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

by A. Wilding Wells

  “Hot damn. My nephew made his manly debut with a girl who lives in a circus. Well, that’s cool. Mine wasn’t quite so illustrious.”

  “Hate to break it to you, Storm, but uh, it’s been a while now since my debut,” Rifle says.

  I clear my throat, press my knuckles onto the kitchen table, then lean toward my cocky son. “This I didn’t know. A while?”

  “Hey, if we’re all okay with the informality, then yeah. Last year.” Rifle waggles his eyebrows. Little shit.

  “The fuck am I buying condoms for? You drive. Get some next time you’re in town.”

  “I have some.” He shoots me a cocky smirk.

  “But you weren’t using one yesterday?”

  “It’s better bare.”

  “Are we really doing this?” Storm asks, pushing back from the table. “I mean, if we are, I agree bare is better, but wow. This is pretty out there as far as family sharing goes. Rebel, are you going to put your two cents in now that Ruby’s home?”

  Silence hangs in the air as I look around at my family. “I have no fucking idea what sex is like with Ruby. Never had it.”

  I stomp up the stairs with Gilbert following. How have I never had sex with Ruby? Christ, I’m a grown man in love with his high school girlfriend. In fucking love. How can a man marry another woman, have a child with her, bury her, and still be in love with his old flame, who he never slept with? What is it with us? Something massive, complicated, and boundless. Love?

  I remember the day I fell hard and never recovered. She was it from that day forward.

  The second she walked into shop class, my dick twitched and my heart jumped. Lanky with smallish curves and strong, wide shoulders like a swimmer, the girl moved like a petal floating through a breeze. Her emerald eyes pierced mine when she sat at the only vacant desk in front of the room. Not one boy was looking at anything but her high tight ass in those painted-on jeans.

  “Brave,” I said as she slinked into her chair.

  “You going to give me shit because I’m the only girl in here?”

  “Shit is the last thing I’d like to give you.”

  “Funny.” She reached into her leather backpack and produced a box of Red Hots seconds later. After shaking a few into her palm, she dumped a few onto my open palm.

  “I meant impressive. Girls don’t take shop. I know ’cause my dad is the teacher.”

  Her eyebrows rose as she licked one of the Red Hots pinched between her fingers. And I licked mine like I wanted to lick her pert nipples, which were pressing against her see-through baby-blue top.

  “Your dad is Mr. Field?”

  “Yeah. You from Saint Teresa?”

  “Yeah.” She popped the Red Hot in her mouth, licked her fingers, then thrust her hand toward me. “Ruby Mae Rose.”

  “Rebel Field.” I held her hand a little longer than seemed right.

  “I know who you are.”

  “That bad, eh?”

  She cleared her throat three times. Then once more. “Bad can be good.”

  Christ, did we have our fun in high school, but damn, that girl held out. I was sure her “bad could be good” comment was going to get me somewhere with her.

  Well, it did. Heartbroken.

  Yet here I sit, almost two decades later, wondering what bare would be like with Ruby Mae Rose.

  Chapter 20

  Ruby

  Rowdy picks me up at seven on the dot. Freshly cast wrist, sundress and heels on, my hair down my back—like Rebel loves it. I’m jumping into a pickup with my first boyfriend. Pre-Rebel.

  Rowdy and I dated as freshmen when I transferred from Saint Teresa. Rowdy was a good starter. Rebel though—he was a smorgasbord. He made my butterflies hump butterflies. He wore cool and daring like most boys wear insecurity and ambiguity. With Rebel, it was never what or why or when. It was now, it was his way, it was…perfect.

  “I won’t touch you, Ruby Mae,” Rowdy says as we stroll into the Tincat. We bagged out on the picnic because I didn’t get home until six.

  “Just play along.” I swat him on the ass. “You can flirt with me. And you can dance with me. Let’s just make him jealous.”

  I don’t want to be mean; I just want Rebel to wake up.

  I wish I weren’t searching the noisy, jam-packed bar for Rebel like my life depended on it, but I am. And I’m already envious of this acrobat who’ll be flirting with him all night. He’s going to put on a prize performance and I’m dreading it. Even if it is fake.

