by D. M. Burns
“Are you happy?” She asks. Is this woman fucking kidding me?
“Brown sugar, you’re my happy beginning and ending to every damn day. My kids are the spice in our life filling the time throughout, period. This is our life baby. I love every damn second too. It runs deep, always has-always will.” She squeezes me tighter in her embrace.
Fisting a handful of her hair I pull her head back and slant my lips over hers. Diving deeply into her mouth and carving out room for me. When she moans seductively, I sweep her little body up into my arms and move us toward our bedroom. MINE. I’m taking what’s mine, her.
“I love you, brown sugar,” I whisper in her ear. “It runs deep baby.”
“Mine over Matter. Nothing else matters Ryice.”
My treacherous and rebellious side is now reserved only for those with ill will intent. Particularly anyone that threatens our safe and coveted life. The wicked dangerous motherfucker that is me waits for anyone to disturb our Chaos family. A watchful set of eyes are always on the lurk.
Asia slaughtered that asshole prick from years ago and single-handedly saved me in many ways. She has no idea how strong she is. The ninja of nightmares in the flesh. Kicking ass and not stopping to take names. The woman’s a walking talking poster promotion for triumph through adversity.
She’s also filled both of our lives with the love that we deserve. This is how things were supposed to always be. How things are. How they’ll stay, her and me, together. This is our family and I’ll spend the rest of my time protecting what’s mine, them. I’m their Renegade.
My Dirty Defiance Is Unraveled By Her.
My Hostile Retaliation Is Leashed By Her.
A Cold Calculated Bastard Is Thawed By her.
Everything That I Am Shines Through Her Baby Brown Sugar Eyes Only.
Reserved For her.
My Love War Thrives For Her.
Always Her. – It Runs Deep. – Forever Us.
authors notes
Hello, My Ruthless-Love Readers,
Oh my God… I love Ryice. This guy is the stable foundation to a wonderful forever. That’s my true definition of a Renegade. Asia is a warrior woman of strength. These two just fit together perfectly. Ryice and Asia blew up in my mind over the course of a few months. Their story was one that absolutely pounded out from the depths of my soul, ripped it to shreds then stitched it back up again.
Sometimes the reality that we think we see is just an outside view of what someone allows us to take in. We never truly know what others are trying to tame within their own twisted battles. Remember to be kind. I know this is not the last we’ll hear out of the Renegade household as the Ruthless Tendencies Series evolves.
Now, what about that fun-loving, herb smoking, life-sized red-eyed teddy bear, hmmm? Hold onto the seat of your ass cheeks because what you assume to know about Rebel and what is factual reality will set you in permeant shock.
Rebel’s our comatose care bear that has a hibernating heart. It’s been that way ever since Alexandria Greyson. He never thought he’d see her again. Damn sure wasn’t expecting to crosshairs with her within the realms of his profiling profession. Rebel’s patriotic payback pastime for hunting serial psychopaths is his obsession. That is until Alexandria appears back in his life. What do you do when fate turns the tables around and tosses you a bone?
Thank you for joining me on this crazy ride. Remember to follow me so you stay in the know for the next release coming soon. Read below for a peek into the life of “Rebel” Nico Owen Carter. Our very own Rebel.
Acknowledgements
Working a fulltime job and writing every spare moment I get in between tends to leave me running on empty at times. I want to give a shout out to my work-fam. They deal with my obsession like it’s a mutual passion. God bless you guys. I love you all.
My Ri-guy, my son… I’m so sorry for all the times I got aggravated with you because my face was buried into my laptop. You and your sister are my single best creation by far, facts. I promise to make it up to you baby boy. Thank you for loving me anyway.
To my readers, if you would please take the time to leave a review, I’ll be ever so grateful. Tell me your thoughts. I crave those tidbits of information. Your opinion, word for word, matters to me and it’s thoroughly appreciated. Believe me when I tell you that everything you have to say is carried over into the next creative story that my fingertips type out.
Read below for a taste of Rebel, coming very soon.
