Sunshine Bleeds A Black Edge (The Wild Things (standalone) Book 3)

by A. Wilding Wells

  Like now.

  They make you stupid. So dense you forget things that happened to you when that person left. That’s me. So senseless that I want to promise her a future within a minute of us reuniting. Tell her she won’t escape me again. Though, first, she needs to hear how she almost killed me until I woke from the dead when my kid was born. I had to survive. I had to know there was a future before me when all I wanted was to give her one.

  “My kid. Yeah.” I gesture Rifle to introduce himself.

  “Rifle Field.” He puts his hand out, eyeing Ruby up with approval.

  Christ, he’s becoming a man. Licking his chops over my girl. My girl? Pulling my head out of my ass, I assume the position of survival—my arms crossed over my chest—hiding the festering soreness buried there.

  “Yes, you are.” She impales me with a need-filled stare. “You look like the same boy I knew back in school. You two share the same muscular build, and black hair and dark eyes…my goodness. He looks exactly like you.”

  My fingernails dig into my palms, my rigid fists pinned at my thighs. “What d’ya need, Ruby?” I need processing time.

  She’s more than I remember. More everything. And she has more of a grip on me than I thought she could in such a short amount of time since coming home. I want to tell her she might have been a star to the rest of the world, but damnit, she was my life.

  “Of course.” She glances away, her face reddening. “Mom needs a hair trap. You know, one of those…”

  “I own a hardware store.” I stride away. “I know what a fucking hair trap is.” Jesus, I sound like a dick.

  Why does it feel like she’s still mine? And still feel like we’re seventeen? I’m sure she’s going to spin me around any second and ask me to join her in a Cool and the Gang dance-off. Or tell me she wants to race her horse against mine through the cornfields to the abandoned red barn and make out until our lips burn. Or tell me that she bought a bunch of postcards and wrote random love letters on them so we can stuff them into arbitrary mailboxes after midnight to make some sorry sucker feel loved for a fleeting moment.

  “I’m sure you know all the traps, Rebel.” There’s a sureness in her voice even though it’s soft. It’s not smug, but it holds a little jab.

  When I stop, prepared to slice into her, Ruby slams into my back.

  “Holy shit, you’re a brick wall, dude. I mean…” She presses her hands on my back then slaps my ass. “Wow. Rock hard.” She’s never been shy. “Come on, Wishbone. You can at least laugh.”

  I don’t want to look at her for fear of what I might do. Namely, kiss her in a way that should only be done in private.

  “Okay, then. Maybe if I talk to your back, we’ll get off to a better start.” She giggles nervously while I gather my nuts up.

  So far, she’s slammed into my front and my backside within minutes of seeing me. Some divine force is trying to tell me something.

  “I didn’t mean like get off get off. Shit. What am I saying?” She mumbles something I can’t decipher.

  I walk two more steps and locate a hair trap for her mom.

  “Um, Rebel? Sorry about your wife,” she rushes out when her hands press against me again, causing another stir in my groin. Only Ruby could illicit a feeling that angers and turns me on. “I didn’t know you married. Mom filled me in.”

  I turn to face her. “I didn’t know you gave a shit about anyone but yourself.”

  Ruby exhales slowly. I turn it into something sexual. A little five-second scene in my head: her gasping then breathing out gradually as I fill her with my rock-hard cock, like I’ve been dreaming about since I was sixteen.

  “What’s up, Rebel?” She cocks her head. “Am I your enemy?”

  “You’re nothing,” I bark out. They were heartless words, a wall crashing between us—where one needs to be. For now. For my protection.

  My heart pounds when I take long steps down the aisle. Ruby’s footsteps pitter-patter behind me; she still walks on her toes? That one little thing pulls me into her undercurrent. Fight it. Fight it until she gives her truth up.

  But what if she never does? What was she not telling me about why she stayed away for so long? I feel like an asshole for being mean, but the reality is she’ll need to break down and spit it out. Spit out the whys. The this-was-what-happened, the I-left-becauses. Maybe she needs more time—not that she hasn’t had enough already.

