Free

by Kristen Ashley

  “She lives in the world she made up that helps her deal with the world as it really is. A world that a lot of the time really fuckin’ blows,” he retorted.

  “I still wish she wasn’t dragged into this,” she murmured.

  He lifted his free hand to cup her face and again dipped his head to hers.

  “Baby, you can wish that all you want. It didn’t happen that way. It happened the way it happened. Now you just deal and move on. Yeah?”

  Her eyes searched his before they slid away, she slumped into him, and muttered, “I suppose.”

  He grinned at her.

  His dad cleared his throat.

  Rush dropped his hand from Rebel’s face as they both looked his way.

  Rebel remained slumped into him, but Rush felt his throat get thick at the look on his father’s face.

  He’d seen that look.

  Once.

  When his father had turned away from Tabby after he’d kissed her cheek at the altar and put her hand in Shy’s.

  Rush shouldn’t be surprised it didn’t take long for his dad to get that look on his face.

  He’d already shared he dug Rebel’s courage and show of loyalty. Also, it took Tack about a millisecond to read just about anyone, and Rebel wasn’t hiding the way she felt about Essence, the way she was with Hank and Eddie.

  Or the way she was with Rush.

  And she was a redhead.

  But Rush couldn’t say it still didn’t feel good that his father read Rebel the same way he did.

  More than a promise.

  She was a keeper.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. uh . . .” Rebel started.

  “Tack, darlin’. I’m Tack,” his dad said to her.

  “Tack,” she murmured timidly. “That was rude to get in our own conversation when you were standing there.”

  “Shit’s extreme, girl. I get that,” Tack replied.

  “It was still rude,” she muttered.

  His father grinned at her then looked at Rush and got serious.

  “We got a problem considering Benito’s big on sending messages and Chew never minded mess. This shit is either of their MOs.”

  “I thought the same thing,” Rush told him.

  “The description of the driver could be Chew, outside the age. And he had a way with hotwiring. If the car is stolen, though, it still could be either one.”

  Rush nodded.

  “Priority one is still finding Chew,” Tack declared.

  “Agreed.”

  “But I’m thinkin’ a sit down with Valenzuela is in order.”

  Rush did not like that.

  But his father wasn’t wrong.

  When he repeated, “Agreed,” the word came out tighter.

  “Other shit is goin’ down too. We’re gonna have to have a Club meeting.”

  Rush nodded again.

  “I’ll get on that,” Tack said.

  “Right.”

  Tack looked between Rush and Rebel and murmured, “Now we should all get on with our nights.”

  “Yeah,” Rush said.

  “See you again, Rebel. And look forward to it bein’ for a better reason next time,” Tack said to his girl.

  “Me too,” she replied.

  Tack turned his eyes to his son. “Later, Rush.”

  “Later, Dad.”

  His father gave him a chin dip and gave Rebel a soft look of the variety Rush knew he reserved for old ladies in good standing with the Club (these being Lanie, Carissa, Millie, Sheila, Rosalie and Keely, all there were left after a lot of drama, except Arlo’s old lady, who Tack liked but Arlo treated like shit, so she didn’t come around often to get Rush’s dad’s soft looks).

  Then Tack moved away.

  “Later, brother.”

  “Later.”

  “Yo, later.”

  These words his brothers called out as they moved out.

  Except Hound, who caught his eyes and declared, “Drive-bys at yours too. Can’t be too safe.”

  Rush lifted his chin to Hound as Hound took off.

  Tack had turned into the parlor.

  Rush turned to Rebel.

  “Best be packing a bigger bag,” he advised. “Then we’ll get home.”

  She looked into his eyes, something working in hers.

  She didn’t give him whatever was working in hers.

  She started to pull away, saying, “I’ll get on that.”

  He wrapped both arms around her and kept her where she was, regaining her attention.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “It’s getting late and—”

  He gave her as squeeze and a warning, “Babe.”

