Painkiller

by Jenika Snow

  Evernight Publishing ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2016 Jenika Snow

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-885-0

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  PAINKILLER

  Jenika Snow

  Copyright © 2016

  Chapter One

  “Chug. Chug. Chug.”

  “Suck it down.”

  “Rebel is a fucking maniac.”

  Everyone chanted, and Rebel wasn’t going to disappoint, not because he cared about the people around him, but because he needed the liquor to help numb the shit he had inside of him, the emotions he’d prefer to keep buried down. He wanted to be numb, wanted to feel only that pleasurable rush of intoxication claim him.

  Rebel held the beer can over his head, had his mouth around the hole he’d made at the bottom of it, and popped the tab on top. He sucked down the alcohol as it rushed into his mouth, not even breathing as he swallowed. Once the last drop slid down his throat he pulled the can away and tossed it aside. Everyone cheered and chanted for him to do another one.

  Hell, he did another one because he wanted to, because he wanted to not think about anything that mattered.

  The party that was currently being held was in a field behind an abandoned piece of property. The cops either didn’t come out this way, or they didn’t give a shit about some high school seniors fucking around and getting shitfaced in the middle of nowhere. This was usually where the parties were held—well, the badass and chaos filled ones at least.

  The feeling of someone running their hand down his arm had Rebel looking behind him and seeing Rebecca, one of the girls from school, grinning up at him. He’d never fucked her, but he knew she wanted to pretty damn badly. She was too desperate, maybe thinking she could “change” him, or make him “settle down”. Or maybe she just wanted the bad boy in school on her arm. Whatever her reasoning was, he’d never stick his dick in her.

  The thing was there was only one girl that did it for Rebel, and she was the girl he’d never get to have. That was also the reasoning behind him wanting to feel numb. It was hard as fuck being around the person he loved every single fucking day, and knowing he couldn’t have her.

  “Hey, Rebel,” Rebecca all but purred.

  He moved out of her grasp and turned around to face her. She wore a low-cut crop top, her belly on display and her tits all but hanging out of the shirt.

  “Here, man,” someone said and handed Rebel a fresh beer.

  He didn’t look at the guy, just took the can, popped the top, and started drinking as he stared down at Rebecca.

  “Maybe you want to go somewhere so we can be alone?” She smoothed her hands over his chest and started making her way down to the crotch of his pants. He could have told her to stop, told her she didn’t do anything for him, again, but she’d find out soon enough he didn’t want her.

  She reached his crotch, and the sultry smile on her face faded as she came in contact with his flaccid cock.

  “Whiskey dick?” she said with a smirk in her voice.

  He finished the beer and tossed the can away.

  He grinned. “Girl, I could be hard as fuck while I’m throwing up from being piss ass drunk. You just don’t do it for me.”

  Anger covered her face, but she smoothed her expression pretty fucking fast, acting like she didn’t care

  Rebel wasn’t a virgin, had slept with girls in the past, but the truth was he hadn’t fucked anyone in years. Fucking. Years. Losing his virginity at a young age wasn’t something he cared about. It wasn’t like he was saving himself for marriage. But it was when he realized exactly how much he cared about Rosie—the girl he could never really have—that he knew no other girl would do it for him.

  He wanted Rosie so damn badly, more than he’d ever wanted anyone else. This wasn’t just about him wanting between her thighs. Rosie was special. He was even in love with her, so fucking in love with her that just thinking about Rosie had his chest aching. But being with the girl he wanted was never going to happen.

  Her being my stepsister kind of puts that shit on hold.

  What no one knew, because he’d sure as hell never say anything, was Rebel was lonely. He partied hard, was an asshole on the best of days, and had no ambitions that went past how numb he could get, and how much he could suppress his emotions. He didn’t strive to do well in school, and as long as he passed that’s all he cared about.

  He’d have dropped out of school altogether, because he didn’t really give a shit, but he didn’t want to be one of those loser guys that would rather smoke weed and get drunk for the rest of their lives than at least have a high school diploma.

  And you also don’t want Rosie to think you’re an idiot that has no desire to get out of this fucking small town one day.

  He turned from Rebecca and looked back at the party. There were about thirty people drinking and smoking pot, hell, some even fucking. But whenever Rebel thought of Rosie, his damned stepsister, he felt like a piece of shit for being at these things.

  He didn’t bother telling anyone he was leaving, not that any of them would give a shit. He was popular because of the reputation he had, because he didn’t care, fucked up anyone that wanted to talk shit, and he liked to have a good time no matter what. But truth was he was a shitty person. He knew that, and didn’t try to justify it.

  He finished his beer, got into his car, and tossed the empty can on the passenger side seat. Once he had the engine cranked and was driving away from the party he really started to think about Rosie.

