Vicious Rebel (82 Street Vandals)

by Heather Long

Unintentional. Lifting my chin, I studied him. “How many intentional?”

  “Only one,” he answered. Then raised his beer and took a long swallow. “He’s not suicidal, Little Bit. Not that I’ve seen. Not anymore. Depressed? Yes. Dealing with his addiction? Yes. Maybe a bit in denial? Oh, for sure. But he’s not suicidal. Especially not with a certain new face hanging out.”

  I rolled my eyes at his teasing smile and followed him into the kitchen. “Sorry I was being nosy.”

  “I don’t mind you looking.” His hair was damp and slicked back from his face. He’d changed out of the scrubs like he said he would. Dressed in an open collar Henley with three-quarter sleeves and a pair of faded, relaxed jeans, he looked comfortable. More at ease. The bare feet added to the overall picture. “Tell me, is there anything you don’t like before I fix you something to eat?”

  I gave a little shrug. “Most of the time when I’m on tour, I eat a high protein and dense vegetable diet. Carbs are only for fueling after a performance. But I have to watch my weight. Probably need to watch it more now, since it’s not like the diet lately has been particularly healthy.”

  At the sheer amount of takeout I’d consumed, Marta would have had an aneurism at this point. Madame B too. Dancers could not afford to be too thick. Lean muscle. Lean muscle. The words were like a whip cracking in the back of my brain.

  “Little Bit, if you weigh more than a buck, buck and a nickel, soaking wet, I’ll eat my shoes.” The lack of amusement in the dry look he gave me had me laughing.

  “It’s different when you’re a performer.”

  “Yes, starving yourself for your art, so I’ve heard. You probably burn what? Four or five thousand calories a performance?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. Doesn’t change the fact that I still have to watch what I eat. Or did. It was all monitored. For the most part.”

  His eyes narrowed, and I needed to change the subject. I pointed my beer at him. “Just make whatever you would if you were by yourself. I kind of invited myself over.”

  The studying look he gave me had me shifting a little, and then I lifted my chin. Fidgeting was a tell. I needed to not do it. The retaliation…

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “Come here.” Surprised, I obeyed, and he set his beer on the counter. “Gonna pick you up, Little Bit.”

  “Okay.”

  Then he settled his hands on my hips and lifted me to perch on the counter. “Stay here.” The last he delivered with a light tap to my nose before he went to the fridge.

  From my angle, I could see the fridge clearly, everything neatly placed. A drawer of vegetables. Milk. Yogurt. Cheese. He also pulled out a package of defrosted chicken breasts.

  “Tell me how it’s been since you decided to go back.” It was the first time since the day I asked him to take me back to the clubhouse that he broached that topic. “Better? Worse?”

  “It wasn’t…it wasn’t terrible before. I mean, Jasper was bossy and controlling, the guys kept a lot of secrets, they all wanted to look after me, and they were a mixture of frustrating and adorable. Most of that is still the same.”

  He chuckled and shook his head.

  “I wanted… It’s hard to remember a time I wasn’t here. I mean, not here, here.” I wasn’t making much sense. I tipped the bottle up and took a long swallow. “I wanted to escape because I didn’t understand why they took me and why they were keeping me. I saw they had Eric all chained up and beaten bloody…and I liked that. Not sure what that says about me.”

  He turned on the heat under a pan and started warming it. There were fragrant onions and garlic being added with a little oil, and the sizzle made my stomach clench. I was hungrier than I thought.

  “It says you’re human and he was a piece of garbage that needed taking out.”

  “I hate that you know that about him.”

  “That he hurt you?” Doc—Mickey frowned at me. “You getting hurt by someone who was easily more than twice your size isn’t something to be ashamed of.”

  “Jasper doesn’t understand why I didn’t stop it.” I needed to shut up.

  “That’s because he’s been in a fight to survive for as long as he can remember. Fighting back is how he survives.”

  That made me sad. “But that’s his story.”

  Mickey nodded slowly.

  “And why he’s so angry with you.”

