Cocky Rebel : Sofia Sol Cocker (Cocker Brothers, The Cocky Series Book 13)

by Faleena Hopkins

  But Soph cocked an eyebrow and leaned toward me with mischief in her grey eyes. That gave me a deep view of her cleavage that seemed to have grown overnight. At fourteen she was almost three years older than me, and never let me forget it. “You’re too young for this, Luke, go away!”

  “Nah, think I’ll stick around,” I smirked, shoving my hands in my pockets, t-shirt baggy around my flat chest and small shoulders, puberty taking its sweet damn time to get to me. Didn’t mean I couldn’t admire soft curves when they looked as good as they did on her.

  She’d become my every waking thought lately.

  No coincidence that I’d found them back here.

  I’d noticed she hadn’t come back inside after the trip to town she’d taken with the women of the house. When they all filed in, she and Ceels were missing. I waited as long as I could, but curiosity took over.

  “Just tell me,” I half-heartedly shrugged, leaning against the old building, weeds crushed under my feet.

  Ceels sighed, “You’re as stubborn as your dad.”

  “But not as built as him,” Soph laughed.

  With a shocked slap, Celia cried, “Don’t talk about the Badger like that! He’s like our uncle.”

  With a sexy glint in her eyes, Soph shrugged, “I’m just making Luke squirm.”

  “Not squirming,” I muttered, kicking the dirt. “Don’t care what you think about who.”

  “You’re so stupid,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

  “You’re stupider.”

  “You are.”

  “You are!”

  She got up and threw a punch, knowing I’d dodge it. We started sparring, grinning our asses off as we successfully evaded kicks, too. When we started panting, heartbeats racing, I laughed and backed off. “Okay, that’s enough.”

  “Chicken?” she sneered.

  “Nah, just don’t want to hurt a girl.”

  Her beautiful eyes went wide and she lunged at me with a fierce, high-pitched, girly-growl. I slipped out of the way and she hit the ground.

  “Fuck!” she frowned at the deep scrape on her arm. Picking herself up she kept staring at it.

  “What do you care if you get scraped? Never bothered you before.”

  She went to Celia, speaking with a private tone not meant for me, like I wasn’t here anymore. “You think he’ll care if I’m a bloody mess?”

  Ceels looked closer, humming, “Mmm, it’s pretty ugly, but who cares?”

  “I don’t want to tell him that I’m a fighter yet. He seems…book smart, you know?”

  Confused I asked, “Who’re you talkin’ about?”

  Over her shoulder, Sofia made a face at me.

  But Celia was too excited to keep it a secret. “The cutest guy in town kissed Sofia today! It was her first kiss, and with Thatcher Martin! She snuck off while the moms were gettin’ their hair dyed, made out with him behind Krogers!”

  Jealousy twisted in my chest, but I kept my face blank. Voice, too. “Sounds like an asshole.”

  Sofia Sol snapped out, “He’s not one!”

  “If you have to hide who you are to keep him hot for you, then he’s an asshole,” I walked away, acting like I could give two fucks, when inside I was dying.

  Something hit the back of my head, and I barked, “Ow!” grabbed the wounded place and looked behind me. “Did you just throw a rock at me?”

  With a satisfied smirk, Soph shrugged one shoulder. “Who, me? It just fell out of the sky.”

  “Yeah, right,” I grumbled, heading back to the house as I heard Celia laughing behind her hand.

  Atlas’s snoring was so loud a few nights later that I couldn’t sleep. I’d steered clear of Sofia Sol for days, trying to get her outta my head. My penis wasn’t cooperating with me. Felt like it never slept.

  Grunting with impatience, I flipped the pillow to the cool side and slapped my head onto it, closing my eyes and willing myself to go to sleep.

  A soft tapping on the door made me sit up, cocking my head as I wondered if I imagined it. I padded over in my pajama pants and peeked out, nearly bonking heads with Sofia Sol as she held her ear to the door. We jumped back and she pressed a finger to her lips, waved me to follow her.

  Tip toeing to the small parlor on that floor, she closed the door and faced me. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Getting pissed at you. Thatcher is an asshole.”