  What was I thinking, telling him I lost the ring? Even though, technically, I did. I went back for it later that night. I don’t know how in my state of distress. I had to find the ring. But it was nowhere. The ring, the crosses, and the necklace were all gone.

  I scope the scene out while Rowdy orders beer for us. One of the hunky British guys waves me over to their table.

  “Tully?” I say.

  Theophile Charlotte was a sophomore when I was a senior. We ran track together, so I knew her a little from that—until she was sent to juvie for pushing her mother down a staircase. I had no idea she was out of jail. God, I’ve missed a lifetime.

  “I heard you came home!” Tully says. “Wow, you look as pretty in person as you do on those magazine covers. You really made it big!”

  I stare at the hunk of beast next to her. “Is he your…”

  “My husband.” She grins. “Wolfgang Valentine.”

  “Yes, we met at the feed mill this morning.” I gaze at her belly when she comes around the table. “And you’re pregnant? Wow! Congrats, you guys!”

  Tully and I embrace in a long hug. Her full stomach presses to my flat one. What would it be like to carry Rebel’s baby? I’ll never know.

  “Where’s Rebel?” Tully asks, looking around the bar.

  “He’ll be here.” A shot of nervous energy shoots through my stomach. “Long story. I won’t bore you with the details. Rowdy’s just playing along as my date.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I get it.” She waves her hand. Do you remember Matilda Pearl? She summered here.” She gestures across the table.

  “Hey, yeah. Of course, I do.” I lean over the width of the table when Matilda does and kiss her cheek. “How are you?”

  “I’m great!” Matilda answers.

  The other massive Brit throws an arm over her shoulder when she sits. I ogle him for longer than I should, but shit. He’s hot as hell.

  “He’s yours?” I nod to Balthazar.

  She smiles and nestles into the crook of his arm.

  “Wow. You girls scored some hunks.”

  “You guys are joining us. Sit,” Balthazar commands.

  I obey like I’m his dog, slumping into a chair across from Matilda. No woman would tell this man no.

  “I’m going to warn you guys,” I tell the group. “I told Rowdy to really lay on the flirting, so don’t mind us tonight. It might get a little silly. I need Rebel to pay attention.”

  “Don’t worry. I already live in a circus,” Tully says, giggling as she waddles to the other side of the table and plunks into her chair.

  Rowdy saunters to the table with our beer and sits to my right. Perfect—Rebel can sit to my left.

  “You do know Rebel is coming with Verushka?” he whispers at my ear. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “Verushka? The circus acrobat who can do the splits while they fuck? Yeah, he’s filled me in. And, apparently, her.”

  Beer shoots out of Matilda’s mouth when she laughs. “He hasn’t fucked her. They just met today. What a shitbag. Did he tell you that?”

  I draw a long guzzle of beer from my bottle. Liquid courage. “Oh, he’s been laying it on thick. And I’ve been playing along. It’s like we’re high school kids, but less mature.”

  “This might be better entertainment than the band,” Tully says, winking at me.

  “I’m just hoping for progress,” I say, raising my beer. “I’d be happy if drama didn’t join us.”

  I don’t have to tu
rn to know Rebel is walking toward our table. I could feel Rebel in a room if I lost every sense. Because the day we began dating in high school, something happened to my heart. He caused a fissure in it that will not ever heal. My heart and his have a cosmic connection I can’t comprehend.

  Every smirk on every face around the table says game on. I swallow hard, my pulse racing as I swig the second half of my beer. One down. One Rebel to go.

  “Hey,” he says at my neck, hot breath making my hair stand on end when he sits next to me.

  Great. I’m nervous and turned on and we’ve yet to make eye contact.

  “Hey.” My voice shakes.

  He looks good. That scar adds the right amount of wrong to his rough, handsome face. You’re welcome.

  He eyes my empty beer then draws a sip from his bottle. My gaze stays glued to his sexy lips. He winks at me, catching me midstare. My gaze drifts to his taut, black T-shirt, which is riding the hard edges of his beautiful veined arms. Look away.

  Then in comes the bait. A goddess. He threads his fingers with hers like it’s a habit, and my stomach sinks along with my heart. My tongue, suddenly coated in cotton, sticks to the roof of my mouth. I don’t care if this is fake; it feels real to me.