  The one thing I know about me and Ruby? The piece of hope I’ve hung on to all these years? We were meant to be together somewhere along the line. I just hope to hell it’s in this lifetime and that I can get over being so pissed at her.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to be so angry toward me,” she says. Her eyes hold an intense stare and lock onto mine like she’s injecting my soul through her gaze. Pleading me to open my mind and see her. “I guess that last thing you said about how you’d be here waiting was just teenage lust talking. I get it. Too much time has passed. You’ve moved on. Maybe we can be friends along the way.” She shrugs and takes the trap from me; our fingers brush for a scintillating second. Friends? Fuck that shit.

  “See you around,” she says. Her small pained smile disappears as fast as it forms.

  “Not likely.” Worry punches my stomach, even if I am channeling my inner asshole. My defenses are so high that I could block a flock of cupids.

  But then her eyes… Well, goddammit. Sorrow sinks into them. And the way that one side of her lips lifts into a but-what-if expression takes me back to our last goodbye. And my last question.

  I will never forget asking her, “Why don’t you have my promise ring on?” Dipping my fingertips inside the collar of her shirt, I felt around for the necklace and the ring I’d given her. Nothing was there but her fitful heartbeat.

  “Nice welcome home.” She spins, charges toward the checkout, whips a few bills onto the counter, and then disappears through the door—my gaze planted on her gorgeous round ass.

  And on her ass is blood.

  She’s not gonna like this.

  I jog out the door, my fingers flying down my shirt buttons. “Ruby.” I grab her elbow.

  She snaps toward me, meeting me in a stare, her eyes rimmed in red and tear-filled hatred.

  “Wrap it around your waist. You uh…you’re bleedin’.” I hand her my shirt then yank my T-shirt down when her gaze latches onto my abs.

  A rich blush scoots into her cheeks. “Nice. Well this is embarrassing.” She closes her eyes. “Thanks. I’ll get it back to you.”

  Her mortified-sounding tone makes me chuckle. I recall doing this same thing in high school.

  “Fucking period was done two days ago!” she says softly, almost to herself.

  “Don’t worry. Got plenty of ’em.”

  She works my shirt around her waist and knots it while I study her ringless hands.

  Someone would have told me if she’d gotten married along the way. I never believed she didn’t.

  “Of course,” she says. “Why would you want it back? That would mean seeing me again.” Her voice cracks, reaching into my heart for another strangle. “I’m not in town to get in your way. I’m here to move Mom and Echo into a house. I’ll be gone before you know it.”

  Gone again. I want to believe her—that I’m not part of the reason she’s here. But I don’t. Chemistry doesn’t lie. Kindred spirits twine, and once they do, there’s no unraveling.

  “Good,” I lie.

  “Fuck you, Rebel,” she says softly, but there’s a bite behind her words. Ruby always did have a spark that could easily burst into flames.

  I bite my tongue from telling her, I will, woman. I will be fucking you. It’s not gonna happen soon, but it will happen. You will feel me inside you. All these years of imagining it? They will come to fruition.

  “Not me, Ruby.” I grip the back of my neck as my jaw tightens and I imagine who she’s been with. “You never let me have it, remember?”

  Her eyes widen, then she glares at me.

 
; “I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of French, Italian, and every other man-sausage across the pond.”

  Fuck if that wasn’t the meanest thing I’ve said yet. I’m a douchebag with a capital D. How the hell do I think I’m going to get her back this way? Good fucking question.

  Chapter 4

  Ruby

  I know what I am. Dented and scratched, cracks filled with enough glue that I can mostly hold myself together. I might not have been honest with myself about everything I’d come home to, and how it would feel each time I turned a corner in this town and ran into something unexpected. Like him.

  “Yes, Rebel. The Italians are my favorite. Long, girthy cocks a girl can ride for hours.” I rim my lips, my tongue playing at the edges. “Not that the French aren’t masters in the sack. All those stereotypes are true.”

  Rebel’s eyes blacken, if that’s possible, his lips taking the form of an I’m-going-to-spit-on-you scowl. I mimic his look and raise his hate with a lock-down stare and no-talking contest as I step into his space. Bring it on. I can play the game too.

