The hell she raised was minor compared to some other kids; one time she’d dyed a green streak into her hair, another time she’d come home with her septum pierced. Mostly, though, the problem was her politics. She’d never agreed with her ultra-conservative father’s stance. On anything. She thought he was a crook, cruel and uncompassionate. He supported cutting welfare and lower taxes for the wealthy, denied climate change, and generally made it his mission to keep the money right where he thought it belonged: in his pocket, and the pockets of his friends.
Ricky had learned long ago that speaking out was not in her best interest, but that didn’t mean she had to smile at photo ops or attend political mixers or support her father’s policies. She just had to stand around at parties without causing a scene, and keep her mouth shut while her father and his buddies drank champagne and ate caviar while laughing at the poor folk just across town. At least, that’s what she imagined they did when they went behind the closed doors of his study. She didn’t actually know, never having been invited into that sacred space.
Right now, downstairs, her parents were wasting more electricity on lavish decorations and Christmas lights than most people used in a month of normal living. It was a veritable Christmas wonderland. And the stack of gifts under the tree would put Santa’s workshop to shame. There were gifts for Ricky down among them, of course; lavish ones, in fact. She knew that, despite her role as the black sheep of the family, her parents still desired to buy her cooperation and support. What her mother spent each year on Christmas gifts could have fed a family of five for a year.
Oh well; she was only home for a few weeks, anyway, after which she could return to college, where she had made friends who agreed with her politics and didn’t try to silence her at every turn. Her first semester had been so magically freeing that she’d almost refused to come home, nearly had to be dragged from her dorm room kicking and screaming. But campus would have been lonely, anyway, and at least at home there was…
Her phone buzzed just as she thought of her best friend. With a smile, she saw that Sasha had texted her.
You must be telepathic, she tapped out. I was literally just thinking of you, and how you’re the only good thing about being home right now!
Not the only good thing, Sasha replied immediately.
? Ricky responded.
You’ll see. Early Xmas gift from the best friend you could ever ask for. Picking you up in an hour. Wear something sexxxxxy.
Ricky groaned and blushed, even though there was no one to see her or read the text. Sasha was wild; always had been. She’d been the one to actually dye Ricky’s hair, and had held her hand when she got pierced. And Sasha always had some scheme up her sleeve. Ricky had no doubt her friend had something troublesome planned for the night. She couldn’t wait to see what it would be.
Sasha and Ricky had been friends since kindergarten, although their parents hated each other. Sasha’s mother was a congresswoman who had exact opposite beliefs of Ricky’s father; they were constantly battling it out in D.C. Ricky often wished she’d been born into Sasha’s family instead of her own; they were plenty wealthy, sure, but at least they didn’t act like rabid wolves when it came to keeping their wealth.
Ricky’s mother and father were tepid at best in their reception of Sasha, but Sasha’s parents were happy to ignore the political feud, treating Ricky like family. Of course, it helped that Ricky actually agreed with most of their opinions. She’d even been invited to spend Thanksgiving at their house that year, and had jumped at the opportunity, excited to miss out on another round of you’re-wrong-I’m-right at her own household.
Unfortunately, Ricky’s family was hosting some sort of Christmas party that year, and her presence was considered mandatory, so she’d had to turn down the invitation to spend Christmas with Sasha. Oh well; Ricky had sat through enough mandatory parties to know that as long as she smiled and nodded, the worst would be over in a matter of hours.
Hopping off her bed, Ricky went to the walk-in closet that her mother kept stocked with appropriate, demure, professional outfits; digging past all the blazers and gingham blouses, she found her own little corner of the closet, which her mother begrudgingly accepted “as long as she only wore them in her room.” Here were her band t-shirts, her short skirts, her ripped-up jeans and her favorite statement shirts.
Examining her limited selection, she regretted not having brought home some of the new outfits she’d picked up at the Goodwill near campus; she’d discovered thrifting that year, after a lifetime of being told that people who bought secondhand were just asking to be ridiculed. She loved finding one-of-a-kind, bizarre, ironic, and unique clothes for a tiny price tag, loved the fact that she was helping to keep the clothes out of landfills, and especially loved the freedom of being able to pick out whatever she wanted without her mother hovering behind her, clucking and humming over every choice.
Finally, she decided to go with something that probably wouldn’t fit Sasha’s definition of sexy, but which Ricky felt confident in, which made her feel sexy. A pair of ripped-up black skinny jeans and a loose, oversized white t-shirt with a low V-neck and a pair of combat boots. The jeans and t-shirt complimented her tall, slender frame; more often than not, Ricky wished she had Sasha’s bountiful curves and generous chest, but she’d come to terms with her own body long ago.
