Rebellious (5 page)

I gave his rock-hard abs one last squeeze—because I was much braver behind him on the back of his bike than I was ever capable of being in front of him—then swung off his bike and unstrapped my helmet.

But before I could hand it back to him, Reb was on top of me. He fisted a hand in my hair and pressed me up against my car as he took my lips in a hungry kiss. I could only hold on and let him. Let him grind against my stomach with his jean-covered erection. Let him tease and pluck my aching nipple. Let him tug my hair until my core throbbed in the same cadence. I was halfway to letting him fuck me against my car when he pulled away with a groan.

“Goddammit, sunshine. Why are you always teasing me in places where I can't fucking follow through? I swear one of these days I'm gonna make you regret it.”

I could only purr contentedly as I snugged against his chest. That didn't really sound like much of a threat to me. But with the clarity of shattering glass, the sounds of the outside world crept in. Cars zoomed nearby. Lawnmowers hummed. And a few feet behind us, kids shouted.

It was the latter that had me springing out of Reb's arms and patting my hair and clothes. Reb, the bastard, just laughed.

“Come on. I'll walk you up and you can point out Rhonda's and what's-her-name's places.”

With my face no doubt sporting a fire-engine-red blush, I let Reb tug me toward the apartment building and away from the curious eyes of Mrs. Turner and her two kids—or so I assumed. I was doing everything possible not to make eye contact with my neighbor. Instead, I focused on the bright emblem of Reb's leather vest. It helped ground me and reminded me just who I'd been dry-humping in the parking lot. A biker. Not someone you'd ever take home to Mama. Not that that was a problem for me, since I couldn't remember the last time I'd been home, let alone taken a guy there for my parents' approval.

“Which way, sunshine?”

I blinked up at Reb, torn from my morose thoughts of my lackluster parents. “Upstairs. I'm apartment 203.”

Reb gave a tight nod, then tugged my hand again as he led the way up the side stairs. I couldn't help but enjoy the view as I watched his flexing ass in front of me all the way up to the second floor. It was a work of art. One I wouldn't mind exploring later.

“So is Rhonda and what's-her-name on this floor, too?”

I dragged my eyes from his flexing ass and puffed my way up the remaining steps. “Rhonda is. She's in 205, down the hall. Morgan is below us, in 105. But like I said, they're on vacation this week, I think.”

Reb pushed through the fire door, then stopped suddenly in front of me. I crashed into his back with a grunt.

“What the fuck is this?” he grumbled, swooping down to grab something on the ground.

I peered behind his back and my blood froze at what he was holding in his hands. A bouquet of dead flowers with a few worms slithering through the dead buds.

He was back.

My breath left me in great, heaving gasps. Spots danced in front of my eyes. From somewhere far away, I heard Reb's “Em? Emily?”

But I couldn't answer him. It took all my energy just to concentrate on my wheezing. I couldn't breathe. Oh God, he was back.

I couldn't breathe.

Oh God, not again.

I couldn't breathe.

Reb had heard more than his share of fake hysterics in his life. If it was a sport, his ex would've medaled in it. The wheezing, panicked sounds coming from Emily weren't an act. They were real enough to make him take action. He caught her before she passed out.

Emily didn't even give a token protest. She'd covered her gorgeous face with her hands and those panting gasps were the only sounds she made.

The floor was littered with the dead flowers Reb had dropped to grab her. He crushed them beneath his boot heel as he took the few steps to her door. Jostling her in his arms, Reb freed a hand to dig in his front jeans pocket for the keys one of the prospects had run to his place after checking out Emily's car.

Her shitty car fell way down on the list of things he was gonna bitch her out about later. What the fuck was going on? Instead of wasting time now interrogating her, he wanted to get her back to her normal, feisty self. Not this shell of a woman he held in his arms.

Sliding the key into the lock, he opened the door to her apartment. What he found didn't make him feel any better.

The place was tidy. She wasn't a slob like his ex. Her place was just…run-down. She was obviously not spending any more of her money on furnishings than on her car. He crossed the worn carpet and set her down on the threadbare couch against the far wall in the living room. The smashed cushions didn't even give with her weight.

Like her car did last night, the sight filled him with anger. And the fucking flowers outside didn't help, either. What the hell was going on?

Leaving her on the couch, he walked back to the door and picked up the dead flowers in the hallway. The decaying mess contrasted with the cheery colors of her welcome mat. His rage building with every gathered dead bud, he paused when he found a florist card at the bottom of the rank pile. Finally, some answers. He flipped the card over but the writing didn't leave a clue to the sender's identity. The blood-red ink scratched out five letters in a nasty message: WHORE.

The note made him even more fucking pissed off.