  “Verushka, this is a pal of mine, Ruby.”

  A pal? A fucking pal? Like a pail of shit is how that label makes me feel.

  Verusssshhhhka straddles him after shaking my hand. Now, I need a pail to barf in. Of course she’s a doll and gorgeous and all fucking over him. This was my stupid idea to come here in the first place and I’m the one suffering. He doesn’t look tormented. No, and why would he be? Verushka is riding his lap like he’s stuffing her bra with fifty-dollar bills.

  And shit, it’s doing a job on me. My inner sassy girl fails me just when I need her most, and a little troublesome pain wrestles its way through my chest, settling in my tear ducts. God, no. The sting. Don’t cry. But I can’t help it when a few tears roll down my cheeks. Because, as Mom would say, Rebel looks happier than a tornado in a trailer park.

  Chapter 21

  Rebel

  I gave Verushka the lowdown on me and Ruby and how I need to get her good tonight. So good that she’ll open up to me so we can move the fuck on from this child’s play. I’m going to be blue-balled soon if things don’t move forward between us, because there is nothing I want more than Ruby in my arms. In my bed. Bare naked.

  Ruby’s irrefutably agitated by Verushka’s devotion. Part of me feels bad that Ruby seems troubled. Part of me is thrilled because this might do the trick. Something is gonna give soon.

  When a new song plays, I want to high-five the DJ who’s operating the pre-band music. It’s not just any song; it’s one of our songs. Mine and Ruby’s. Chaka Khan’s “Sweet Thing.” I forever called Ruby my sweet thing. I haven’t once since she’s been home. Haven’t been able to look into the depths of her emerald eyes and say those words. Maybe I will later tonight if the trail of crumbs I’m laying is tempting enough.

  It takes every ounce of my vigor to invite Verushka to the dance floor instead of Ruby. I can’t even look at her when I stand. Ruby and I can dance. Did way back, anyway. We always loved dancing. It was one of our things. Even the day we said goodbye in a pool of tears and grief, I hugged her and we slow-danced to my humming.

  This might hurt her or convince her. It’s a risk I’m willing to take, and I’m hopeful it’s the latter.

  Verushka slides up and down my body, her limber, cat-like frame undulating with mine. “How are we doing?” she asks. “You think she believes us?”

  “I can’t look at her. It’ll kill me.” I press my forehead to hers like we’re lovers. “Just keep going. You’re doing great.”

  We continue to dance, the area around us populating. Every second feels like an hour. Any other night, I’d be thrilled. But tonight, the only girl my heart pounds for is my sweet thing.

  Halfway through the song, Rowdy strolls toward us, Ruby in tow. I bury my face in my date’s hair, wishing it were Ruby’s golden locks.

  Ruby and I exchange glances when she wraps her arms around Rowdy’s neck. There’s a spark in her eyes that says war, and fuck if I’m not up for it. But, when she rises to her toes and starts kissing Rowdy like she means it, war becomes child’s play and goes in for the kill.

  “Excuse me, Verushka.” I wrap my hand around Ruby’s bicep and drag her off Rowdy’s mouth like he’s the deadliest sin. “Ruby fucking Mae, I swear to God.”

  We snake our way through the crowd, as I tug her to the back of the bar then out the screen door. She says nothing the whole time, but she’s not fighting me, either.

  Outside, my face one inch from hers, I back her against the wall. “You’re mine. Enough already. You’re fucking mine. If you don’t produce that ring in the next ten seconds or something more than a lie about where it went, I will strip you bare naked and find it myself.”

  A whack of her hand lands on my face.

  She has the nerve to slap me? Not just a slap: a slug-slap. Then she does it again. I pin her arms beside her head, growling at her like the furious bear in me has wanted to all day. The other thing I’ve wanted all day happens next, and it’s not gentle. It’s a force so intense wrapped in the kiss I’ve been holding out on that it makes kissing seem juvenile.

  Everything I am travels into our kiss, every tingling nerve stirred. And, by her finger-grabbing, hip-thrusting response, I think she’s having the same sensations. Our moans collide, creating a composition so sexy that I haul her onto my body, her legs wrapping around me in answer. I can’t get deep enough into her mouth, can’t get close enough to her core. I need more. I need all of her.

