Damaged Rebel Next DoorA Neighbor Rebel Romance

by Melissa Devenport

  Kian didn’t truly care so he checked out. Fiacco had been kind enough to offer him a stiff drink, a tall glass half full of whiskey, when he’d walked into his office. He took full advantage of his host, tipping back the glass and taking a long pull of the amber liquid. It burned its way down his throat, warming his stomach. It did nothing to numb the pain in his heart. Yet. He was sure it would, if he consumed enough.

  Maybe a whole bottle. Maybe then I’d stop seeing their faces.

  The hiss of pouring rain, the pitch black of the night, the scream of his wife, the screech of metal hitting metal, the hard crunch of impact echoed through his brain. He jerked hard at the shrill ringing in his temples, the horrible sound that was the last sound his wife ever made.

  “Kian? Fiacco stopped speaking and raised a brow.

  Kian gave himself a mental shake. The image of Cynthia’s beautiful face, bloodied, smashed from the airbag breaking her nose, cut up with shards of broken glass, her luminous brown eyes stilled for life, open and sightless passed in front of his eyes. He blinked hard and the image swam away, back to the past.

  “Yah. Sorry.” He slammed back another mouthful of whiskey. He didn’t taste it, hardly felt the burn past the overwhelming pressure of grief that threatened to cave his chest in.

  Jordan Fiacco went on, prattling off more details, costs, the benefits, time it would take. It took Kian all of a minute to check back out. Fiacco was nearing fifty, or just over. He couldn’t actually remember. His dark black hair was always combed impeccably back. His black eyes were shrewd, but not entirely unkind. He was the kind of man who was loyal to those who were loyal to him. His family was his entire life.

  Kian could relate to that. His family meant everything to him. At least, until that night four years ago, until the accident that ripped them away from him. The guy who careened through a red light, smashing into the passenger side of their car, hadn’t been drunk. He hadn’t been elderly or careless. It was just raining so damn hard that night it all but obliterated the traffic lights and the guy couldn’t see them coming until it was too late. A comedy of errors that wasn’t a fucking comedy at all. That night not only ruined his life. It changed everything he was.

  “Kian. Are you listening?”

  He snapped to again and realized that Fiacco was sitting patiently, obviously awaiting his input. Kian mumbled some response that he hoped passed for assent to whatever Fiacco’s plans were. He knew the guy would never lose money. The club meant everything to him. It was his retirement plan. Kian was just the partner and the capital he’d been waiting for. He did him the courtesy of discussing plans as well as depositing a huge sum of money into his corporate account every single month.

  Fiacco wasn’t the weasel kind. No, he was just slick. He managed to stay off law enforcement’s radar. He obeyed the laws, paid taxes and ran a legit business, at least on the books. He turned a blind eye to the shit that went down in the club so long as no one got hurt or worse, stabbed, shot or killed. He knew just the right palms to grease to keep the heat out of their establishment.

  Yes, one look at Jordan Fiacco, two years ago in that seedy bar where he’d popped in for a drink raised a shit pile of red flags in Kian’s mind. Years of instinct and training were hard to smother. That’s what he’d instantly liked about the guy. The fact that he was the exact opposite of what Kian himself was at the time. The fact that he lived beneath the law, but somehow above it as well. Investing with Fiacco gave Kian the chance to get as far away from his old self as he possibly could.

  “Alright, I think we’re pretty much done here.” Fiacco folded his hands on top of his oak desk. He eyed Kian, those dark eyes cutting right through him. The guy didn’t know a damn thing about Kian’s past, but he still got the feeling once and a while that Fiacco could tell he’d once belonged to the badge wearing, gun toting kind.

  “Thanks for everything,” Kian mumbled. “You’ve got a good hold on this place. You always have. I’m proud to be in business with you.”

  “Because I make it easy for you to put your money in and shut up?”

  “That’s right.” Kian slammed back the rest of his whiskey, a good four or five ounces. He sighed after and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I told you at the start I liked being a silent partner. You could pretty much do whatever you want here. I know you would never lose money. It’s not in you not to be a success.”