  “That too, Little Bit. Give him time. I know he doesn’t blame you for not fighting back, he just hates the idea you were being hurt. Frankly, so do I. That’s why you shouldn’t lose any sleep over his removal.”

  “I haven’t,” I promised. “It’s kind of funny…being back, I’m dancing. Maybe not every day, but even before I got out, I was dancing. That studio…it means more than I think they understand. For so long, dance has been my escape, my ticket to get away. What I loved about it became less important than what it meant for me.”

  He’d added the vegetables to the pan and started searing the chicken in another one. I’d finished my beer and so had he. He pulled out two more bottles silently and opened them before offering me one. I’d never really cared for beer, but I sure as hell drank it more now. I had no idea what this one was other than it had an earthy kind of taste, but it was darker than the ones Jasper and the guys drank.

  “But here, here I get to love dance again and just dance for the sheer joy of it.”

  “I’m glad. I’d love to see you sometime.”

  I bit back a smile. “If all of you came to watch me, you’d have to make the studio bigger.”

  “Private performance then.” He winked. Heat flushed to my cheeks, and I took another sip of the beer.

  “I guess, better is the short answer. There’s…there’s still so much I don’t understand and decisions I need to make.”

  “I get that too,” he said as he covered the chicken and turned down the heat. The whole kitchen smelled amazing, and Mickey was as dexterous and controlled at cooking as he was at everything else. When he pulled a fat loaf of bread down and split it, he asked, “What do you want to do? For real. If you could go anywhere, be anything, what do you want, Little Bit? First answer that rolls off your tongue, don’t think about it…”

  “Someone else.”

  I didn’t even have to think hard on that. Blowing out a long breath, I shuddered.

  “Someone else?” he prompted.

  “Not Emersyn Sharpe.” It would mean giving up a career I’d built over the last decade. But it would also mean walking away from a life that had held me prisoner for so much longer. “What about you, Mickey? Who would you be?”

  There was no mistaking the hint of pleasure in his face when I used his name. It still felt a little weird on my tongue, but I was determined. Names were important. The names we had. The ones others gave us.

  The ones we never wanted to hear again.

  “I’d be me,” he said as he slid the bread into the oven. He’d buttered it and added some seasoning to it. Oven closed, he drained half his beer and then looked at me. “But you’re wondering if I’d give up my scars.”

  It wasn’t a question, but… “That wasn’t what I was thinking about. The scars say you survived.” He told me that. The memory was a little foggy. A lot of my damage was hidden away, safe from prying eyes. But he wore his on his flesh. “I think your tattoos are beautiful and the skin beneath it is too.”

  Real surprise flickered across his face. “Who are you, Emersyn Sharpe?”

  I laughed, because it made me want to both scream and cry. “That’s the million-dollar question.”

  Maybe my discomfort translated because he changed the subject after that. Soon, dinner was ready. Grilled chicken, seared with lemon and pepper, along with grilled vegetables that were crunchy and savory and hot, plus crunchy bread seasoned with garlic.

  I was so hungry, I devoured everything, even the whole half a loaf of bread he’d sliced for me, though he kept teasing me he’d take care of my carbs. We talked about the clinic. About his going into the army.
Why and how he went to med school. He’d trained as a paramedic and worked as emergency medic in the field.

  Something had happened, but he didn’t offer and I didn’t pry. By the time we circled back around to the fact that he valued the clinic and his work there, I was yawning. “Sorry.”

  “Nope,” Mickey told me as he rose from where we’d been sitting on the sofa. “Let’s get you back. It’s after ten, and I’m surprised they haven’t come to kick my door down.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Jasper is working on that.”

  It wasn’t long before he had his shoes on and we were in the rickety elevator of death. I wanted to use the stairs, but Doc promised me it would be better. “Just look in my eyes.” The fact he was cupping my face and tracing his thumbs against my cheek had nothing to do with the wild fluttering. “We empower what we fear when we focus on it.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Hmm-hmm.” The soft hum of sound zinged through me. Everything was a lot easier with Mickey. “Because we’re giving what we fear the power when we focus on it. Nothing robs something of its fear faster than ignoring it and basically flipping it off.”