Her small, b-cup breasts were plump and high, and she didn’t have to worry about a bra most of the time. Her hips were small but well-proportioned, her ass tight with a becoming curve to it. A long, vintage necklace that directed attention to her chest and she felt good to go; experimentally, she leaned over in her mirror, liking the way the loose collar of her shirt could give just the slightest peak of her breasts. With only a bit of mascara to make her blue eyes pop and a quick brush through of her rich mahogany hair, she was ready to go with 40 minutes to spare.
Wondering how to kill the rest of her time – which she knew would probably be closer to an hour, because Sasha was never on time, even for her own plans – she flirted with the idea of reading another steamy scene, but she couldn’t muster the desire to do so. She was a pretty average girl, no more or less sex-craved than any other 19-year-old, and she could only get herself riled up so many times a week before it lost its appeal.
Instead, she perused her bookshelf, touching the spines with her forefinger, eyes closed, stopping randomly. She shrugged when she saw the title she’d ended on; City of God by E.L. Doctorow, something she’d picked up from the dollar bin at the library and forgotten about. That could easily be said of any of the dozens of books on the shelf; the only thing Ricky loved more than reading was buying books that looked like they’d be good to read.
When she heard the telltale honking of Sasha’s VW Beetle outside, she was almost upset at being dragged away from the book. But, throwing on a long pea coat that would hide the worst of her wardrobe sins from her mother, she readied herself for what was almost definitely going to be a wild night.
She had wanted to sneak out without drawing her mother’s attention, but luck was not on Ricky’s side that evening.
“Where are you off to?”
She turned with a grimace at the sound of her mother’s voice. Sandy Pulskin stood with her arms crossed around her chest. As thin as her daughter, the older woman had none of her vibrant softness; her face was angular and lined from years of fake smiling and bitterness.
“Just out with Sasha,” Ricky said casually, wondering if her mother would put up a fight. She stood defiant as her mother’s eyes roamed up and down her body, taking in the combat boots, the bare face, the septum piercing. Sighing, her mother uncrossed her arms, only to cradle her face in two fingers and look at the floor in disappointment.
“Well, try to be reasonable this evening,” she said. “You know what we expect of you.”
Ricky rolled her eyes and turned on her heel; she’d never given her parents any real reason to worry or distrust her. Of course, she drank sometimes, but never in e
xcess, and she was always home for curfew. And now that she was in college, she felt caged up by her parent’s constant disappointment and strict rules. At her school, no one cared how late she got home, or how much she drank, or who she was with. At home, it was a whole other story. Even a trip to the mall would cause her mother to look at her like she was a heroin addict.
“I’ll be good,” she said as she opened the door, immediately shivering in the brisk Connecticut air. Trotting down the stairs to the wraparound driveway where Sasha’s car idled, she nearly missed slipping on a patch of ice, catching herself on the door handle just in time. The hot air in the car immediately made her sneeze as she lowered herself into the seat.
“Okay, first off, who’s your best friend in the whole wide world?” Sasha asked, peeling away onto the quiet road, lined on all sides with palatial estates behind securely locked gates.
“Hi, Sasha, nice to see you too,” Ricky said with a smile. Sasha shot her a no-nonsense look.
“I asked you a question,” Sasha said, turning down the radio.
“You are, oh beautiful blonde-haired goddess,” Ricky said teasingly, reaching out to play with one of Sasha’s impeccable golden curls. Her friend laughed, her green eyes sparkling, then turned to Ricky once more with mock seriousness.
“I need you to remember that when we get where we’re going,” she said. “Because you might forget. But by the end of the night, you’ll remember all over again.”
Ricky shook her head, a smile on her face. Sasha was such a character, and never failed to amaze Ricky with her wild schemes.
“Where are we going?” Ricky asked, looking out the window at the fluffy white piles of snow and the opulent houses.
“You’ll see, my little hidden freak,” Sasha said, that dangerous smile lighting over her features once more. Ricky’s eyebrows nearly lifted to her hairline.
“Oh God, Sash,” she said. “Please…tell me we’re not going to some like…S&M dungeon? You didn’t read 50 Shades of Grey while we were at school, did you?”
“You’ll see,” Sasha said in a buoyant singsong tone, reaching out to turn up the music once more, immediately starting to dance and sing in her seat. Ricky watched her for a long moment, wondering what Sasha’s early Christmas gift could be. But, she was down for (almost) any adventure – at the end of the day, it beat the hell out of Frank Sinatra Christmas Classics and egg nog with her family. And, besides, didn’t she deserve a little adventure after being such a good little girl all those years? College had made her a lot braver than she’d been in high school.
***
From the moment the two girls walked in, Rush knew they didn’t belong there. They didn’t dress like bratty socialites, but their clothes had an elegant way of being ripped and torn, a way that wasn’t genuine. They were expensive tatters.