  “Not when my entire life is on the line.”

  Kian nodded, though he knew the guy didn’t have a fucking clue what that truly meant. He couldn’t, unless his wife, Martha and his daughters, Alexa and Savannah, were taken from him.

  “You going out to get a drink?”

  “What makes you say that?” Kian froze half way out of the upholstered chair in front of Fiacco’s desk.

  “The look on your face. No, the shit in your eyes. It’s absolutely haunting. I know when you look like that, that I’m going to be erasing one hell of a tab.”

  “What can I say,” Kian shrugged. “I’m not exactly a cheap date. Take it off my total at the end of the month.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it. Do us all a favor and take a cab home after.”

  “Of course. I might look like an ass, act like it too, but I’m not stupid.”

  Fiacco actually cracked a smile. It was legit, warmed with the odd friendship between the two men. It hadn’t started out as being genuine, but somehow over the years, it had turned into true feeling. Kian would have been hard pressed to admit he trusted Fiacco, but he did. He actually liked the guy too, in a grudging half respectful sort of way. The guy could turn even dirt into gold, given the chance.

  “What are you trying to drink away this time? A bad breakup? A hard day at work?”

  “You could say that.” Kian’s back molar ached. He’d been grinding his teeth together all day so that made sense.

  “You know, you’ve had dinner at my house, with my family many times over the years. You’ve never once returned the favor. I don’t even know where you came from.”

  “Does that matter?” Kian slowly turned and reached the door. He glanced back over his shoulder just once before his hand hit the handle of the heavy steel door and gave it a slow turn. “My place is a dump and I cook like shit. I couldn’t return the favor. As to where I came from… some things are best left unknown. For all of us.”

  “Yah,” Fiacco mumbled as Kian pulled open the door. “I figured it was something like that.”

  The heavy door shut soundly behind him. Kian nodded to Dan, the young, massive mountain of a man who stood outside in the hall. The concrete walls and heavy door prevented sound from traveling in or out of the office, but the guy was there just to be sure no stragglers escaped the confines of the club and wondered down private hallways into offices where cash, staff records, and personal belongings were kept.

  The guy was so large he made Kian look small in comparison. Not many people could say that. He started down the long hall and all but burst through the other steel door that led straight into the club.

  It wasn’t exactly seedy, but it was dark. It had plenty of corners and booths to hide everything people could dream of. Drug deals, sex, escorts, or just a night of wanting to forget in private; you name it, the club was good for it.

  Kian slid into the back booth, the booth that was just his. He rested his hands on the table top, leaned back and waited. Waited for his whiskeys to arrive and send him into the oblivion he longed for. Some pain went so deep, it couldn’t be erased. It couldn’t be forgotten either, but he was damn well going to make a valiant attempt at trying. Just for one night. For the span of an hour, he wanted oblivion. Oblivion, because he knew, in every fiber of his being, that he’d never have peace again.

  Chapter 5

  The Unexpected

  Katelyn

  The slamming of a car door pulled Katelyn out of a deep, dreamless sleep. She started, shifting so rapidly that she sent Missy flying off her lap.

  Her heart slammed
against her ribs, her pulse spiked and her breathing went wild. A cold sweat broke out over her entire body. She leaned forward at the corner of the window and parted the blinds with a shaking hand, peeking out discreetly.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. It was only a cab, parked just behind her car. Surely John wouldn’t take a damn cab there to come and find her. That wasn’t her ex-husband’s style. If he didn’t have the latest, newest, flashiest of anything, he was doing something wrong, and that included his car.

  The back door of the white and red cab opened and the tall, broad, familiar form of her neighbor appeared. The man whose name she didn’t even know though she’d been living next to him for almost a year.

  One big black, shitkicker of a boot, probably steel toed in a size thirteen, hit the pavement. He followed that up with the other and shut the door. Hard. Hard enough to make an echo. She wondered which car door woke her in the first place. Had the driver got out for something or was it someone else entirely?

