Badd Medicine
Jasinda Wilder
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Also by Jasinda Wilder
1
Ramsey
Here I am stuck washing fucking dishes. Again. Of all the shitty jobs in the damn place, why do I always get stuck washing the dishes? I’m part owner of Badd Kitty Saloon—I should be tending bar or placing orders, but no, I’m in the back corner of the goddamn kitchen, clouded in steam, spraying dirty dishes, and operating the dishwasher.
Fuck this.
I cursed under my breath, grumbling and complaining in an unending monologue, but fifteen minutes later I was finally caught up. The bar had been busy all day and I was hoping things were letting up.
“Fuckin’ finally,” I growled as I slammed the door shut on the last load in the dishwasher.
And then, of course, Matty, our busser, arrived with another tub full of dishes in from the dining room.
“Are you motherfuckin’ kidding me right now, Matty?” I snarled as I threw him a dirty look.
He looked at me, and the color drained out of his face. Matty was barely sixteen and this was his first job. He weighed about a buck twenty soaking wet, didn’t need to shave, and his voice still cracked on occasion.
“S-sorry, Ram. I—the dinner rush is just about over, and—”
I sighed, stuffing my temper down, stacking the plates as Matty scraped the food off and placed them on the washing station. “Ahhh, don’t worry about it,” I told him. “You’re doin’ a great job, Matty. I’m just cranky ’cause I hate getting stuck washing fuckin’ dishes.”
“Sorry, Ram,” Matty said. By way of explanation he added, “Tony was feeling sick yesterday, so I wasn’t really all that surprised when he called in today. We’re just about caught up out there, so I should be able to take over once the last few tables are turned over.”
“Quit apologizing so much,” I muttered. “Ain’t your fault Tony got sick, and it’s not your fault I’m stuck washing the goddamn dishes.”
“Sorry.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you apologizing for apologizin’ too much?”
He stammered. “I—I…”
“Repeat after me: Quit being a pussy and deal with it, Ram.”
He paled further, looking as if he was going to pass out. “I—I can’t say that to you!”
I stared at him. “Fuckin’ say it, Matty. Grow a pair of balls, would ya?”
He blinked at me, fiddling with something in the big black bus tub. “I, um…quit being a...uh—quit being a pussy and deal with it, Ram.” He grinned shyly as he stammered out the phrase, his braces showing.
I nodded, holding out my fist. “There ya go. And look, I didn’t even eat you.”
He bumped his fist against mine. “I’m gonna go bus the last few tables.”
“You do that. And Matty?” I called out. He stopped in his tracks. “Just fair warning, I’m probably gonna bitch when you bring that tub back in here, so just, you know…don’t take it personally.”
“Okay,” he mumbled and with that he left.
I went back to work spraying, scrubbing, and sorting dishes. By the time I had everything spick-and-span, Matty arrived with another full bus tub.
“This is pretty much the last of it, Ram,” he said, scraping and stacking. “There’s only a couple tables left out there.”
“Thank fuck,” I mumbled. “So, after this load, I can quit doing this bullshit?”
“I think so, yeah.” He hesitated and I glanced at him.
“What?” I asked. “Spit it out.”
“For such a tough guy, you sure do whine a lot.”
I blinked at him; he held his ground, but I could tell he was shaking in his boots after making that comment. Took some balls, that did—I outweighed the kid by about a hundred and twenty pounds. I let him stew for a second, and then I couldn’t hold back my laughter anymore. I guffawed, laughing until I was breathless.
When I was done, I held out my fist to him. “Good one, Matty! You’re learning.”
He tapped my fist again. “Learning what?”
“How to talk shit like a man,” I said. “I’m bein’ a whiny little bitch and you called me out on it. Proud’a ya, kid.”
He grinned broadly. “I was scared you’d knock my head off.”
“Nah. I got a sense of humor. You try that shit with Rome, he may just clobber you.” I cackled again. “Of course, if you talk shit and he clobbers you and you take it like a man, he’ll respect you forever.”
Matty frowned. “Yeah, but if Rome clobbers me, I’m not sure I’d survive it.”
I laughed again. “Eh, Rome wouldn’t hit you hard enough to break much except your nose.”
“I’ve never been in a fight,” Matty mumbled. “Getting my nose broken sounds painful.”
I frowned at him. “What do you mean, you’ve never been in a fight? No playground scuffles? Nobody ever socked you and you socked him back?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I usually get along with people.”
I scratched my jaw. “Really? Weird. I’d been in so many fights by the time I was sixteen that I couldn’t have counted ’em all.” I eyed him. “So you mean to tell me you’ve never been punched?”
“Nope. Never.”
I huffed in irritation. “I’m tempted to sock you just to get you over that.” I hesitated. “And you’ve never hit anyone either, I’m guessing?”
“Nope.”
I shook my head. “Yeah, I’m gonna have to take you out back and beat the shit out of you just on principle.”
He trembled. “Um, maybe that’s not such a great idea.”
I laughed. “Don’t piss yourself, kid. I’m fuckin’ with you.” I smirked. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?” he said, his voice cracking.