“Fucking dickbag!” Reb crossed the hall and dumped the dead flowers and worms over the handrail into the parking lot. He couldn't give a fuck about who found them later. After folding the vicious card in half, he stuffed it in his back pocket. It might not tell him the identity of the twisted fuck who'd sent the warped bouquet, but once he found out who the asshole was, it might come in handy.

Entering the apartment again, he crossed the room to the still-wheezing Emily. And he didn't have a fucking clue what he should do. Get her a glass of water? A paper bag? Did that old wives' tale even work? His ex, Rhonda, was big with the drama, but she'd never had an actual panic attack. Reb knelt on the ground next to the couch and brushed Emily's hair off her face. “Hey, sunshine. You with me?”

“I-I-I-I'm…” She took a second, another deep breath, then sighed. “Yeah. I'm here. I'm sorry. I feel like an idiot.”

“Well, at least you're not giving me the ‘Where am I?' bullshit.”

Emily laughed slightly, but it was the saddest fucking sound he'd ever heard. “No, really. I'm fine. See?” She sat up and gave him a brave but fake smile. “You should get on with your Thursday. Move on. Nothing to see here.”

“Oh, there's plenty to see, sunshine. But first you're gonna tell me all.”

“It's fine. Probably low blood sugar. I just need to eat something and I'll be fine.”

“Bullshit. I was married, I know what ‘fine' means. And I fed you pancakes less than an hour ago. Next excuse?”

She closed her eyes briefly, then took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes. “It's my drama. My problem. I'll figure it out. I don't need a man to save me.”

“You can think whatever you like, sunshine. But you sure as hell needed a man to save you from a concussion when you almost passed out due to lack of oxygen. You needed a man to carry you inside. And I have a feeling you need a man
like
me
to take care of whatever sick fuck sent you that screwed-up bouquet.”

Emily sighed and sank back into the couch, then winced and sat up, rubbing her lower back. “There's nothing to take care of. Somehow he knows how to send me just enough to scare me, but not enough to satisfy the cops and send him to jail. He never signs the cards. What did it say this time?”

“
Who
never signs the cards?” Reb asked, deflecting her question.

“Michael. My ex.”

“So we both have crazy exes, huh? Ought to make things pretty lively.”

Emily snorted, then covered her face with her hands. “I did not just snort. Oh God!”

Reb felt a small smile curve his lips. She was pretty damn cute without even trying. “When did you and Michael break up?”

“High school.”

“And he's still sending you fucked-up packages? After how long?”

“Eight years. Give or take.” Emily got up and crossed to the kitchen. Turning on the tap, she washed her hands with frenzy. “I haven't gotten one in almost a year. I thought he'd finally given up on me. Guess I was wrong.”

“How long were you two together?”

“Too long.”

Reb nodded sagely and watched as she continued to scrub her hands like he did after an especially dirty job—mechanic or club job, take your pick. Both could get…messy.

“He wasn't always a screwed-up jackass. It was good for a while. At the beginning he was the most romantic guy I'd ever been with—have ever been with—but then it got bad. He started to get jealous, questioning me over everything I did when we weren't together. And then it got worse…”

Reb didn't need her to fill in the blanks. He knew what she'd meant by “worse.” How any guy could look at this sweet, giving woman and raise a hand to her, he'd never understand. But he'd seen enough of Michael's type to last him a lifetime. Sometimes at night he could still hear his mother's broken sobs.

He couldn't go back and help his mom, but he sure as fuck could help Emily.

Reb crossed the room and grabbed a dish towel. Taking Emily's red hands out from under the faucet, he gently wrapped them in the towel. “And what did you say his last name was–I mean is?”

Emily's brow wrinkled, and she looked at him for a long moment. “I didn't.”

“His name, sunshine. I need his full name.”

“No. It's my problem, Reb. I can handle it.”

“You can't handle it like I can. Give me his name, and he won't be your problem ever again.”

“He's not a problem now. He hasn't sent a package in over a year, and I haven't seen him in, like, six months before that. At least as far as I know…”

Reb froze. “What the fuck does that mean—as far as you know?”

“Some of the things he'd left me before made me think he was following me.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “Pictures, receipts. So I'd know he'd been where I was.”

And he'd just started sending shit to her again? Out of the blue? Fuck, that wasn't good. Sounded like he needed a lesson.

“The last time he sent me a bouquet, the cops talked to him and put the fear of God in him. I haven't heard a peep since.”

“Until now.”

“Yeah, but he's got a pattern, and today I've got evidence. They can compare this bouquet and card to the last one, so if you'll leave, I can call the cops and get it all taken care of. Thanks for the ride home. I got it from here.”

“About that evidence…”

“What do you mean ‘about that evidence'?”

“I got rid of it.” Reb shrugged philosophically. “Didn't want you to see it again so I threw it away. Looks like I'll have to take care of Michael, instead of the cops.” Not that they would've taken care of shit. If she'd been going through this for years, the system obviously wasn't working. Fucking worthless pigs. Emily deserved better. Deserved to have the problem out of her life.