  She glanced down guiltily at her cat, who stared up at her, a ruffled expression on her face. “Sorry, girl. I didn’t mean to throw you off me like that.” She patted her lap, but Missy snubbed her, walking off in favor of the kitchen and her food bowl.

  Katelyn glanced back out the blinds. Her index finger rested there, parting them as though peeking out at her neighbor in the middle of the night was a perfectly ordinary occurrence for her. She was about to let go, let those blinds fall back into their closed position, shutting off the outside world, but she just couldn’t. Something was off. It captured her attention and held her frozen, locked in place like a peeping Tom.

  The massive guy was clad in his normal leather jacket and jeans. Only the black leather chaps were missing since his bike was parked in his stall adjacent to her car. He’d obviously been at the bar. Drinking, if the sway in his step was any indication.

  He stumbled across the asphalt parking lot towards the sidewalk which led to his front door. Katelyn held her breath. Good lord, he’s a mess. She’d gladly put down a bet of sizable amount that he wasn’t going to make it to the front door.

  And damn it, she would have won that bet.

  The guy took a halting, sideways leaning step onto the sidewalk. He didn’t quite hit it at the right angle. His foot turned sideways, catching on the lip and he went down. Hard. Katelyn winced.

  What the hell do I do know? Shut the blinds and pretend he’s not out there? She waited, sure he would pick himself up. Guys like him, they didn’t need any help. Certainly not from the likes of her. He’d get up. Get up and get into his house. It was only another fifteen feet or so.

  Get up. Come on. She leaned forward, her hand cramping on the blind. He’d get up. He’d get up and get on with it. Chances were if he was hammered or on something, he’d been on it before. He could take care of himself. He looked scary as hell. People would stay away.

  Except, what if they didn’t? What if the guy passed out and someone mugged him? What if he rolled onto his back and choked on his own vomit? What if he died right there on the sidewalk and she could have done something to stop it from happening? She could just imagine the ambulance showing up in the morning, the black corner’s bag.

  Okay, this is getting out of control.

  A violent chill traveled up her spine. She knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had to do something.

  She was still wearing her work clothes from earlier. She’d shed the blazer, but she had on her black dress pants and the red, flowy blouse. It was sheer, with gold buttons down the front. She’d paired it with a black camisole underneath. It was both professional and airy enough that she wouldn’t die in the sticky Miami heat.

  She couldn’t say why, but she felt the need to throw on another layer. To cover up the sheer parts of her blouse, as though one chance look of that man’s eyes on her skin underneath would change her, alter her, in ways that she wasn’t at all prepared for.

  Enough. This is beyond ridiculous.

  Katelyn stood slowly. Her shoulders squared into a forward set position. She clenched down on her teeth so hard her jaw ached. Her hands formed into tight little fists at her sides. It was a resolute stance, and she knew it.

  As she walked to the front door, slipped into a pair of flip flops and stepped outside, she just hoped no one else was watching. She didn’t want people to think she was mixed up with her neighbor in some weird, middle of the night, cover of darkness kind of way.

  Her neighbor still hadn’t moved. He was kind of on his side, one arm thrown out to try and block the blow to his head. The other was draped haphazardly over his waist. His hand trailed down his leg.

  Up close, he was even larger. The size of him was astounding. He wasn’t that tall, although he was over six feet, she’d bet. It was the width of his chest, the breadth of his shoulders, the biceps under that jacket that probably bulged with muscle. His hands were the size of hams.

  Katelyn bent next to the guy’s face. She was more than a little unnerved to realize his lips weren’t as thin as they looked from her window. No, those lips were the kind that should smile. They’d look beautiful that way, turned up, a light pink, a tone that didn’t exactly belong on a man. His square jawline sported the shadow of a beard, thick and dark black, like his hair. That hair was mussed and overhung his forehead. It looked a little boyish, messy and out of place like that. His eyes were closed and long, thick lashes rested against his cheek. Those kind of lashes also had no place on a man. Any woman would kill to have them.