  One more step. Then another. We’re close. Too close. His six-foot-three, broad-shouldered frame packed with muscle and a few tats is towering over me. Damn! I look up and glare at him, his short black messed-up hair and dark stubble add a certain depth to his angry sexiness. But no, I’m not backing down. Both of us breathe like we’ve been running mountains. His black eyes gauge mine. Then they arrive at my lips a second later, grabbing my need and riding it hard. Rebel Field live in the flesh isn’t the man I expected. Can he feel the heat coming off me and swirling between us and the vibes my whole body is shelling out even though he’s being an ass? My urge to slap his rugged face is tamped down when he steps close enough I can smell him. Maybe he’s about to apologize. Or lay those plump lips on mine for a long, slow welcome-home kiss. And, as I recall, the man could kiss.

  But he’s pissing me off with his angry-man performance. He wants a bit of war by the way he keeps poking at me. And my inner smartass never could refuse a good spar with my wishbone.

  “Ruby!” My mother’s screechy voice hovers behind me. “Ask me a stupid question.”

  I turn my back to Rebel and hand the hair trap to Mom through the wide crack in the window, where she and Lake are watching us like a train wreck. “Are you ready to go, Ma?”

  “That was stupid, all right.”

  Lake nibbles on Mom’s earlobe.

  “My wig is itchin’ in this heat,” she says. “I need some talcum from the five-and-dime.”

  “One sec.” I look over my shoulder and hold his stare as I wave a finger at Mom. “Say hey to Rocket. Unless that’s too much to ask.”

  He grunts. “She’ll appreciate you give a shit about one of us.”

  “She?” I whirl to face Rebel.

  “Rocket is Etta now,” he says.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Yes. While you were getting cocked in Europe, Rocket became Etta.” Rebel smirks.

  I suck in a revolted breath… getting cocked…? “I swear to God, Rebel. If you say another thing about me getting…”

  God, he’s transparent. Jealousy is something he never did well. Never hid. And it might have added a bucket of fuel to the Kline boys’ lust and hatred for me. And likely why they did what they did on graduation night.

  Try as I might to tamp them down, my emotions flare, and tears well in my eyes then fall. Now, he’ll see my wall come down. Not all of it, because there’s a massive height of damage holding it up. But enough that he’ll dig in and make it hurt without much effort.

  “Those are pretty big tears for a girl who told me how much she loved European cock. Wasn’t your phrase ‘ride ’em for hours?”

  After dragging my sleeve across my eyes, I step toward his immense frame and shove him with the force of an ox. He doesn’t falter. Not one step. Mr. Stoic As Fuck. Like he’s rooted to the center of the earth.

  You want more? Get ready, Rebel. I’ve got plenty of fight in me.

  “Yeah, they were great.” I clench my jaw. Words scrape through my teeth. “Great big dicks.” I throw my arms wide and moan out a sexual sound. War is ugly. Noisy. Graphic. Time to kill. “But not as big of a dick as you are.” I climb onto the hood of the Wagoneer via the rusted bumper then clamber to the roof while Mom protests. While turning in a circle, I shout, “Biggest dick in the Midwest, ladies and gentlemen. Rebel Rifle Field!” I clap my hands, add in a horse whistle for more attention, and then dance a goofy jig and scream it all over again.

  War is bloody. He might hate me right now, but somewhere inside this war, there’s a man who cares. He wouldn’t be fuming like red embers if he didn’t give a damn.

  Numerous people stop. I hear some, “Oh my gods,” a few “Holy shits,” and one, “Who’s the hot chick doing the jig?”

  Rebel stomps toward the Jeep, one fist shaking at me along with his head. “Get the fuck down here, Ruby! These people are my customers.” He swipes at my leg, causing me to scream and stumble back until I land on the hot asphalt.

  Dammit, war hurts.

  I stare at my pain-riddled right wrist, which is bent at an obviously wrong angle.

  Rebel jogs to my side. “That’s broken, baby.” He takes my arm in his callused, beautiful hands, his thumb brushing across my racing pulse. His gaze meets mine, his eyes soft and concerned.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His words come out in a gentle tender whisper that I repeat in my heart, hoping it reaches him.