Permanently.

“His name?”

“I can't believe you did that!” Emily shoved a hand through her blond hair. “What am I supposed to show the cops now? Did you at least save the card?”

“His name, sunshine. Don't make me turn on a fucking computer and search the public records for something you can tell me here and now.”

Emily glared at him. “Duvall. Michael Duvall.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic. Thank you.” Reb bent and gave her a harsh kiss, then broke away and gave her his no-bullshit look. “I'm calling your girl Jessica. I don't want you to be alone right now. Keep your phone on you. I'll call you later.” He gave her ass one last pat, then turned and made for the door. At her shout, he stopped and looked back at her.

“Reb!” She jogged the short distance between them and looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Just please don't do anything…crazy. I don't need you going to jail for something you did for me.”

Reb's mouth curved. “The kind of shit I do doesn't leave witnesses. Later, sunshine.”

A minute later he was on his bike, heading toward the clubhouse. He had some new business to take care of.

“…and then he just left.”

My best friend, Jessica, nodded sympathetically from her corner in our booth at the Mackay Mocha House. Somehow I'd thought that talking out my situation would make me feel better, but it hadn't. Although that might've had something to do with seeing those dead flowers strewn all over the parking lot before I'd gotten into my car. Reb's disposal method hadn't involved much forethought. I'd looked around, but I hadn't been able to find the card. If I had that much to take to the police, it would've helped. Maybe they could've done a writing analysis or something. But no.

I had a feeling Reb had done something to the card, given the creative way he “got rid” of the flowers.

“I don't see the problem.”

Jessica's flat voice tore me from my irate thoughts. “Are you kidding me? Don't you get it? He's gonna”—I leaned closer and lowered my voice—“ 
‘take care of'
the problem. What do you think it means when a biker like him says that?”

“It means that you won't have to worry about it anymore. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. That dickhead will be out of your life and you won't have to waste another second thinking about him.”

“But—”

“But nothing. It's not like you can talk the prez out of it. I've seen him when he's on a warpath. You do not want to get in his way.”

I noticed how Jessica was careful not to use any names. I looked around the coffee shop but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Most of the tables were empty and the staff busy filling drive-through orders. Aside from the sixtyish woman on the sofa on the other side of the room, we might as well have been alone.

“But still, I don't get it. I've only known him for a day. Why would he care what happens to me? We didn't even…You know.”

Jessica smirked. “Oh, I know. And if he's ready to take care of this, like you say, you guys will…‘you know.' Not that you even need to
you know.
That's the kinda guy he is. He'd give you the shirt off his back. No one fucks with a Brother's girl. Especially the kinda head games dickhead is into.”

“Okay, first of all—I'm not his girl. We had one kiss, one amazing kiss—wait, maybe it was two…” My voice trailed off as I tried to remember how many times I'd kissed Reb. After a beat, I was remembering the feel of his hands on other parts of me. How he pressed me against my car and the feel of his hips grinding into me. I shook my head and tried to pick up my original line of thought. “But still. And second of all—who are you and what have you done to Jess? This is not the same girl I knew way back in grade school. Since when are you okay with this?”

“Since last year's Street Vibrations.”

That was all it took to shut me up. Because I knew the hell Jessica had gone through at last year's annual biker rally. Her gunshot wound had been so horrific we'd all been afraid she wouldn't pull through. And I don't think anyone had any doubts about what had happened to the shooter. His mysterious “disappearance” hadn't fooled anyone. Because like Reb had said, he didn't leave any witnesses.

The thought filled my veins with ice. When the disappearance had happened to my best friend's attacker, it'd been easy to block out. Honestly, it'd been a nonissue. But this now—with me—wasn't something I could ignore. The law should take care of Michael. Even if they hadn't been all that effective up to now. But still, I didn't want Reb to get into trouble. Not for me. I couldn't handle the guilt.

I would've loved to get the opinion of our other best friend, Nicole, but she was away at an annual work-conference thingy and wouldn't be back for at least a week.

I sighed heavily and let my head drop onto the table with a loud
thunk.

Jessica huffed. “It's not as bad as all that.”

I lifted my head to stare at my friend incredulously. “But Jess, I don't think I could live with myself, knowing what he's going to do. For me. It's…It's…It's not normal is what it is.”

“You'd be surprised what you can live with.”

My eyes widened in shock, but Jessica just blinked placidly back at me.

“Hey, I warned you when you called me from the clubhouse last night.” Jessica's smile clashed with the hard expression I saw in her eyes. “These guys are hard-core. It's not a life you screw around with. Either you're in or you're out. And right now, for better or worse, you're in.”

