Bad Boy Rebel (Salma Rebels Book 1)

by Skye Darrel

  Asher’s black Mustang is parked not far away. The car looks like Swiss cheese. Two police cars in the same condition parked behind it. I notice, with only a little satisfaction, that Branigan’s lime green Porsche is also chewed up.

  Branigan himself is speaking with Deputy Murphy and a woman wearing an FBI badge. The front of his pants looks wet, and when he sees me, he averts his gaze.

  Two more people join me at the curb. Juno and Cora. Cora is silent, staring up at the noon sky, her eyes dry and vacant.

  Juno smiles at me. A medic hands us each a bottle of water. We touch bottles and drink.

  “Where’s Eli?” I say.

  “Under arrest,” Juno says. “I told a detective he wasn’t involved with the casino, just wanted to save his father. But they’re taking him in for questioning.” Juno stiffens. “The detective mentioned they found Titus in Neverland. He’s dead.”

  “Neverland,” I repeat after her. It sounds so strange.

  “Did the cops tell you anything else?” I say.

  “Yeah. Hoyt Dunkel spilled the beans on everything. The police found Leon Costello in a grave behind the casino. Other bodies too.”

  We’re silent for a while.

  She bumps my shoulder. “Glad you made it, city girl.”

  “Go Panthers,” I say.

  Juno pats my bag. “Go panthers.”

  33

  Whole Again

  Natalie

  After leaving the hospital, I spend the rest of August being questioned by different agencies. The County Sheriff’s Office, the Maryland State Police, and the FBI. My days are filled with depositions and interviews. I relive the nightmare over and over, but with each telling, I lose more of my fear.

  Oscar found me a big shot lawyer from DC named Michelle Kingsley who arrived when I was in the hospital. She takes charge as far as legal stuff goes, bossing everyone around who gives me a hard time. I don’t know how much Oscar pays her, but it’s probably a fortune.

  He can afford it since he now runs Branigan Realty Group.

  He even agreed to foot the bill for Michelle’s firm to represent the Newlins too. Although Juno wouldn’t trust anyone from DC and also insisted on hiring a local lawyer named Chet Buckley, none other than the son of cranky Dale Buckley.

  Chet and Michelle have regular shouting matches, for no reason it seems to me. Maybe they like each other.

  Liam Branigan the Third is living in disgrace after my Oscar made my accusations against him public. Turns out, there is a Branigan the Second, and the old man had no idea how the Third had been running the company founded by Second. Children, right?

  Branigan the Second had his attorneys negotiate a sizable settlement with Michelle on my behalf, and in exchange, I won’t be suing Branigan Realty into the next century. The money is in the seven digits, to be paid over several months, but what I’m really happy about is the heartfelt apology I got from Liam Branigan.

  Disgrace seems to have humbled him. “I’m moving to Alaska,” he said over the phone. “I need to find myself.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I wished him luck and I told him to keep his pants on.

  A day after my last interview with the FBI, Michelle tells me over coffee at Goldilocks that my real estate license was reinstated by the state Commission, with a written apology by the whole Commission.

  But she says we can sue the Commission too because they denied me due process when they suspended me in the first place. The last thing I want is another lawsuit.

  “Aren’t you happy?” she asks.

  “Ecstatic,” I say.

  We chat a bit longer before she excuses herself for the day and heads back to her luxury hotel by the waterfront, where she and Chet will discuss how we can sue the hell out of Resnik’s sizable estate. That lawsuit can go ahead.

  Juno comes over, and I can smell the alcohol on her breath. She’s been drinking a lot more. “You look tired,” she says.

  “You too,” I say.

  Juno waves her hand. “I’m fine. Rene’s covering for me. I’m thinking about hiring a restaurant manager.” She gives a brittle laugh. “The casino’s insurance company sent me a check. I can afford to retire.”

  “How’s Cora?”

  “Getting ready to start school.”

  I don’t press it. Cora and I are besties now, but she’s aged a few years in a month. I see it in her eyes. None of us ever brings up Eli, who’s still in police custody. He’s looking at time in juvie.