  He’d known her since they were both six years old. Her mother had married his father, and at first he’d hated her, as any six-year-old boy would hate a little girl that everyone fawned over. Now both of them were eighteen, and hell, their birthdays were even a month apart. But they were the total opposites, with Rosie being so damn smart, knowing what she wanted out in life, and having her priorities in order.

  Why in the hell would she want someone like me?

  How about I don’t even fucking think about that shit?

  But I love her, and I can’t have her.

  Twenty minutes later and he pulled his car to a stop in front of his father and stepmother’s house. One more fucking year of school and he planned on getting a place of his own. Rosie would go to college, make something out of her life, and find a guy that was good for her, that deserved her.

  I don’t deserve her.

  But as much as he knew her finding a smart, decent guy was good for her, the very thought of her with any motherfucker had a blind rage filling him.

  “Shit,” he breathed out that word and stared at her window on the second floor of the house.

  When she left for college he’d have no choice but to stand there and watch her leave. He knew it was best for her to get out of this town, but the very thought of her leaving had this darkness filling him. Leaving this shitty town wasn’t really in his future, not as far as he could see anyway. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be camped out in the basement for any more time than was absolutely necessary.

  Cutting the engine, he sat there for a moment just staring at the house. The lights were off, and it was late as fuck, but coming and going was easy enough with the basement having a walkout, and his father being pretty lenien
t, or maybe really not giving a shit what Rebel did.

  Rebel reached behind him and grabbed the bottle of vodka from the back seat. He broke the seal on the lid, tipped it back, and took a long drink. He wasn’t even buzzed, but that would change by the time he said hello to the bottom of the vodka bottle.

  Chapter Two

  Aidan Liam Bronson.

  The only boy I’ll ever love.

  But he was called Rebel, and it had been what he’d been called for as long as she could remember. It fit him so perfectly.

  Rosie lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, sleep not looking like it would come anytime soon. Her brain kept worrying, and all she could see was algorithms and equations. She’d studied for five hours today, even though it was Friday and her test wasn’t until Monday. Shouldn’t she have been at a party or hanging out with her friends on a Friday? Shouldn’t she have let loose for a little bit?

  You have to have friends to hang out and party with.

  Turing onto her side and staring at the bedside clock on her nightstand, she exhaled as it changed from 1:59 AM to 2:00 AM. No, sleep definitely wouldn’t be coming anytime soon.

  Rosie sat up and grabbed a hair tie off of her nightstand, put her long hair up in a messy bun, and stood. After grabbing her robe, the geeky one with the wiener dogs on it, she left the bedroom in search of something to eat. The house was quiet with her mom and stepfather asleep down the hall, and Rebel having left before the sun even set.

  Rebel, the boy I shouldn’t want but crave desperately.

  The fact she’d known him for the last twelve years, and he was technically her stepbrother, should have kept her emotions in check. Shouldn’t she have seen him as a family member for as long as they’d lived under the same roof? But no, she only saw Rebel as the boy she’d been in love with since she was fourteen years old, before she even knew what those deep emotions were. He was the only boy that would never see her as anything more than how she saw herself. But even though she knew they could never be in a relationship, and he’d probably never reciprocate her feelings, they were as close as two people could be.

  He didn’t care that people called her the nerd or geek in school. In fact he had no problem kicking their asses because of it, and had on several occasions. He was the only one she could really talk to, unload on. But they had nothing in common, and maybe that was why they got along so well? Maybe that was why he’d never see her as anything more?

  I’d rather have him in my life as a friend than nothing at all.

  And that was why Rosie would never tell him how she felt, because the risk of him being disgusted or uncomfortable was too high, and she didn’t want to risk losing what they had.

  She headed downstairs and went into the kitchen. After grabbing something to eat and drink she went over to the window by the sink. Staring out the window, she leaned forward when she saw Rebel’s car off to the side, and barely made out his big form sitting in the driver’s seat. Squinting because she didn’t have her glasses on, she tried to see what he was doing, but the glare from the streetlamp, and the blurriness of her not being able to see clearly, didn’t allow her to make out what was going on.

  I sure as hell hope he doesn’t have someone in the car with him.

  There had been one time she’d walked in on him about to have sex. It had been her own fault, though, because she hadn’t knocked before going into his room. But God, that vision would never leave her, and neither would the pain she’d felt afterward.

  You can’t be upset when he doesn’t even know how you feel.

  About to turn and head back to bed, because she didn’t want to see if there was someone else in the car with Rebel, she stilled when she saw his car door open. He climbed out of the car, braced a hand on the hood, and just stood there. For long seconds he didn’t move, and she felt her brows knit in confusion. But then he shut the door and started making his way toward the back of the house where the walkout basement door was. He was swaying pretty badly, and she knew he was drunker than shit. But then again he wasn’t nicknamed Rebel because he liked to stay at home and follow the rules.

  After about five minutes she heard banging around downstairs, and as much as she told herself to just go to bed, Rebel was the only person she was close with. She wanted to make sure he was okay, and at least didn’t fall asleep on his back and choke on his own vomit.