“Wait, what? Just like that? Don't I get a choice?” The only relationship I'd ever been in had been with Michael. To say that I wasn't eager to jump back into one—without any say-so—was an understatement. I could take care of myself. Had been taking care of myself for as long as I could remember—with a few notable exceptions. The clusterfuck of my relationship with Michael being one of them.

Jessica shrugged. “Not really.”

The lack of control in this situation made my skin itch. I wanted to run to the bathroom and scrub my hands. But I resisted the urge. Instead I put on my brave face and meticulously stacked the sugar packets at our table. I would definitely have a conversation with Reb later about being “in.”

“Awesome.” I smiled wryly at her. “So is there a secret handshake or something?”

“Nope. Although if you stick around long enough, you'll pick up some amazing blow-job tips.”

My mind flashed back to the clubhouse and the girls under the table in the bar. “So that's a regular thing? The girls just…”

“Yup.”

“In front of everyone?”

“Uh-huh.”

I digested that particular piece of information. Don't get me wrong—I'm not a prude, but I'm not an exhibitionist, either. “Do you and Zag—”

“Hell no. We only
you know
in private. And he doesn't partake of the skanks, either. He knows exactly what'll happen to his dick if he does.”

I laughed heartily at that. Jess would like to pretend that she was hard-core, but she really was a pussycat. Or maybe not. I'd noticed she'd developed a harder shell since Zag. Was that what would happen to me? I was dying to ask but afraid to know the answer.

Instead I asked her something else that had been bugging me all morning.

“Can I trust him?”

“What?” Jessica blinked as if she was shocked by the question. “Of course you can. Did you hear the part I said about him giving you the shirt off his back? And you've seen him with his son.”

“Yeah, but…” I avoided her eyes and took a long slurp of my now cold caramel cappuccino, then made a face. “I dunno. There was a point last night when I was worried about my own safety.”

Jessica leaned close to me and lowered her voice. “With Reb? You were worried about your safety with Reb? Really?”

I nodded as tears blurred my vision. “When I was with him in his office and told him what was going on with Rhonda and Tuck…he hit the wall.”

“And?”

“He hit it hard, Jess. Like bashed a hole in it and everything.”

Jessica leaned back in her chair, her brow wrinkled. “And that's it? That's all he did?”

I looked at her in disbelief. “What more does he have to do? He broke the wall. Sheetrock rained down on my head.”

“Do you remember that year and a half you lived with my family?”

I nodded.

“Do you remember how my brothers were? Half the time they were trying to kill one another and the other half they were taking their aggression out on the walls, doors, or anything else in their path. It's a guy thing. Some of them grow out of it, but not guys like the prez. Not guys in the club. They're built for fight, not flight.”

“You're not exactly selling him very well, Jess.”

“Yeah, but he takes out his aggression on
things.
Or on scumbags who deserve it. Assholes who I'm not gonna shed a tear over. But not women or children or random strangers. He's not built that way. Plus my guy told me some stuff about the prez's past…” Jessica trailed off when the door jingled as someone entered the coffee shop.

I waited until they passed by our table. “And? Are you seriously gonna leave me hanging? Spill!”

“Okay, but you can't tell him you heard this from me. It's just…I guess, like you, he had a shitty childhood. His dad knocked around his mom, and him, too. It got bad. Real bad. His old man came back from 'Nam kinda screwed up and took it out on everyone around him.”

I leaned back into the booth and tried to process Jess's bombshell. It was hard to merge the two very different versions of this man in my mind. I honestly couldn't picture him as a child. Come to think of it, I couldn't remember seeing any pictures of a young Reb at his house. But maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe, like me, he had a past he didn't want to remember.

If his childhood was half as dysfunctional as mine, this was a match made for some screwed-up reality show. Or a therapist's wet dream, at the very least.

“You know, now that I think of it, you guys would make an awesome couple.”

I blinked at Jessica in disbelief. “What are you smoking? You just told me that he's every bit as screwed-up as me. And considering
my
history, how is this ever gonna end well?”

“If he could go through all that shit with Rhonda and not fuck her up, you don't have anything to worry about. Believe me, if that bitch had something like that to use against him, she would. But she doesn't because he's not that kinda guy. That man would die before hurting one hair on your head. You've seen him with Tucker—you know what he's capable of, and it's not anything you've gotta worry about.”

I gave a shuddering sigh. “It's not easy for me to trust.”

“And I'm not saying you have to. Just give him a chance. He's worth it.”

I nodded slightly and gave her a pained smile. “I'll try.”

“Good. Now can we enjoy my first outing sans baby? For the first time in a month I'm out of the house without someone attached to my boob.”

I cracked up. Okay, clearly Jess had changed some. She never would've said that before Zag. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Good.” She grinned at me. “Now can we circle back to the part where my soon-to-be husband said you had to blow the guy at the gate?”