  She stared up at him, huffed out a breath, then admitted quietly, “I fucked this up.”

  His arms tightened and repeated his father’s words, “Get that out of your head, Rebel.”

  “I shouldn’t have—”

  He let her go with his arms but caught her with both hands at her jaw then put his face in hers again.

  “Baby, you did. You just did. There’s no goin’ back and undoing it. And I’ll add this, what you did was loyal and brave. It was beautiful, Rebel. It just didn’t work out. Not because you didn’t know what you were doin’ or the reasons behind what you were doin’ were stupid. Just because this is jacked-up shit that even Chaos, who’s been dealin’ with this kinda garbage for decades, can’t unravel. You are not responsible for the actions of assholes. You didn’t get Harrietta dead. You didn’t get her body dumped on the street in front of your house. Harrietta didn’t even buy that. The men on the other side of this war are pieces of trash. They do what they do and there’s no explaining it, no understanding it. The only job we got right now is to survive it.”

  She gazed into his eyes and said nothing.

  So he prompted, “You with me?”

  “Are you sure you’re real?”

  He smiled at her.

  “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m definitely real.”

  She tipped her chin, forcing her way to press her forehead into his collarbone.

  He moved both his hands to curl around the back of her neck and tipped his chin to kiss the top of her head.

  “Um, not to creep you out, but you look a lot like your dad, and if you grow older and still look like him, this would be far from a bad thing,” she said into his chest.

  That was when he grinned into her hair.

  “You have prettier eyes though,” she mumbled.

  His grin in her hair got bigger.

  Then he said there, “Let’s get you packed.”

  She nodded, her forehead rolling against him, before she pulled away.

  This time, it was Rebel who took his hand.

  And Rush would find the journey to her pad was not a lot easier, meandering through Essence’s hippie-practically-hoarder house.

  But once they’d bested the quagmire, the path at the back between homes was a lot easier to navigate.

  The Real Deal

  Rebel

  Rush led me in through the door at the back of his house.

  It had been clear when he gave me the tour that he’d done a lot of work on his place. And it looked really good.

  But I kind of hoped he kept the kitchen like it was, with its brick-red walls and light wood cabinets.

  Sure, the 80’s almond-colored appliances could go. And some kickass lighting wouldn’t hurt.

  But his kitchen was homey and cozy, and with those red walls and the BMG poster and the unbelievably cool David Mann print of the biker on the chopper with the clouds behind him forming a woman’s face, blowing wind at his back, it was edgy cool too.

  All of that a lot like Rush.

  He closed the door behind us, locked it, and I watched him do something he didn’t do when we came in before.

  Go to a pad I hadn’t noticed by the door and punch in a code.

  Not taking any chances.

  He then turned to me.

  “Want a beer?” he asked.


  I wanted tequila.

  Without me saying a word, but watching me closely, he amended, “Want a beer with a tequila chaser?”

  Okay, his apparent ability to read my mind was just freaking me out.

  “Door number two,” I told him, moving to his freestanding counter before asking, “I know we left her twenty minutes ago, but do you mind if I call Essence? Check in. Make sure she’s groovy? I haven’t had the chance to fully explain things and it’s kinda time I did that.”

  And seeing as a dead woman was shoved out of a car in front of her house, that was the understatement of the year.

  “Not at all, baby,” he muttered, having dumped my (latest) bag at the door, his head was in the fridge.

  I pulled my phone out of my purse, tossed the purse on his countertop, then slid my ass on one of his stools as I watched him twist the top off brews while heading my way.

  He put one in front of me and I murmured, “Thanks, Rush,” got a gentle look from those amazing crystal-blue eyes and then he moved to a cupboard.

  I gave my attention to my phone.

  Rush had a bottle of Herradura on the counter with two shot glasses and was standing opposite me when Essence picked up.

  “Hey, Rebel girl,” she greeted. “Good timing. Boz got back and me and him were just about to light up a spliff.”