XOXO#RuthlessLove,
D.M. Burns
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Ruthless Tendencies Series Reading Order:
Rage
Renegade
Rebel
Rampage
REBEL:
A PERSON WHO RISES IN OPPOSITION OR ARMED RESISTANCE AGAINST AN ESTABLISHED GOVERNMENT OR RULER. A PERSON WHO RESIST AUTHORITY, CONTROL, OR CONVENTION. SHOWS OR FEELS REPUGNANCE FOR OR RESISTANCE TO SOMETHING.
chapter 1 – alexandria
six years ago
Like all other girls at Creekside High, I saw Rebel the very first day he materialized with his Chaos family. The four of those guys together give you a sense of being overcrowded in a profoundly large auditorium with no one else in attendance but you and them. Condense and overflowing with potent male hormones in abundance. Carving out a chaos symbol deep within every working ovary without so much as a single touch. Sorta like the mark of the beast.
Most everyone refers to them as the four horsemen of untamed chaos and I tend to agree. But Rebel… Rebel is by far the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. His jet-black hair was groomed in a military cut except for the top. It was longer and slicked back with a glossy sheen that made me want to reach out to touch it. Test the texture between my fingers. Those hazel eyes are an ever-changing color dependent on his mood. And he’s huge just like his cousin Rage. A very stunning, intelligent but silent beast. He intrigued me from the start.
We share third period advanced chemistry class together. I’ll never forget the day he strolled in sending the heat index up by ten degrees. All eyes were on him as he walked right up to my lab assigned seating table. He proceeded to have a silenced red-eyed stare off with my now ex-lab partner, Brax.
Brax finally relented and voluntarily moved out of fear for his face. I wasn’t too broken up about it. The guy never helped me with our assignments, ever. He only partnered up with me so he could cheat and coast through the class. Now, Brax must earn that passing grade on his own.
Rebel doesn’t cheat off me, no. That guy sleeps his stoned state of mind off throughout the entire period. Sometimes he even snores and I can’t help but giggle when this happens. Surprisingly, he aces every test though. I’d say that he totally ignores my existence but then again, he’s never coherent or awake. Which is fine. Most of the time I find myself staring at his beautiful onyx hair wondering what it feels like.
Being the goth girl is my thing along with an unhealthy fascination for Rebel Carter. Disappointingly enough, I’m the only person that’s into my dark expressionless fashion statement. Not getting notice unless it was to shock the shit out of folks is my style.
The popular crowd shuns me and makes fun of my wardrobe every chance they deem it cool, whateve’s. My priority in life is not to walk the halls displaying my tits and ass all about like a free visual peepshow. That’s what half the cheer squad was for. They have that shit covered or in their case, uncovered. Assholes that they are make my relevant side tune their opinions out. Their high school popularity in life is hitting an all-time peeking point, here. That alone should depress the fuck out of them.
My tall and skinny frame is lanky and odd. I’m praying that my body will grow into a comfortable shell that I
can appreciate and soon. My white-blonde hair is a beautiful canopy of flowing silk. The color of which that everyone around me will probably appreciate when the day comes that I stop dying it midnight black.
The chipped red nail polish I’m sporting was my rebellious way of stepping out of the goth zone temporarily. Normally it’s a nice shade of black that matches my dreadful everyday full-body opaque clothing. My high cheeks bones, pouty lips, and electric sapphire blue eyes were passed down from my mom. Those three things are by far my most favorite attributes. The mirror image resemblance is a constant reminder that she wasn’t a dream.
Ditching my PE class is nothing new for me. My physical fitness aspirations are nonexistence and I’d rather be reading. Soaking up information by the second is my number one pursuit in this life. Getting different perspectives and takes on the world around me. It feeds my soul in ways that no classroom ever will. Face buried in a book; I pass the bleachers near the far end of the school at a leisurely pace. Trying to avoid human interaction is also my thing too. I’m good at it.
The smell assaults me before I ever see a face. I drop the book down and crane my head around the area. My search comes to a smoking halt when I spot the bulked-up beast in all his hushed hulking glory. Rebel’s leaning his massive body against the back of the cement wall obscuring himself somewhat from eyeshot. Trying to conceal his temporary break for his toking ways.