  God, I’m spinning. I lay her on the picnic table. Her long, blond locks fan like a halo around her head. Her arms go around me, her fingers digging for purchase. I close my eyes in appreciation.

  When she gasps as my hands explore her curves, I open my eyes and see tears flowing down her temples.

  “Baby?” I thread my fingers through her hair and thumb her tears away. “Don’t cry, sweet thing.”

  “I can’t give you what you want.” Ruby wheezes for air, her sad eyes causing mine to water. “And all I want is you.”

  I press my cheek to hers. “You don’t understand. You’re all I want too. We lost a few years, but here we are. We have everything in front of us. Just talk to me.”

  Ruby presses her hands against my chest and pushes me back. Her eyes dart with worry when she softly says, “I’m about to tell you something you’re not going to want to hear.”

  My pulse jumps. She’s finally going to do it. Either we’ve arrived or, based on her petrified gaze, we are about to unravel.

  She drops back, and I place my hands on either side of her head and lean over her body, dropping a gentle kiss on her furrowed brow.

  “I want to hear everything,” I tell her. “I’m trying so hard to get back to you. Tell me how to do that? I want in, Ruby… I want inside every pore. I want every nighttime whisper to begin or end with my name. I need you, sweet thing. Tell me what you need from me to get us moving forward as one. I want to know what you’re keeping from me.”

  Ruby pins her eyes shut then bursts out crying, but still, she manages to spit out a string of words that knock me on my ass. “I lost more than the ring graduation night. I lost my virginity.”

  Chapter 22

  Ruby

  What would happen if I told him the truth about graduation night? I’ve toyed with it, talked myself through it more than once. But the obstacles are too much for me to navigate.

  Rebel came to my house later that night after Opal had died. He was the only person I called. He held me in his arms when Opal was zipped into a black bag and rolled out our front door. Echo tried to climb onto the gurney, not understanding where his twin was going.

  Do I tell Rebel I was the reason she died? I would have died had they touched her. It was bad enough they slit the flap of skin under her tongue, which made her alread
y-difficult-to-understand speaking style nearly impossible to decipher. Then they slit her tongue down the middle when she spat blood in their faces.

  Do I tell him everything was stolen that night? My sanity. Virginity. Sister. Faith. Confidence. Boyfriend. Promise ring. And future.

  I can’t. I simply cannot. Because, if I tell him what happened to me, it’ll ruin his life in more ways than one. How will he walk into his hardware store knowing the money that bought it came from the boys who raped me? How will he continue to live on his farm knowing that those trusts funded it too? How will he look at Etta knowing that her operation was feasible because of those sick fucks?

  Rebel shoves backward and stands. His mouth twists into a polluted scowl, an angry hand shoved through his hair disturbing his already messy locks. One fist at his mouth, a feral groan forcing its way up his throat, he spins in a circle.

  Veins bulge on his forehead and his neck, his jaw sewn shut. Ice-glazed eyes pierce mine.

  “Who?”

  “No.” My shaky voice matches my hands.

  What have I done? I let my emotions go, and now, this? Rebel might skin me alive by the way he’s baring his teeth. I’m done talking.

  “That’s all I’m giving you,” I tell him. “Nothing else. This is what you wanted.”

  I’ve given him something and it’s not enough. It’s a fraction of the truth, which he’s going to twist into an ugly fate that will end us. What’s worse? The end of us…or the end of him? I’ll take the fall. The guilt would kill him. Will I ever stop being a martyr?

  “Who the fuck was it? Who, Ruby?” Rebel punches through a plastic soda sign leaning against the wall.

  “Rebel, I’m putting my heart on the line by giving you that piece. If I say another thing, it’ll destroy your life. Please stop. I’m begging you. I can’t take anything else away from you. I love you that much.”

  “Love me? You were going to let me take your virginity. We were going to do it that night. And, like some fucking whore, you gave it to someone else while you were wearing my promise ring around your neck? Did it rest over your heart when he popped your cherry, sweet thing? Did he yank it off your neck when he spilled his seed in you? Is that how you lost my ring?” He gently pins me to the picnic bench, pressing me backward, then leans over my body. “Tell me.”