  My back went straight and my eyes shot to Rush’s face. “Essence. Do not let Boz smoke pot. He’s there to protect you, not get stoned.”

  Rush caught my gaze, his amused, but I didn’t think anything was funny, so I narrowed my eyes at him.

  He grew more amused and set about pouring shots of tequila.

  “Calm down, darling. I have a feeling Boz could perform neurosurgery stoned,” Essence said in my ear.

  I watched Rush’s attractive hand pour a healthy shot and suggested, “How about just this first night you encourage him to keep all his wits about him?”

  “You’re freaked,” Essence correctly guessed.

  After a woman had been shoved out of a car outside my home, my home, Rebel Stapleton’s home, indicating someone out there knew who I was and what I was doing?

  “Uh, yeah,” I confirmed.

  “And you feel guilty.”

  I shut my mouth.

  Rush slid a shot glass toward me.

  I lifted my gaze to his just as I picked up the glass.

  Then I shot it.

  I slid it back his way.

  He looked amused again.

  “Uh,” I began. “Yeah,” I repeated more quietly.

  “Who was murdered, darling?” Essence whispered.

  “Diane,” I whispered back.

  Now Essence didn’t sound gentle.

  She sounded pissed.

  “Say what?”

  “Essence—”

  “I thought she ODed.”

  “Well—”

  “You let me think she’d ODed. I went to that girl’s funeral and no one talked about her being murdered.”

  “That isn’t really, uh . . . funeral discussion.”

  “Well, let me share something with you, Rebel girl, that’s friend discussion. I’d known that girl for years.”

  I tapped my finger on the counter, staring at my empty shot glass.

  Rush filled it.

  “And from what I could gather with all the discussion tonight, you got yourself messed up in some serious business thinking you’d find her killer,” she stated.

  “Listen, Essence—”

  “And you didn’t share that with me either.”

  I shut up.

  Rush slid the shot glass my way.

  I wrapped my fingers around it and stared at it.

  “You know,” Essence said in my ear, “Diane was a good girl. A sweet girl. I liked her. She was likable. I was heartbroken she lost herself in drugs. I was heartbroken she was gone. I was heartbroken watching how heartbroken you were, she was gone. And I was right next door and you didn’t say bupkus to me.”

  “I thought I was Superwoman,” I admitted. “I thought I could handle it.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t have been there to handle my heartbreak if you got yourself dead doing some fool amateur detective baloney,” she retorted.

  That made me shoot the tequila.

  “Listen, Rebel, and listen good,” Essence snapped in my ear. “You suffer from an affliction most the females in America suffer from, though yours seems worse, so it’s essential you learn this from me now. You aren’t Superwoman.”

  “I know. I’m getting tha—”

  Essence spoke over me.

  “They have a baby, in months they fight their way to a size two again so their husband won’t step out on them. Or their girlfriends won’t talk behind their backs. Or whatever fool thing makes them think they can pretend they didn’t give birth to a child. A woman’s body changes when she has a child. I know. I’ve had three. My hips got wider so I could push them out. My boobs got bigger so I could nurture them. It’s as nature intended. It’s the order of things. It’s the way it is so human beings can remain on this earth, for the Goddess’s sake,” she lectured. “And guess what? All curvy, she looks like a woman. What’s wrong with that?”

  I had no idea why she was talking about women having babies, but it was clear she was going on a tangent, probably because she was flipped out (my fault), so I had to talk her down and soothe her flip out.

  “I know, honey, but—”

  My attempt at soothing failed.

  She kept talking over me.

  “And if a man steps out on her because she’s had his child and lost what he thinks was her figure, good riddance. I mean, if he has that in him, bad choice from the start, but how would she know? But that happens, she’s better off without him because he’s just a plain old asshat.”

  She’d get no argument from me on that.

