he was on me, lips on lips, tongue pushing its way into me, hand moving to the back of my neck and gripping hard. His arm circled my waist and he yanked until I was nearly falling off the table, his jeans pressing against me, his cock hard behind his zipper.

  I moaned, bringing my hands to his shoulders, his neck, his head. The peach-fuzz of his hair was infinite sensation on my palms, his tongue couldn’t leave mine alone, he dove into every inch of my mouth. Pulling away, he sucked my bottom lip until it stretched. And then he crawled back, growling into my mouth, his hips rolling between my thighs. No one had ever kissed me like this. Like they could swallow me whole. Like they could take every sensible part of me and smash it to pieces. Like they could make me their slave. Like they already had.

  By the time he ripped his lips from mine, I was dripping wet.

  And then, impossibly, horribly, painfully, he pushed himself out from between my knees.

  “Fuck!” He screamed, turning away from me, my lips swollen and hot, my mind trying to catch up. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  “Rev, what…what the hell?”

  “I can’t do this,” he spit, and gave me one long look, his dark eyes fiery enough to match my burning gut.

  “What? Can’t do what?”

  Nothing made sense. One minute, we were seconds away from ripping each others’ clothes off, and now…?

  “You’re drunk.”

  “So?” Was Rev actually denying me because I was drunk? How very fucking Homecoming King of him. All I felt was anger. I didn’t need him to be the good guy right now. I needed him at his worst.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing, and you’re going to wake up regretting it, and then we’re both fucked,” he said, shoulders heaving. I could still see the hard outline of his cock in his jeans. His impressively sized cock. Well, fuck it. He could keep it. This was his chance. If he wanted to blow it, he could blow it. His loss, right? I didn’t care, I didn’t care at all…

  “Are you serious, Rev? You’re turning all boy scout on me? Don’t tell me you’ve never fucked a drunk girl before.”

  Why was I even still arguing? He said no. He said no, to me. It was over. The night was over. Go to bed, Misty-Lee, my mind said. Leave it, leave it be…

  “Misty,” he said, turning slowly to face me head-on. He took a step forward in a way that was almost meanacing.

  “I’m not going to fuck you when you’re drunk, because when I do fuck you, I want you to be there for every fucking second of it. All of you. Stone cold sober, and feeling every…”

  He got closer, and my lips remembered his, yearned for them again.

  “…single…”

  He was close enough to smell. Close enough to touch. Close enough to take, if he’d let me, if I could, if he’d just let me…

  “…thing.”

  I didn’t breathe until he was gone from the room. Luckily, he left quickly. His door slammed shut, and I was alone. More alone than I could remember being in a long time. The clock in the kitchen ticked. Purrloin walked across the room, bl
issfully unaware of the plight of a species that can’t fuck without their brains getting in the way.

  I brought the vodka to bed with me. It wasn’t Rev, but it would have to do.

  Chapter 15

  Rev

  I could barely recognize myself in the mirror.

  Prison changes a man, obviously. But it usually makes him harder, not softer

  Last night, she’d been so ready to go. She’d been begging me. She taunted me, knowing I’d bite, wanting me to. And her lips - oh, fuck, her lips. Softer than cashmere. Her mouth was the land of milk and honey. And her body, all lithe and tight and so. Damn. Fuckable.

  But I’d stopped her. I’d stopped both of us. Why? Because she was tipsy? She had four drinks! Same as me. And I’d stopped it. Went to bed hard as a rock, woke up the same. All night long I dreamed of what would have happened if I’d caved. If I hadn’t felt that awful tugging in my stomach that said it wasn’t right. It wasn’t the right way to do it.

  For the first time in my life, I felt like I had a reason to care about how a woman might feel in the morning.

  So why the hell was Misty any different than the others?

  I knew that women could mean more to people. Lord knows my father taught me how much damage a woman could do. My old man was a pure addict. He snorted women like cocaine. Every last one of them broke his heart, and the next minute he was out finding a new one to cure his shakes.

  I must plenty come through our door growing up, and not a single one of them stayed. Not the ones I hated, and not the ones I loved. At some point, I stopped loving them, because I knew how quick they’d be gone. I don’t know if he drove them away, or if he just had a taste for walkers, but either way I learned a thing or two about women growing up. Namely, that they would come and go quicker than you could blink, so you better take what you want from them while you can.

  Misty had offered herself up on a silver platter, and I didn’t take anything more than a bite.

  A bite that left me ravenous.