  My spirits lightened to the point of ridiculousness, but I kept my face blank. “Oh yeah? You find him kissing someone else?”

  She made a face like that would never happen, and walked to an antique velvet chair, worn to the bone in parts. Sitting on it, she kicked off her boots and brought her knees to her chest. I decided to stand. It was the one chance I had of being taller than her, and that felt good.

  “I snuck out tonight to see him.”

  Frowning I muttered, “Oh.”

  Staring off, a little moon-faced, she told me, “He’s so handsome, and clean, and comes from a rich family. We don’t go to public school, but believe me, he’s a God there. You can’t be a girl in South Vacherie and not know who Thatcher Martin is.” She dropped her legs and ran a hand through her shiny black hair, taking a deep breath. “So we were making out, and he had his hand down my shirt.”

  My chest tightened.

  Did I really want to know this?

  No, but I needed to.

  “And?”

  “And it felt amazing, Luke. But I slowed him down, just to tease him, and we started talking some more.” Frowning like it just occurred to her, she said, “I guess it’s the first time we talked…but anyway!” Meeting my eyes, she announced, “He said some really mean things about his best friend. Called him stupid. Laughing when he said it, too, can you believe that? Said he only kept him around because Randy worshiped him. But that Randy had been kept back, had a learning disability. I thought he was joking, and when I realized he wasn’t, that was that.”

  “You told him you had to go?” I ask, wanting every detail.

  “I told him he was an asshole, got up, he got pissed, grabbed my arm and pulled me back, really hard! So I kicked the shit out of him.”

  Covering a surprised burst of laughter with my hand I paced, cracking up. “Oh, that’s so fucking awesome!”

  With a devilish smile she stood up. “He won’t touch a girl like that again. And I also told him that he’d better treat his friends with respect or I’d come back and break his other arm!”

  In awe of her, I shook my head. “Wish I’d been there to see it. You think he’ll tell?”

  “That a girl three years younger, kicked his ass? Hell no! Probably give the blame to some nameless stranger. Who knows? I don’t care. Dad’ll back me up if Thatcher’s parents come around. I just did what we’ve been taught. Probably saved some girls in the future from date-rape, you never know!” She shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Anyway, don’t tell anyone. I mean, I’ll tell Ceels, but nobody else, okay?”

  I loved having a secret with her. Made me feel like I was on the inside. Held my hand to my heart and vowed, “Promise.”

  She smiled, looking so pretty I couldn’t breathe for a second. “And I’m sorry I threw that rock at you. I knew you were right, and I didn’t like it.” Walking past me to the door she pointed at it. “Open that.”

  Rolling my eyes I joined her. “Just because you had your first kiss doesn’t mean you’re a woman now.”

  “Oh, yes it does,” she winked.

  I opened the door.

  And I would’ve done a lot more than that, if she’d asked me to.

  Chapter 8

  SOFIA

  Atlas eyes the place. “No telling when he’ll come back.”

  “Then let’s hurry!” Celia urges us, looking both ways as we cross the quiet residential street that flanks a local elementary school. None of us went to it, but we’ve driven by. We were all home-schooled.

  I’m excited, not scared like she is. I live for this.
>
  Especially since it will get my mind off the brothers.

  For the last week and a half I’ve been dying in that house avoiding Atlas’s secret invitations, and Luke’s watchful eye.

  When the elders gave us this tip to check out on our own, I exhaled aloud and said, “Thank God!” grabbing my keys before the others even had time to blink.

  First thing we have to do is make sure this guy we were told about is doing what his neighbors think he might be. Ciphers don’t hurt the innocent. We save them when they can’t save themselves.

  None among us knows if his neighbors are right about their suspicions. They could be totally off base, as so many tips are.

  You can’t just accuse someone of being a pedophile because they seem a little creepy. You’ve gotta have proof. It could ruin an honest man or woman’s life, even if they’re proven innocent.

  And yet, you’ve also gotta trust your instincts and say, this fucker gives me the heebie-jeebies, so I’m not going to shrug it off. I’m going to call the Ciphers. I heard they get the job done without anyone knowing.