  “Right, Essence, but—”

  “She gets a job, and she has kids, she busts her hump to be all she can be at work, then at home, and still she’s probably expected to make dinner and buy all the Christmas presents and wrap them. Topping that, she puts up with the judgment of the women who stay at home and raise their kids. If she decides to stay home and look after her children, she feels she has to be Supermom to prove to the women who decided to work that she made the right decision. ‘Look how great I am, I made a birthday cake in the shape of a tyrannosaurus rex and it’s so lifelike.’”

  Oh God.

  Now she was talking about T-rex cakes.

  Before I could slide in there while Essence let out a disgusted snort, she kept right on talking.

  “Who cares? All that matters is that it tastes good. Kids care for about two seconds their cake looks like a stupid dinosaur. Then they want to eat it. The woman made that cake to prove to her friends how great a mom she is. She’s a size two and makes a dinosaur cake and that means she’s a great mom? A worthy woman? It’s ludicrous.”

  Okay, she’d clearly been wound up about all this on behalf of womankind for a long time.

  Still.

  “You’re so right. So, right, Ess—”

  “You know who doesn’t worry about all that stuff?” she interrupted me to ask.

  She didn’t wait for my answer.

  “Men!” she exclaimed.

  “Right,” I muttered, grabbing my beer, taking a sip and finding Rush’s gaze.

  He lifted his brows.

  I gave him big eyes.

  He turned his head, but I still didn’t miss his smile.

  I took another tug of beer so I wouldn’t throw the bottle at him.

  I also settled in.

  I bought this. I had to take it.

  Even Rush’s amusement.

  “You know what’s important to a kid?” she asked.

  I had a few guesses.

  I still said, “What?”

  “That they get love and guidance and time. That’s what’s important to a kid. And Rebel, part of that love you give a kid is you teach them how to self-lo
ve. You do not run around trying to make everyone else’s life easier and better and just right without looking after yourself. Women find themselves at a time when their kids don’t need them, and working or stay-at-home, they don’t know who the hell they are. They don’t have any clue where the last fifteen years have gone. They’ve been so damned busy trying to prove that they can do it all, they forgot to do one of the most important things in their life. Live it.”

  Okay.

  I was beginning to see her point.

  Suffice it to say, I’d known Essence a long time. I loved her. I admired how she lived her life how she wanted to live it and didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. I knew her children. I knew her grandchildren. Only one family lived close, but they all came to visit her as often as they could. They were great, and even though they’d all chosen more conventional paths, they loved her too.

  But I’d never realized she was so damned wise.

  She kept at me.

  “So little boys go on to be like their fathers who’ve had their wives look after them and buy the Christmas presents and wrap them, and those boys grow up and sit back and watch football. And little girls go on to be like their mothers, busting their booties to be everything to everyone and forgetting to look out for themselves. And it’s not their bad. It’s not their wrong. It’s how their mommas showed them how to be.”

  “You’re right,” I whispered.

  “You cannot be all to everybody, Rebel. You can’t right all the wrongs. You can’t cushion all the blows. You gotta learn to look after you. And I’m seeing you, especially you, have got to learn to do that and you’ve got to learn it now. You put yourself out there for a friend like you have, when you have a man, when you have kids, all the glory of you will fade to dust.”

  I was still whispering when I said, “Yeah.”

  She was silent a beat and I thought I could get in there and maybe calm her down and wrap this up, but she spoke again.

  And I braced when she did because her voice was again gentle.

  “Now you need to keep listening to me, Rebel girl, ’cause I’m gonna tell you something you think you know, but it’s clear you don’t. Murdered or not, Diane died of an illness. Addiction is an illness. People do not get that. They can’t see a mutated cell or a lesion or whatever it takes for them to believe, but as sure as cancer, if you don’t fight it, it’ll eat you alive. It ate her alive, darling. And you and her parents tried to fight it, but it was up to her to wage that war and like cancer, like diabetes, there are just some who won’t win. She didn’t win. And that’s not your fault.”