“One’a these days, I’m gonna bring you to my cousin Baxter’s gym and teach you how to throw a punch and how to take a punch.”
Matty shrugged. “That I might be okay with if there’s, like, gloves and headgear and stuff.”
I snorted in derision. “Yeah, but honestly, there’s no replacement for the experience of having someone’s fist knock your nose sideways. Dude, that hurts so fuckin’ bad the first time, but the pain pisses you off and you swing, and you feel his jaw crunch…and let me tell you, that shit is satisfying.”
Matty backs away. “Look, I’m…gonna go, now.”
I turned back to my work and laughed again. “Yeah, yeah. Sissy.”
Rome swaggered into the kitchen a few minutes later, a towel thrown over his shoulder. “I hear you’re terrorizing our busser, Ram.”
I kept spraying dishes and sorting them into the rack. “I wouldn’t say terrorizing. More like…indoctrinating him into the wonders of a good fistfight.”
“He says you threatened to take him out back and beat the shit out of him on principle,” Rome says, leaning against the wall behind me.
“It was a fuckin’ joke. Jesus,” I muttered. “The kid’s never been in a fight. Never hit anyone, never been hit. It’s a fuckin’ crime.”
Rome snorted. “So he grew up a bit more sheltered than we did. Good for him. That doesn’t mean you can go around threatening to smash his face in.”
“That’s not what happened.” I muttered under my breath about whiny kids and then, without warning, I turned and sprayed Rome in the face with the hose. “And also, fuck you for st
icking me back here again. This is the third time this fuckin’ week I’ve gotten stuck washing fuckin’ dishes.”
Rome danced out of the way, drying his face with the bar rag, and then snapped me in the chest with it. “You’re such a whiny fucking bitch, Ram. Seriously. It’s not that bad.”
I snatched the towel from him as he tried to snap me again. “Says the guy who never gets stuck washing dishes.”
“’Cause you suck at bartending! You either under-pour or over-pour, and you can’t figure out the computer to save your fucking life.” He reached out and snatched the towel back from me. “And you’re such a potty mouth, I can’t let you wait tables or you’ll offend all our customers.”
I rolled my eyes and went back to the dishes. “Yeah, well not all of us are built for working at a goddamn restaurant.”
Rome hesitated, glancing out of the kitchen to make sure he wasn’t leaving any customers waiting at the bar, and then turned back to me. “Ram, look—”
I shook my head, not turning around to face him. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he snapped. “You’ve been a miserable pain in the ass for fuckin’ months, bro. If I didn’t know you literally never spent time anywhere except here or out in the woods hugging trees or whatever the fuck, I’d think you were tripping over a chick.”
“I’m not tripping over a chick,” I said. “No chicks in my life to trip over.”
“No?” Rome said, and I heard the grin in his voice. “No one?”
“I’ll hose you down again if you go there, Roman.” I turned and aimed the sprayer at him. “I swear to fuck I will, and then I’ll beat you senseless.”
He raised his hands. “Are you even hooking up with anyone?”
“How is that any of your business?” I asked, shoving the rack into the washer, snagging a new dry towel and wiping down and stacking the washed plates and bowls.
“Just wondering. You’re being so fucking dumb, I’m wondering if you’ve got blue balls or something. Not like you couldn’t haul down some ass if you wanted. I’m just sayin’…you’re acting like a miserable son of a bitch.”
“I don’t have blue balls,” I mumbled.
“Yeah? When was the last time you hooked up?
I shrugged. “Couple weeks ago.”
Roman grabbed a stack of dried dishes and helped me put them away. “Yeah? Who with?”
“Just some chick. Met her hiking. She was from Michigan, on a backpacking trip with her girlfriends.”
“And?”
I frowned at him. “What, you want details?”
Rome just grinned. “Sure. I’m a one-woman man, now, so I gotta live vicariously through you.”
I snorted. “And who’s fault is that?” I grabbed another stack of plates. “Fine, whatever. So I met her up on Deer Mountain. Her friends had fallen way behind, so she hit the peak ahead of them. We were up at the top together, just the two of us. We sat and talked for a while, and then hiked the rest of the way down together. They had a tent set up in the campground, and since her friends were still finishing the hike, we ducked into their tent and smashed.”
Rome smirked. “And? How was it? Was she any good? What’d she look like?”
I shrugged. “She was pretty hot—kind of a short stack, brown hair, blue eyes, nice juicy ass but not a whole lot up top. She was a talker though, let me tell ya. The whole time we were fucking, she was talking, like it was just a conversation—it was kinda weird, to be honest.” I sorted the clean silverware into the tray, ready to be rolled into cloth napkins later. “It was fun. Not the best sex, but fun. I made it a game to get her to shut the fuck up.”
“Did you?”
I grinned. “Had to put somethin’ in her mouth to make her shut up, but yeah.”
“Dude, you’re such a dog.”
I laughed. “You know it, bro.” I eyed him. “Is it true what they say about getting into serious relationships?”
Rome cocked an eyebrow at me. “Depends on what you mean.”
“You stop getting BJs.”