  And here we are. The four of us will search his house and see for ourselves.

  In staggered formation—Luke, Celia, me then Atlas—approach a pale yellow, one-story house of the rumored offender. Our rides are hidden around the corner, shut off long before we parked them under a weeping willow tree.

  Luke notes aloud, “See how perfect it is?”

  But Celia counters with hope, “He could just be tidy by nature.”

  “Ceels, look at the homes on either side.”

  Her eyes narrow as she scans. “Umbrella dropped by the door, plaid shirt on a rocking chair, curtains haphazardly drawn, dirty shoes on a porch. Leaves on both porches.”

  Atlas jerks his chin. “Bicycle on its side behind that fence.”

  “Signs of a normal life,” Luke explains with meaning. “Nobody’s perfect, no normal house is a museum. Except that dude’s right smack in the middle.”

  We all get what he’s throwing down, but I say it aloud. “Meticulous to a fault.”

  Luke corrects me, “Attractive to a fault. Remember the gingerbread house in Hansel and Gretel? Here little kiddies, what a pretty house made of…candy.” He locks eyes with me.

  Atlas sneers, “So safe, I swear. Come on in.”

  Celia sighs as we open his white picket fence, “We’re not being sly here.”

  “The neighbors are the ones who tipped us off,” he reminds her. “They’re probably happy to see us coming.”

  “I don’t like that it’s broad daylight,” she argues.

  We tromp across a perfect lawn framed by perfectly trimmed flower bushes, and open the yellow side gate to enter his home through the back. Don’t need to hide our footprints in the grass because what could he do with them when he found them?

  “Slow down, Soph, there might be someone else here,” she whispers.

  “I hope there is,” I mutter, pulling my gun from the back of my ripped blue jeans, the hem of my shirt drifting into place.

  Luke wordlessly takes the lead. He’s got his gun out, too. Celia follows me, and Atlas backs her up in line. They pull out their guns, hold them out but ready. This is protocol, boys flanking us so they can protect from the back or front if need be.

  We were taught how to shoot a gun properly by age seven, with tiny twenty-twos. As we grew so did our guns. Normal people would find that dangerous, for children to use weapons, but for the Robin Hoods of clubs, it was just a wonderful part of our life.

  No machine guns or stupid, unnecessary shit like that. We’d rather use our fists, and do, when we can. But there is some evil in the world that most people never want to believe is real. We know it is real.

  We’re prepared.

  Safety above all else, that’s the trick. Knowing the danger of one of these bad boys, and being skilled enough so that the weapon will never do what we don’t want it to, that’s why we trained for so long.

  Practice makes a sober head and a steady hand.

  Which Celia never has.

  I get irritated with how much she worries, because it puts her at risk. Just like how Honey Badger held Luke back to age twenty, but made Atlas a Cipher at eighteen, I want her off the missions. I don’t care about me—I can take care of myself. I care about her being a danger to herself. I wouldn’t want to live if she weren’t on this planet. So I resist bringing her, every time.

  I’ve privately and repeatedly told my father that I don’t think she qualifies, that some of us weren’t born for this.

  She’s Carmen’s daughter, Dad!

  So?

  Carmen wouldn’t hurt a spider if it bit her. And Tonk is the softest man among us! You’ve said it yourself to Mom—he was the last to join your crew and he lost his edge when he fell in love with her. I mean, did he ever have it? Just look at Tonk Jr. and you can see it. I don’t want Celia out there if she’s a liability to herself!

  There are things you don’t know.

  What is that supposed to mean?

  My judgment is sound.

  But Dad...

  You question that?

  No.

  I don’t want to hear about this again.

  But he listened enough to cut back on her assignments, giving her the smaller ones, like this local job.

  Stalking around his house, our sides up against it, we round the corner into the yard and head up back steps that need a paint job. Luke tries the doorknob. It jiggles, but doesn’t budge.

  I elbow his back. “Look at the yard.”

  He nods like he saw it, dark eyes scanning with disgust. “Fuckin’ pig sty.”