  My mind slipped to thoughts of my uncle, and I shoved his face and memory away. I didn’t want him in this moment. He tainted too much already. I focused on the sense of Mickey’s heartbeat where my hands rested on his chest and the way he stared at me, the faint part to his lips.

  “See?” Mickey said as the elevator stopped, and he lowered his hands. The fact he didn’t kiss me disappointed me more than I cared to admit. We walked to his truck, and he stayed at the passenger side door as I buckled my seat belt. “Little Bit, the kiss you gave me…”

  My heart sank, I could almost hear the rejection in his voice.

  “It might be best if we just let that go.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I’m a hell of a lot older than you for one, and for another, your boys aren’t going to welcome the idea of me and you together.”

  “They aren’t mine,” I said. “And…age is just a number. You see me. You see me in a way a lot of people never have.” They all did. It was scary how many of them saw the disparate broken pieces of me that floated under the surface of my skin. “I meant that kiss.”

  Eyes closed, Mickey leaned his head against the truck frame. “I know you did,” he murmured softly. “But it would be better if we let that go.”

  “Do you want to let it go?”

  His eyes flicked open, and heat seared me. But instead of answering, he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s seat. I guessed that was an answer all its own, right?

  The silence in the car added to the chill, but I didn’t push. He’d already gone out of his way for me. Better to ease back. It took almost no time to get back to the clubhouse. He pulled right up to the little door on the side. It was quiet out here, but that didn’t mean anything. It could be a hub of activity inside.

  “Thank you, again,” I said as I unbuckled the seat belt. “I really did have a good time tonight.”

  I reached for the door handle, but he caught my hand and tugged. I slid over the seat, and he closed his mouth over mine in a swift, searing kiss that burned all the way through me. The stroke of his tongue was demanding, and finding access had me sliding my hands up into his hair. While his grip was firm, there was no bite to his fingers, no force, nothing keeping me still if I wanted to rip away.

  Then he released my mouth, dragging out my lower lip slowly with his teeth. My heart thundered, and his eyes were blazing in their intensity in the dark.

  “No, I don’t want to let it go,” he told me. “But it would be better for everyone if we did. Now get your ass inside, Little Bit. Go now.”

  The order shivered over me, and I had already slid out of the truck before it occurred to me to say no and argue.

  “Go, Little Bit,” he commanded again when I hesitated. I glared at him.

  “I’m not letting it go.”

  And maybe it wasn’t the most mature of me, but I slammed the truck door before I marched over to the door to the warehouse. I didn’t look back before I was inside. The sound of it closing behind me was a little ominous, and I shook off that chill. Arms folded, I headed across the warehouse floor. Like I’d thought, it was definitely busy in here. Two huge trucks were parked side by side, and the rats were moving one set of boxes from one truck to the other.

  The feeling of being watched crept over me, and I glanced around. I half expected to see Jasper or Kestrel keeping watch for me to come back. Instead, I found the rat Rome had punched staring at me.

  He gave me a tight smile when our gazes met, and I moved a little bit faster. The weight of his stare followed me all the way and I half wanted to run to get away from it, but I forced myself to go at a normal pace.

  Once inside the clubhouse, I let out a shuddery breath and fell back against the closed door.

  Sweat prickled along my skin, despite the cold. There was something wrong with that guy.

  Really wrong.

  Blood In

  Jasper

  I blew the smoke straight upward and stared through the empty branches of the tree at the blue sky beyond.

  “You’re supposed to be in school,” Milo said as he dropped onto the bench of my picnic table. Mine ’cause I’d fucking claimed it this morning when I sprawled flat on my back smoking. The hangover was real, and my head thundered. Liam had brought a bottle of whiskey with him and the best fucking cookies we’d ever had. They were called something French or some shit, but goddamn, they were fucking awesome.