  His effect on me might be worse now than it was in high school. I figured I’d get butterflies, though I hadn’t anticipated breaking out in a sweat and not wanting to linger in his deep chocolate-drop eyes.

  “We gotta get you to the hospital.”

  I wince, then push myself up with my other arm. “I made my way around the world.” I survived that night you never arrived. “I can get myself to the hospital.”

  “You aren’t driving anywhere.” He hauls me up, his hands gripping under my arms.

  “Now you’re interested in helping me?” I chuckle. “Don’t worry about it, I’m a big girl.”

  “I’m not worried. I’m just doing the right thing. That might not make sense to you, Miss Euro Cock.”

  I wiggle out of his grip, tuck my wrist into the crook of my elbow and kick his shin. Twice. He doesn’t wince, though. The man is pure steel. Impenetrable.

  “I hate you for this,” I whisper-yell.

  He nods. “I hate you for an assload more.” His hand encircles my arm with a firm squeeze, and he drags me toward him, his face now one second from mine.

  My need skyrockets. Hate and love live so close that I can’t tell which one I’m feeling. Christ, this is confusing. Maybe if I’d stayed here he’d have helped me heal. But I couldn’t do it. Sometimes, even a love like ours isn’t enough when one hurts inside and can’t tell the truth about it.

  “Get in my truck.” He points to a giant, black dually parked across the lot like a dark horse. “Get going.” He edges me forward, his gruff, cracked voice acting like a little mating dance.

  I take one pace away from him then backtrack to the Jeep.

  He steps in my way. “I’ll have one of the guys take your mother home. Now, go!”

  I elbow him in the chest. “Give me a sec, all right? Fucking brute! Jesus, you are bossy!”

  Mom works the rosary with her shaking hand. “Is your wrist okay?”

  “I’m fine, whatever.” I wiggle my wrist around, certain it’s broken. But still, I’ve had worse pain.

  “Okay, good. Ask me a stupid question,” she says.

  I think for three seconds before I ask, “I think he hates me. What should I do about him?”

  “That is a stupid question.” She smiles then tilts her head to the heavens.

  I stare at her, knowing she’s about to talk to one of the deads.

  “Lenny, she needs him, and she doesn’t know how much he needs her. I knew this would happen if she came ho
me.”

  I’m not convinced he needs me. Maybe if I had come home sooner, but I didn’t understand there were no rules to healing. I tried navigating my pain in any way I could, knowing I wanted to be healed fully before I came back to this town.

  Year after year, I tried. And, now, I know. Healing is a funny word that means something different to everyone. To some, it means done and over, mission accomplished. To others, it means move around that mountain. To me? It means coming home and trying really hard to understand where I’ll fit into the town I ran from all those years ago and the man I love.

  Maybe I won’t fit in at all.

  And so begins the reunion of us. It has all the makings of a first-rate mystery. Blood, hatred, need, love, secrets, clues… Maybe even a solved murder or two.

  Chapter 5

  Rebel

  Ruby Mae is home, and she’s a hurricane. I need to love her. But first, I have to get over hating her.

  “Don’t wait for me. Don’t follow me.” She had the gall to say those words to me the day she left. But I knew she was lying. She always sucked at lying. Her tell was the same every time. She’d pull on her earlobe then twist it. And that’s when I told her I’d be waiting. But the wait has been hell, and my anger is burning like a blowtorch on raw flesh.

  Calm now. Be calm.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you,” I say after I’ve helped Ruby climb into my truck. I press my palms onto the cab’s hot roof and watch her fumble with the seat belt, which she’ll never figure out.

  Along with her likely broken right wrist, she has two trigger fingers on her left hand that don’t bend. Nerve damage from high school when she ran the jigsaw into her palm in shop class under my father’s tutelage. I always liked that Ruby was the only girl in shop. She was tough and smart as a whip, unafraid of the all-guy electives and their tendencies to intimidate most girls. Even when the Kline twins tried to mess with her, she stood up to them. Ruby was a bomb of spice and confidence. Hell, not even my dad stood up to the twins, and they were his godsons.

  “Sorry, my ass.” Thankfully, she chuckles. “Just get in and drive.”