  “Perfect out front, disgusting in the back,” Atlas points out.

  Celia shudders.

  The man who lives here has been giving handmade candy to children, when they sneak out past those trees at recess. Too many children in the classroom, mixed with underpaid teachers, there’s no way they can keep an eye on everyone.

  So cliché, the candy thing, but his special lure is that he makes the stuff himself and he owns a candy shop in town, so he might be legit. Just a nice guy who likes kids. Or maybe he’s a brilliant marketer, getting them hooked on his candy so they’ll make their parents buy some. But this backyard is foul. High fences have hidden it from his neighbors on both sides. Old chairs covered with dirt, three tipped over. Piles of trash bags ripped open by inclement weather, flies buzzing around and in them. Lawn dead, mostly brown patches of beaten down garbage. Not exactly the yard of a man with a sterile candy shop.

  There’s no glass in the backdoor, all wood, so Luke surveys the curtained windows on both sides, sees the locks. He mutters, “Well shit,” and tucks his gun in his jeans, yanking his shirt off so he has something to protect his hand when he breaks the glass.

  He cranes to break the window, cotton double-wrapped around his fist. It takes two mesmerizing punches. We all duck our heads as glass shatters, and I swear under my breath at how my body involuntarily responded to everything he just did.

  He misreads my cussing and eyes me, “You get cut?”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  Celia warns him, “Be careful of the jagged glass in the frame.”

  “Not my first broken window.”

  “I know, I just…” she trails off.

  Antsy at having to stay behind with us, while his brother goes inside to unlock the door, Atlas jerks his chin up. “Get on with it. It’s no secret we’re here now.”

  “Was it ever?” I smirk.

  Luke uses the balled-up cotton to shake glass from the frame. He grabs the side of it, but it’s too high. I tuck my gun away and put my wrists together, palms flat, fingers clawed out. Luke uses my prop to lift himself up, steps in it with one boot like those cheerleader moves to get onto the human pyramid. In two seconds he’s climbing into the house.

  Celia whisper-yells, “Arm yourself!”

  “Jeezus, Celia, he knows what to do,” I mutter, shaking my head.

 
; “Sorry.”

  We hear the deadbolt click free and the door swings open to reveal Luke tucking his shirt in his back pocket. Can’t invite the possibility of invisible glass shards cutting and distracting him now that we’re in. He readies his gun, face somber, and shirtless. I roll my eyes because he’s annoyingly sexy.

  We search the shopkeeper’s home. In his kitchen are two filthy machines for candy making. The only spotless places are the foyer, small living room and guest bathroom. His bedroom is just plain gross. Everywhere the curtains are extra thick, impenetrable by light. This house is a cheaply built 1970’s model, falling apart except for the façade he keeps for potential visitors. I’m getting angrier every step I take.

  At the basement, Luke and Atlas tell us they’re going down without us.

  “Fuck that,” I snap, “We all go,” yanking the feeble door open to lead the way. As soon as I head down the stairs I cover my mouth. “Oh no.”

  Luke’s right behind me. “Shit! Celia, stay back!”

  She does as he asks, groaning as she catches the whiff, “Noooooo!”

  Atlas grimaces, too. “What the fuck are we gonna find down here…”

  The unmistakable scent of death assaults us as we gag and cover our mouths. This odor you never get used to when you care as much as we do.

  Atlas hits the light switch on an old lamp, illuminating the dank room.

  “Video camera,” he says, pointing to it.

  Luke digs through shelves of mini-tapes. “I can tell you one thing, I’ll never watch these fucking things.”

  “This is what we pay taxes for,” Atlas mutters, picking up a tape and sneering at it. “And why cops get good retirement, poor bastards.”

  “Guys,” I rasp, pulling back a curtain and pointing at a well-made bed. Why the covers are so tidily pulled up with a stuffed animal on their pillow is an image that will haunt me for years. I’ve got hundreds of them stored in my psyche, memories I have to live with of things I’ve seen on the road. I find solace in one thing. Knowing we get to make the sick fucks of the world, pay. If it was all pain, I couldn’t do this. But most days I get to bring justice to those who need it.