  Why the hell am I thinking about any of this? She reached out, hand trembling, and placed it on the guy’s shoulder. The leather of his jacket was warm from the close heat of the night. No. It’s warm from his skin right below it. Katelyn took a deep, steadying breath, which was entirely a mistake. The rich, dusky scent of the guy’s natural smell mingled with a light cologne, something woodsy, and stale whiskey. The combination should have been nauseating, but it was far from it. Instead a strange heat pooled low in her belly and thighs.

  She closed her eyes tight, ashamed of her visceral reaction. She understood what it was, excused herself for it even. Who could possibly be this close to a man like him and not be affected? It was just biology. Just sheer, annoying, aching biology. It meant nothing.

  Katelyn finally pulled herself together enough to realize she was gaping at the guy, which was doing nothing at all to actually solve the problem of getting him off the sidewalk and into his condo. Her hand still rested on his shoulder and she applied pressure, shaking it gently. Of course nothing happened. She shook harder. Nothing. Finally she clamped her hand over what little she could reach of the guy’s shoulder. She dug her fingers deep into the warm, supple leather and shook with all her might.

  The guy’s deep groan, pulled from the bottom of his chest or belly and squeezed out his throat, startled her. She gasped, falling away.

  Those long lashes fluttered hard, as though it took a herculean effort to unglue his eyes. They were dark, nearly as black as his hair, but bloodshot and bleary. She could tell it was a struggle for him to focus them on her face.

  “Who… where the hell?” He slurred, clearly trying to figure out what was going on.

  Katelyn sighed. “You got out of the cab. It woke me up. I looked out the window and saw you stumbling around. You- uh- looked passed out right on the sidewalk. I’m your neighbor. I live right next door to you.” She pointed. He made a futile effort to follow her finger and winced. “Do you think you can stand up? This place is pretty respectable. People won’t like it if you’re drunk on the sidewalk here in the morning.”

  “Saving my reputation- a true- true… hero,” he finally slurred out. Even messy, sloppy, whiskey soaked, his voice was beautiful. Deep and firm, but somehow almost musical.

  I am insane. She was even more ashamed of the heat spreading over her face than she was of her wayward thoughts. It’s just biology.

  “Do you think you can get up? Really I don’t care what
people think. I was more worried you’d puke and choke on it and I’d be responsible for your death since I did nothing to help.”

  “Guilty by association.” The words flew out, garbled, running into each other. It took her a second to realize what it was he’d said. She was a little shocked that he had a sense of humor. Maybe it was just the whiskey. She knew people were different when they drank. “Where you from? I like the way you sound.”

  She realized he was talking about her accent. People either loved or hated it and she knew it was going to stick with her for life though she’d been gone from England for three years.

  “London,” she muttered. “Can you please just try and get up?”

  “Don’t… know.” The guy did make an effort to shift upwards. He tried to get his arm underneath himself and propel his body into an upward stance. He got about half way, to his knees. He paused, breathing heavily. She watched as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “Are you okay? Do you want me to try and help?” She reached out anyway, though he didn’t respond, and braced her hands on his shoulder. He was all soft leather and damp heat under her fingertips and she liked it in an elemental way. In a way that she’d remember and want more of. No. Don’t even go there.

  She knew her help was pretty much useless. She was like a trembling leaf trying to move a massive tree. She pulled anyway, trying to get the guy to his feet.

  Once he was up, after long minutes of pulling and panting, struggling and sweating, wavering and nearly falling again, he paused. Her hands slid away from his shoulders, to his lower arm, though she knew she was doing almost nothing to support him.

  “Do you think you can manage now? Where are your keys?”

  “Keys?”

  “Yah. Keys. You know, to get in your condo?”

  “The door has a keypad.”

  “Oh.” She flushed, feeling slightly archaic. “Okay. Do you know what the code is? Maybe I can help you?”