  “So are you,” I countered, taking another drag. The sunglasses were dark enough the light didn’t bother me too much. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to give a fuck about social studies, Shakespeare, or science. Unlike Milo, I didn’t do any sports, so I’d just headed for the park rather than the school.

  “Some asshole went missing, so I came to make sure you were okay.”

  I squinted at him. He wasn’t looking at me. In fact, his posture seemed relaxed, with the way he leaned back against the table, arms stretched along the edges. A muscle twitched in his jaw despite his expressionless face. Like me, he wore sunglasses, but I swore I could hear his teeth grinding.

  “You pissed at me or something?” ’Cause last I checked, I hadn’t pulled anything recently. Not that I remembered anyway, and all the shit we got up to the week before had been his idea.

  “Not at you,” he answered. “You see Freddie this morning?”

  Three years younger than us, Freddie had showed up at the group home the summer before last. We were all damaged, but he was a special kind of broken. The kid had a death wish or something. Scrawny as fuck, he kept writing checks with his mouth that his body couldn’t pay. The shit that came out of him seemed designed to get his ass kicked. Milo and I had started watching out for his punk-ass, mostly ’cause he didn’t seem malicious or stupid, just nuts.

  We could live with nuts. Admittedly, watching him piss others off was fun.

  “Nope,” I said, then exhaled another long stream of smoke. “They go to school before us.” He wasn’t at the high school. Hell, he seemed small for sixth grade. I didn’t remember being that short then, but what did I know? “He shit in your backpack or something?”

  Milo snorted. Freddie had legit done that to one of the kids at the community center when the jerk slammed into Rome on purpose and knocked over the painting he’d been working on.

  So you know that might be another reason Milo and I kept an eye on him. I loved a good fight.

  “Why are we here?” Kellan asked as he dropped onto the bench, on the other side of the table, with a thud. “I have a test today.”

  “’Cause Milo told us to meet him,” Vaughn said as he joined us. What the fuck…?

  I sat up and peered at Milo. “What happened?” ’Cause he was a goddamn straight arrow who didn’t skip unless forced. He’d gone to school with a hundred and two temp before and then fought the nurse wh
en she tried to send him back to the group home.

  Of all of us? He was the one going places. His plans had plans. The only other one with a straight A average was Rome. They often jockeyed for first and second in the class. I’d bet Liam would be up there with them if he was at our school, but his “parents” had enrolled him in some fancy fucking prep school.

  “You guys see Freddie?” Milo asked Vaughn and Kellan rather than answer me.

  They both shook their heads. “Do we need to cut over to his school?” It wouldn’t be the first time some losers thought that ambushing him between the group home and the elementary building was the way to go. We were at school longer than he was, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t act, and the paybacks we delivered were a hell of lot more fierce and twice as bad.

  We wanted people to get the point the first time. The second time was a lot worse. So far, no one had tested us with a third time.

  “He wasn’t in at bed check,” Rome announced as he arrived. We’d all been drinking at bed check, so technically, we hadn’t been there either. The blond shrugged at my raised brows. “I asked.” Like that should have been obvious.

  “I’m guessing no one knew where he was?” I put out the cigarette before sliding off the table. My head thudded thanks to the hangover, but I ignored it for now.

  “No.” Succinct. One word. Then again, if Rome knew more, he’d have said more. He didn’t hold information hostage.

  “Fuck me,” Kellan groaned. “Did he run away?”

  “You mean again?” Vaughn asked. Freddie had run away over the summer with no word to any of us. He’d eventually turned up, almost mute in his rebellion. The thing was, I’d told him the next time he wanted to go, to get one of us. He was too damn scrawny for the streets.

  Vaughn was the biggest of us all, and he’d still had the occasional asshole try to pay him to suck his dick. The fact everything was for sale wasn’t lost on me. Still…

  “I know where he went last time.” At least part of it. He’d been rather closed-mouth on his plans, but he’d admitted that he’d holed up at a warehouse down near the docks. No one used it anymore, and they had old shipping containers inside.