  “You gonna see Asher today?” Juno asks.

  “In a few hours.”

  Juno gives me a hug, and I leave Goldilocks, driving outside town into the wooded hills. It takes me a while to find a shrub still blooming with Salma’s Tears. They really do look like white roses. I’m lucky. They mainly bloom at the height of summer, and it’s almost September.

  I pick up a Tear, wrap it in wax paper, and get back in my car. I pack the flower in my messenger bag, along with a glass jar I brought for the occasion.

  When I get to Memorial Hospital, a nurse brings me to Asher’s room. By now everyone at the hospital knows who I am, but today is the first time they’re letting me see him.

  The nurse, a woman around my age, looks at the flower I’m holding. “You know the Salma story?” she asks.

  “Uh-huh. Put it in a jar. Fill with water. Still blooming after three days? He loves you truly.”

  “But the guy is the one who’s supposed to bring you the flower,” she says with a wry smile.

  I huff. “Times change.” Also my guy happens to be recovering from abdominal trauma, blood poisoning, and a dozen other minor wounds.

  “Go on in,” the nurse says. “I’ll make sure you have some privacy.”

  I feel my face get warm. “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

  “He insisted.”

  That’s so like Asher. “Can you give us thirty minutes?”

  “No more than that,” the nurse says with a wink.

  I go in.

  He’s slouched on a bed wearing some kind of pajama pants. Shirtless. The stitches at his waist have been removed already, and a fresh scar is all that remains of the knife wound. His muscles have shriveled a bit, but he’s still, well, packed.

  “Hey, doll face.”

  I roll my eyes as I walk to the bed. I try to stay composed. Not sure why I even bother with modesty since he looks ready to jump on me. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a gown or something?” I say.

  “Took it off for you.”

  “Jerk-off.”

  He sees the flower in my hand, knowing what it means. “That’s just a superstition, Natalie.”

  “Maybe so.” I put the jar on the bed stand, fill it with water from a pitcher, and carefully set the flower inside. “Three days, Asher. I’ll be back after three days for your discharge and this flower better be blooming.”

  He takes my hand.

  I’m wearing the floral sundress he likes.

  “Come here,” he growls.

  I sorta giggle and sorta pout, but mostly I just let him kiss my fingers.

  “That damn doctor wouldn’t let me see you until my stitches are out,” he says. “Told me I can’t be agitated.”

  “He’s right.”

  Asher’s eyes soften. “I love you so much.”

  I tap his nose. “And I love you back. In fact, I kinda moved into your house, officially. Do you mind?”

  Ever since I survived the casino, I’m no longer worried about the ghosts of Pris and Eugene. The house itself feels—quieter, but that’s probably just my imagination.

  “My house is yours, Princess.”

  “There you go again, calling me dirty names.”

  “How is princess dirty?”

  I huff. “It is when you say it, because I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Yeah?”

  The heat in my face grows, as does the shape under his pants.

  “Yeah,” I snap.

  “What color are your panties?”r />
  “Oh my God, Asher.”

  “Show me.”

  I flip my skirt up in a flash to show him my plain white underwear, and he looks as if I’ve shown him the sexiest lace. I drop my skirt and cross my arms. “Happy?”

  Before I know it, his hand is under my skirt and sliding higher, massaging me slowly. He finds my clit and rubs his thumb. The tent in his pants stands fully erect.

  I glance at the clock on the wall to see twenty minutes left of our privacy. “You’re ridiculous,” I murmur.

  He sits higher, heat burning in his eyes. “Every day I think of you, every night you’re in my dreams.” I feel him push aside the front of my panties to rub my folds. “I stroked my cock a few times, but it’s hard to clean up here.”

  Only Asher Wade would jerk off while recovering from a severe abdominal injury.

  “So I’ve been suffering,” he growls. “Holding my cum down, and then you strut in beautiful as ever. What did you expect, doll face? Or were you expecting this? Your pussy is so wet.”

  Fifteen minutes left.