That bad boy put the Y in sexy but the S in silent. Those snug jeans and short sleeve basic black tee snugly fit his body perfectly. It’s like the material is being tried for durability stretched over those humps and lumps of muscled wealth. But he’s so much more than what the eye can see. This guy is deep.
Rebel not only has that silent and deadly aura going on, but he also hides it well under a cloud of smoke and encases it with intellect. Similar to my choice in black clothing his darkness within comes in levels and layers. Like an elevator ride, select your floor and explore the contents at your own risk. It lives in depths of him that most miss. Those eyes are glass fixtures that I can see through, clearly. God, I need to rethink all these damn clothes, it’s hot-he’s hot. I’m burning up.
While he enjoys a toke off his joint, those eyes are transfixed on me, bleeding out into my system. It’s unnatural. Uninvited. The green color is more prominent today. It could be the way the sun hits his face or maybe it’s the weed intake, tossup. When the corner of his mouth tips up I quickly raise my book back into place covering my face. Picking up my pace while my body flushes with heat. I can feel the splotches dotting my chest. Jesus.
“Greyson, why do you always wear long sleeves in the dead of summer?” I stop and drop my book back down turning slowly to face him. He tilts his head to the side and continues to study me. It’s like a slow dissection of my soul. It makes me uncomfortable in my own skin. Which is laughable because I’m normally always uneasy, he just ups my level of discomfort and anxiety.
“Maybe it’s the rebel in me.” I shrug my shoulders. He smirks and nods his head yes while raising the joint to his lips. The smoke fumes roll out from between his full luscious lips. “Why do you smoke weed?”
“It gives me a reprieve from my own thoughts.” He says. I’m leaning toward a chemical suppression for those demons he keeps locked away inside that membrane maze, but I keep that thought to myself. He holds his joint up offering me his shared high and I shake my head no. “What color is your real hair?” This newbie is all kinds of interested in my appearance.
“Why?” I throw my hand out. I’m really interested in his give a shit. Where did it come from, huh? No one cares about anything me related, ever.
“Curiosity.” He shrugs. “Why do you hide behind all that shit?” He waves his joint holding hand up and down the length of my body. “The all-black, head to toe covered armor and black boots is a high-pitched scream for some dark secrets, yeah?”
“And the constant high shouts out dark demon dreams but I don’t push for you to share your truths with me, Rebel.” I quirk a solo eyebrow at him in a challenge. This guy makes me want to become a conversationalist. Anything for insight into this Rebel way of life.
He pushes off the cement wall and casually comes in my direction. I gulp down the anxiety bubbling up from the pit of my stomach. My heart speeds up like a freed line of racehorses sprinting from the starting gates at the derby. He stops right in front of me and I straighten my spine. I’m not real sure of my next move with this guy.
“You wanna share secrets angel? You first.” He whispers in a deep dark voice that I’m sure is the reason my body temperature just shot up by ten degrees. Angel? What the hell?
“No.” I rasp out. The need to scratch my neck is only the nerve endings pulsating through my fingertips. Control that urge, Alex.
“I see you Alexandria Greyson.” He hits every syllable in my name. “Every last piece of beauty you’re trying so desperately to hide. I see it.” He licks those full lips then takes another hit off his rolled relief, blowing the cotton tangy clouds upward to spare my air supply.
“Why do you care?” I whisper.
“Why do you hide?” He pushes the question again.
Rebel flicks the remainder of the unsmoked joint to the side without bothering to make sure of his aim. Then lightning-quick he grabs my free arm jerking one of my long sleeves up revealing my recent cuts on the inside of my forearm. Eyeballing my multiple scars like an expert doctor for destructive pore decor. I drop my book and rip my arm out of his hold trying frantically to pull my sleeve back into place, covering my shame. His brows crease together as he takes in my razorblade foreplay then those sharp eyes snap up and scrutinize mine, judging me.
“Don’t touch me.” I stumble back in shock, shame, and horror, equal amounts. No, oh God. Anyone but this guy.