Rome snickered. “I don’t know, man. I haven’t found that to be totally true. But then, when you get into a real relationship that stops being…” He shrugged, hunting for the words. “I dunno how to put it without sounding pussy-whipped, which I ain’t. I guess once you experience what it’s like to have sex that means something, getting sucked off stops being as rewarding as it is when you’re single. When you’re just out for a hookup, and you don’t care what happens, that shit is awesome. When you start craving the—shit, I don’t know…the closeness or whatever, it stops being about just getting your rocks off.”
“Sounds horrible,” I said.
Rome, once upon a time, would have agreed with me. Now he just rolled a shoulder. “I dunno. It’s better, I think.” He smirked again. “Now, don’t go takin’ that to mean my shit is vanilla, cause it ain’t. My girl is down to get plenty dirty.”
I rolled my eyes at him as I untied the rubber apron I’d put on to keep my clothes dry. “Sure, sure.” I eyed him with a grin. “When was the last time you and her fucked anything except missionary?”
“This morning,” Rome said, arms crossed, a satisfied grin on his face. “Up against the shower door.”
I had to cover my surprise, because I’d honestly expected him to not have an answer. “Right. We all know shower sex is overrated.”
His grin widened. “I didn’t say it was shower sex. I said it was up against the shower door. Not the same thing.” He turned away. “And that’s all the details you get, bro.”
I frowned, trying to figure out what the difference was. I eventually gave up. “Whatever the fuck.”
“Don’t be jealous,” he said, and then paused for effect, tapping his chin. “Or, do be jealous—of the fact that I get fucked like a champ on the regular, and you’re still chasing random ass like a fuckin’ college bro.”
I tossed the apron at him. “Again—what the fuck ever, dude. I’m outta here.”
He wrinkled his brow at me. “Where are you going?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. Dinner? A movie? Chase down random ass like a college bro? Hiking? Whatever the fuck I want.”
Rome hung up the rubber apron and followed me out the back door. “I got shit covered tomorrow, by the way, so you can take the day off. Maybe see if you can find a chick who wants to bone you more than once.”
“You mean a chick I want to bone more than once? Not fuckin’ likely, bro. I got no attention span for that shit.” I waved as I shrugged into my hoodie. “Fuck taking the day off—I’m taking the rest of the week. I need to get some air, man. I can’t breathe in this fuckin’ city.”
“The rest of the week?” Rome leaned in the doorway between the restaurant and the alley. “Where are you gonna go? You know?”
I paused, turning to face him. “Nah, I dunno. I’ll probably just pack a bag and hit one of the trails, see where I end up.”
“Well, take care of yourself, and make sure you log in with the ranger station if you’re going into the backcountry.”
“Yeah, yeah. What, do you think I’m green or something?” I waved again, and headed out on foot for the apartment. It was after ten at night by this time, and I was hungry, but I’d also been at the saloon all day and just wanted to go home and change into clothes that didn’t smell like old food. I also knew there wasn’t shit to eat at our place or, if there was, it would require cooking, and god knows that was NOT in my skillset. I could do a few basics in the kitchen, but I had to be motivated, and right now I didn’t feel like wrangling up something to eat. I was in a foul mood for reasons other than kitchen duty, and I didn’t care to look at them too closely. I just said fuck it and went home. I’d probably end up eating leftovers or a bowl of cereal.
I reached our apartment building ten minutes later, fishing my keys out of my jeans as I jogged up the stairs to our unit on the third floor. As I got closer to our door, though, I heard noise coming from inside--music thumping and whumping, aut
o-tuned pop bullshit, along with cackling female voices.
Fuck. The girls were over.
That was the problem living with brothers whose girlfriends were best friends and roommates—they’d made our apartment their secondary home. Two of the three were in steady relationships with my brothers Roman and Remington, and they and their friend and roommate Izzy were at our place as much as they were at their own. I often found myself at their place too, dragged along with my brothers as a fifth wheel. Although, Izzy was as much of a fifth wheel as I was. We were both fifth wheels together—not together, though just…shit. I wasn’t sure what I meant.
I steeled myself, as I went into the apartment, which was filled with deafening horseshit music with a stupid trippy beat and a happy, poppy chorus repeated ad nauseam. GAH. All three of the girls, Juneau, Kitty, and Izzy were in the kitchen, wineglasses in hand, two empty bottles and a third half-finished on the counter…and they were baking. Flour was literally everywhere, on the counters, on the floor, in the air, on them…it looked like they’d had a flour fight, and the apartment was the loser. Baking soda, chocolate chips, butter, eggs, vanilla, bags of sweetener, all sorts of shit I didn’t know we had—or maybe they’d brought it with them—cluttered the counters. There were baking sheets on the stove with cookies cooling on them, a tray of brownies, another tray of something that looked like croissants but with chocolate chips…
“I’m hungry,” I said, startling all three girls so badly they all jumped and shrieked.
Izzy, the closest, spun in place, spilling wine on the floor. She slapped my chest, leaving a white flour handprint on my black hoodie. “You scared me, you asshole!”
“Yeah, well the music is so loud I could hear it out on the street!” I said, shouting to be heard over the deafening music.
She shrugged and turned away. “You gotta have music when you bake.”
Badd Medicine Page 1