  “Behave,” I whisper.

  He pulls out his hard cock that looks very swollen. Grabbing my waist, he lifts me onto the bed, and I straddle his thighs and glance at the door before I guide him into me.

  Oh. I missed him even more than I thought.

  Our bodies fit together so well, and he bumps me gently over his hips as I clench around him, my clit grinding on the base his cock. He grips my rear as I push my hair back, the strap of my sundress slipping lose, his abs under my fingers flexing and shifting. I run my hands over his torso and ride his cock, swaying over him, and I savor the expression on his handsome face.

  But of course, Asher being Asher, he starts to mouth off dirty words, telling me what a good girl I am, how tight my little pussy feels, and he squeezes my breasts while he grimaces with pleasure.

  The bed is not designed for this and starts to rattle as my breathing quickens.

  Asher waits until my orgasm spikes before he floods me with his cum.

  Panting, flushed all over, I ease off and pull my panties back into place, the feel of his release soaking through, slicking down my thighs, making me moan. I stand by his bedside rubbing my thighs together and patting my dress down. I ogle his glistening cock before Asher tucks himself back up.

  I have to sit down. He’s a little sweaty and so am I. We hold hands and just enjoy each other’s presence.

  The clock has run out.

  Both of us share a sudden laugh.

  He clears his throat. “How was that for you?”

  “You’ve done better.” But it was pretty close to amazing. I haven’t had much release myself.

  “When I get out of here, I’m gonna do it properly.”

  “You’d better,” I say.

  There’s a knock on the door, and I swear under my breath. I should’ve brought some air freshener. The Tear’s fragrance isn’t enough to cover the other scent. Asher nods at his gown draped over another chair, and I toss it to him.

  While he slips it on, I rush to the door as the knocks get louder and more frequent. When Asher gives me a thumbs up, grinning like a total jerk, I roll my eyes and pull open the door to face Deputy Murphy.

  “Howdy, Ms. Whipple.”

  I was expecting a nurse or doctor. “Um, hi.”

  Murphy strolls into the room holding a gift basket and sets it on the bed stand next to my flower jar. Then he sniffs.

  “Smells funny in here. They airing this room regular, Asher?”

  “Probably the lunch tray I had,” he says with a straight face. “You know how hospital food is.”

  The deputy, currently the interim chief of police for Salma’s Hope, nods. “Yeah, don’t I know it. This hospital used to have decent food in my time, let me tell you . . .”

  We listen to him reminisce about the old days, and we smile at appropriate moments, but my pulse has trouble coming down, while Asher struggles to keep his face blank. Murphy finishes on the importance of drinking plenty of water before he lets out a long sigh.

  “We’ve had a rough couple of weeks at the station,” he says.

  I can only imagine. I’ve had it bad with the nonstop FBI interviews, but the Salma’s Hope Police Department has been under the screws around the clock. The county sheriff is under investigation too because he’s Resnik’s second cousin.

  Verne Resnik had connections in high places. Now all those connections are eager to show they had nothing to do with him. Resnik himself, last I checked, is facing life without parole in federal prison. A few other people around Salma’s Hope have been implicated. Others elsewhere face charges, as far north as New York and as far south as Florida.

  Juno told me three days ago that she’s happy justice is being served, but she worries about a witch hunt.

  Deputy Murphy looks glum. “I came to ask a favor,” he says to us. “Now look, I reckon you two are close and y’all just want to put this whole mess behind you, but . . .”

  There’s always a but, isn’t there?

  “Yes?” I say.

  “What is it,” Asher says, with less patience.

  Murphy looks from me to Asher. “It’s like this, Ash. Mayor Landry needs a new chief of police, and I’m getting too old for this. Hell, I was never young enough. Drugs and human trafficking, right under my nose. And Hoyt, that son of a gun had his fingers in everything.”

  Hoyt Dunkel had a heart attack in court, died instantly according to the news. The only problem Hoyt Dunkel has now is where to rest, because the town refuses to bury him in the cemetery here.