“Someone needs to. A lot.” He grabs my book off the ground and hands it over my way. “Soul Deep.” His eyes see too much. I snatch it from him wishing I could disappear midair.
“It’d do you a lot of good not to worry yourself with me, Rebel.” I tuck a lock of my dyed black hair behind my ear vaguely aware of my shaky hands and trembling voice. “Use your temporary reprieve for more important things. Like knowing that Principle Rowlane cuts through this way every day at this time to get over to the academic hall. Or maybe staying awake during lab.” I turn on my heel and all but run in the other direction away from his mute assessment of what he believes of me.
“Thanks for the heads up. See you soon angel Alexandria.” He calls out.
I don’t bother to indulge him in any more idle chit chat. That’d just provoke him to strip back more layers of clothing or mental shields I have firmly in place. I want to put as much distance as humanly possible between myself and the only guy to ever get a glimpse of me, the real me. Rebel plays by his own rules, none. That trait alone is dangerous just like him. Rebel scares me, scar deep.
chapter 2 – rebel
Am I a Rebel? That’s the million-dollar question, right? That’s what all the naïve and unsuspecting fucks ask me 24/7. My normal response is to chuckle and wink through my red-eyed glare. My wicked ways are not for the faint of heart. Promise you this, you won’t coerce a conversation into my mental fuckery. It’s a vile vault. Worse than a century-old haunted hospital and undoubtedly seen way more decrepit dead bodies, facts.
Entertaining an open fucking discussion about my skeleton count and skills is a no go. The interested probing souls would surely shrivel up in a corner if they had any inkling for the twisted thoughts that filter through this mental mortuary of a mind. Expressing my feelings and thoughts will have you popping Xanax’s like there PEZ candy. Sensitive information for only me; shared with no one. Closed off from all. It’s a lonely fucking life but necessary all the same.
There’s not one person that can comprehend or handle the truths behind that answer. But still, you ask… Am I a Rebel? I’ll tell you honestly, you bet your god damn ass I am. A wicked one of the worst variety. I’m the Rebel with a choke
hold around the necks of the sick sadistically warped motherfuckers that this world inhabits. I can promise you this, if your path is that of a psychotic parasite; I’m coming for you. My kind of crazy is just slightly more capable and twisted up like a fucking pretzel.
Your boy right here is the one that the government comes to for profiling guidance and hacker Houdini expertise. With a half-baked disposition, I’m the asshole that views each sordid case file one by one. Then with a few clicks of the keyboard, I can locate you too.
Accomplishing what the fucking GBI, CIA, or FBI can’t, that’s me. Digging deep into the serially insane membranes using a simple vanilla file folder. All the while huffing and puffing it out one herb at a time, literally. Producing results is what I do while high as all hell too.
Let me tell you something, judge me all you want where my stash of bud comes into play. But know this, it takes a THC state of mind to scan through that kind of sinister shit and still face each day with a smile. My chemical high is the crazy cure for sure. It keeps the mania from seeping in and eating away at my sanity. What’s left of it anyway.
Not bragging or anything but ninety-eight percent of my predictions lead the men in black or the boys in blue to your doorstep. In my eyes, it’s a waste of taxpayers’ hard-earned dollars. But that’s every sick nut’s legal right to a fair trial, right? Once you decide to take a beautiful beating heart that’s on the sane side of living then it’s an eye for an eye to this guy. Call me crazy, it’s my opinion only.
There are, however, a select few that I deem fit for a one on one meet and greet with me. The special fucknut freaks found at the bottom of a germ-infested gene pool. Those are the ones that I refuse to give an expert assessment on. Tossing the file back to the so-called professionals while turning my nose up. But only after I’ve memorized the details of our not-so-friendly freak of the week.
They know what it means when I do that, fucking freebie. Leaving the cops to fuck up an arrest or violate a volatile maniac’s rights is not happening, fuck you very much. My housewarming ways are reserved for only those that I know can and will slip away overnight. A silent but slick raid from the Rebel is required. You’re welcome, motherfuckers. Call it my contribution to the red, white, and blue; good old US-of-A.