  Walking to where the basement door was on the other side of the house, she grabbed the doorknob and slowly turned it open. The lights were off, and she couldn’t even see the steps that descended, but then a light was turned on and she blinked back from the sudden brightness. More banging, some cursing from Rebel, and she found herself shutting the door behind her and going downstairs. Once on the bottom landing she looked around the corner and saw Rebel in the bathroom.

  Rebel had a nice setup down here, with the basement being fully finished, having its own bathroom, and even a little kitchenette off to the side. But whatever her stepfather and mother were thinking when they agreed to let Rebel have this as his room, including the private entrance, was unknown to her.

  And then she heard Rebel throwing up, and she sagged her shoulders, hating that he allowed himself to get like this. Whatever was going on with him he’d never tell her, no matter how close they were. He kept this wall up around him, and it was so high that if she wanted to break it down it would be one hell of a feat.

  Rosie headed toward the bathroom and stopped when she was standing in the doorway. Rebel was standing over the toilet, one hand braced on the wall, the other holding onto the back of the tank.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

  He turned just his head and looked over his shoulder at her. His short darker blond hair was a mess around his head, and his eyes were bloodshot. The scent of vodka also came from him strong enough she probably could have gotten drunk from the fumes alone.

  “What are you doing down here?” he asked just as softly, and gave her a half grin. Even hurling after a night of partying he still could look so charming.

  “I hope you didn’t drive this way.”

  He shook his head and straightened before turning and going to the sink to wash his face and mouth. “You know me better than that.”

  Yeah, he may have a beer or two, but if he was drunk he never drove home.

  “I got shit-faced sitting in my car in front of the house.” He chuckled, but it didn’t sound very humorous.

  “How about I help you get to bed? You know if your dad sees you like this he’ll probably be pissed.”

  Rebel shrugged. “He doesn’t give a shit, Rosie. You’re the apple of his eye.”

  She felt her face heat, knowing that wasn’t true. His father, Lawson, was a good man, took care of her when her biological father had skipped town on them, but she also knew he loved Rebel deeply.

  Rosie reached out and took his hand in hers, pulling him out of the bathroom, but she went slowly. Having Rebel, all six-foot-three and two hundred pounds of muscle, falling over on her was not how she wanted to end the night. He braced a hand on the wall to steady himself as they moved toward the bedroom. Pushing the door open and letting him go in first, she heard him start to grumble.

  “I should have taken a shower, but unless you want to wash my back and see me butt ass naked, I’ll just do it in the morning.”

  She felt her face heat even further at his words. Yes, she actually would have helped him shower, but it wouldn’t have been because she was doing a good deed. No, she loved him, and seeing Rebel with nothing on was obviously a huge turn-on.

  He sat on the bed and sighed, and for a second she just sat there, not sure if he was really okay to be left alone. Then he turned his head and looked at her. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this, Rosie.” He gave her that half smile again, and her heart sped up.

  God, I love this guy, and I don’t think I could ever tell him.

  He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, throwing an arm over them and groani
ng. “The room is spinning. I shouldn’t have drunk so much.”

  “Why did you drink so much?”

  He removed his arm from over his eyes and looked at her. He didn’t speak for long seconds, and she didn’t know if he’d actually respond. But then he cleared his throat and turned his focus to the ceiling. “I just have my own shit I’m dealing with, and I guess I can’t talk to anyone but a liquor bottle.”

  She knitted her brows and moved closer. “Rebel, you know you can talk to me about anything.”

  He shook his head but didn’t respond. Rebel sat up again and grabbed his shirt from behind his back, pulled it up and over his head, and tossed it aside. The sight of his hard body had everything in her tensing. He lay back down and covered his eyes with his arm again. The room grew silent, and Rosie knew this conversation was done. It didn’t take long before she heard the deep, even sound of him breathing, and knew he was asleep, or better yet, passed out.

  Rosie sat on the bed beside him and just watched his broad, muscular chest rise and fall. He had a tattoo on his side, a Mayan calendar that was as intricate as it was beautiful. Letting out a deep sigh she stood and was about to head back upstairs when Rebel reached out and grabbed her hand with his. She froze and looked at him. His eyes were open and trained on her, but they were glossy, and she doubted he’d remember any of this come morning. He was just too drunk.

  “You’re too fucking good for any of this.”

  She knitted her brows and placed her other hand over his, curling her fingers against his warm flesh. Her heart was racing a mile a minute, and it had everything to do with the fact this one touch sent tingles of awareness through her. She looked a mess right now, certainly not like the girls he’d dated in the past. She’d always thought of herself as frumpy and the “plain Jane” type of girl. The girls Rebel tended to go after were the complete opposite. But in this moment, when he wasn’t aware fully of his surroundings, she could let her guard down, even if only for a second.