  Asher sits up. “You offering me your job, Murphy?”

  “Reckon so,” he says. “If that’s all right with you, Ms. Whipple.”

  I cross my arms. “We’re getting married in two weeks.”

  “Natalie comes first,” Asher says firmly.

  “Oh, of course, being chief wouldn’t take all your time. I expect after this mess finally winds up, it’d be back to business as usual. How many Verne Resniks are there? No sir, it’ll be a cushy job.”

  Asher looks at me. He leaves me the decision.

  “We’ll think about it,” I say.

  Murphy thanks us both and takes his cue to leave.

  “It’s up to you, doll face,” Asher says. “We don’t need the money, but . . .”

  “But you’d enjoy keeping your hometown safe.”

  “Guess so.”

  I smile. “Let me think about it.”

  He kisses my fingers again. “Think all you want.”

  Three days later, I pick up Asher outside Memorial, and he walks out carrying the jar with our flower still flourishing. He gets in my Beetle and smiles.

  “See?” he says.

  “Never had any doubt.”

  I drive him back to the Wade house, our house, and show him how to plant the flower in the front bed, a single white blossom among the lavenders still in bloom. We stare at it as he kisses my hair.

  “Let’s go inside,” I say.

  He kisses my hair.

  The moment I open the door, Hansel jumps into his arms, tail wagging and barking like a mad dog. Asher has his moment with the collie before he sees the tiny bundle of white fur perched on the carpet staring up with huge eyes.

  Hansel parks himself beside my new kitten. He is very protective of her, licking the kitten’s head until she calms down.

  “You got a cat?” Asher says.

  “We got a cat. Meet Gretel. Gretel, this is Asher.”

  The kitten lets out a tiny meow in greeting, or maybe she just wants Hansel to stop licking her head.

  Asher smirks. “Doll face, you never cease to amaze me.” He tenses for a moment. “How’s Maral Swann?”

  “At Juno’s house. Recovering. You should see her sometime.”

  “I will. But first . . .” He gets that look in his eye.

  My chest flutters as he carries me upstairs. He lays me on the bed, pulls off my dress, and spreads my legs. I let him ta
ke his time and look out the window at the high blue sky, and a joy I’ve never felt swells and swells, higher than the white clouds.

  Epilogue

  Natalie

  Two months later

  I never knew how cold it would get in Salma’s Hope come the first day of November. We only had Halloween yesterday, but the air already has a crisp bite. This is Jersey weather. Back in town, holiday ornaments are going up.

  Right now I’m focused on making my last sale.

  Mrs. and Mr. Novak get out of their car in front of the Gatsby house. I make a heartfelt smile and shake their hands in the driveway.

  Oscar left the house unsold, as a courtesy to me, because he wanted me to have the closure. “Pun intended,” he said.

  Maybe he’s right, because it feels like I’m about to write the final word in a chapter of my life. Mr. Gatsby didn’t complain, since he went to prison for his regular visits to the VIP Lounge, and the house is presently owned by a bank.

  I lead the Novaks through each room and into the backyard, where the pool has been drained for the fall. Our breaths mist in the crisp morning dawn. The woods are vibrant with gold and red, and it’s a beautiful sight.

  “The pool isn’t much,” I say.

  “That’s fine,” Mr. Novak says. “We plan to remove it anyway, turn it into a pond for fishing.”

  “You want to turn a perfectly good pool into a hole in the ground?”

  “We don’t swim,” Mrs. Novak says.

  I smile with them.

  Forty minutes later, we’re back on the driveway again, and we agree to close the sale next week.

  “One more thing,” Mrs. Novak says. “There was a troublesome neighbor, wasn’t there?”

  “Um, yes. He’s not troublesome anymore.”

  “What happened?” Mr. Novak asks.

  “I married him.”

  They look at each other, and I tell them it’s a long story, but if they would like to meet Asher, it’s no problem. I lead them on a short walk back to our Colonial, still being renovated, and up the porch. I smile at the empty stems in the flower bed, knowing the blossoms will return in spring.