Plus, there was the way the thin one’s eyes grew wide as saucers, though they were far prettier than any fine china he’d ever seen. Blue as the day is long, with heavy lashes and not too much make-up. Her long brown hair seemed ironed straight, but looked soft. Her friend, curvy and confident, had a shit-eating grin on her face, and Rush guessed that it had been her idea to take this little foray onto the wrong side of the tracks.
He watched the two engage in a rushed, whispered conversation, with the little one’s expression showing anger at first but soon melting into acceptance and even excitement. They weren’t old enough to drink, it was clear to see, but that didn’t stop them from bellying up to the bar – and it didn’t stop old Hick from serving them, either.
The Black Stallion MC owned this bar, and pretty girls were always welcome to drink their fill as long as they came without boyfriends or the suspicion of being law enforcement. It was clear enough to Rush and everyone else at the bar that these two were just looking for a good time. As Rush chalked his pool cue thoughtfully, an instinctual sort of worry lodged in his stomach. They might have too good a time if no one tried to watch out for them.
Well, he’d keep an eye on them, and if any of the rough young bloods tried to get in too close, he’d be there to shoo them away.
Rush had a surprising soft spot for girls like that, who were usually tired of their own crew and just wanted some fun. He knew other guys in the club, mostly the ones in his age group and older, held a healthy disdain for them. It seemed, to some guys, that it was a way of poking fun at the lower class when the upper class came by for shits and giggles. But Rush had seen too many girls leaving in tears after being pushed too far, and he knew that most of those girls hadn’t had any intentions besides the fun-seeking ones.
He lined up his shot and took it, watching with an easy satisfaction as the eight ball slid easily into the left corner pocket. A groan from Crooks sealed his win.
“Rush, why do I even bother playing with you?” Crooks said, throwing the cue down. “You’re a goddam prodigy.”
“And you’re a glutton for punishment,” Rush said, clapping his friend on the back. “Let me buy you a drink.”
They strode to the bar amiably, Rush still keeping one eye on the little chickadees, who were looking around the bar and holding their beers with both hands. It was a rather quiet night, which didn’t seem to disappoint them much. They invited their share of stares back, too, and their blushing cheeks attested to it.
Ordering two whiskeys, Rush leaned against the bar, still unable to keep his eyes off the little one. When she turned, their eyes caught, and in a flash the bar disappeared. Her eyes widened again, making him smile. He knew the effect he had on women; with long black hair, green eyes, muscles for days and a smile that was charming and unthreatening, there was no shortages of girls who’d brave a storm for a roll in the hay with him. But he wasn’t used to being so taken aback by a girl. Especially not one so young. But there was no denying; she got his heartrate up as good as a run on a treadmill would.
His eyes flicked over to her companion, who’d noticed the charged moment and was smiling devilishly. She’s definitely the instigator, he thought. And I’ll bet in one…two…three…
Yup. There it was. Thick leaned in to thin, whispered in her ear, nudged her shoulder, giggled. Thin looked aghast, then blushed, shook her head…then closed her eyes tight. And nodded.
Crooks, too, seemed to notice what was happening, and he draped an arm over Rush’s shoulders with a huge grin on his face.
“Point, set, match,” he said, and before Rush could pull him back, he was crossing the bar towards the two girls. Rush wanted to groan; Crooks had all the tact of a frat boy. But he followed him, if for no other reason than to stop the guy from making a fool of himself. He was too late.
“…churchmice doing in a place like this?” Rush arrived just as Crooks finished speaking. Crooks had angled himself in front of the thin one, leaning on one elbow on the bar.
“Churchmice?” Thick scoffed, looking at her friend, who was looking at Rush, pale as a ghost now.
“Well, you look like good girls, is all,” Crooks said with a shrug.
“Ha,” thick said. “Good is as good does.”
Still, Rush and the blue-eyed girl stared.
“Name’s Rush,” he said, bypassing the frivolities and sticking his hand out.
“Ricky,” she said, taking his, her hand small and soft and warm. Their touch was nothing short of electric.
“Sasha,” her friend said, but Rush barely heard.
All he could hear, all he could see, was this delicious young thing standing right in front of him, staring at him like she wanted to lick him head to toe, damn near salivating.
And goddamn but if Rush wasn’t feeling much the same way.
***
“No way,” Ricky said, genuinely impressed. “I mean, back in their heyday, that would have been fantastic. Now? I mean, ugh, they haven’t released anything decent in years.”
“Aw, I didn’t mind that last one…what was it…”
“Ugh, no, no way,” she said, taking a sip of her gin and tonic. “But still, a ti
ny show would have been awesome five years ago.”
Rush and Ricky were deep in conversation, the pool game they’d been playing nearly abandoned, Crooks and Sasha playing solo for the most part.
She’d been surprised at her immediate reaction to the huge, handsome man, but what was even more surprising was that she actually liked talking to him, too. They had the same taste in music, the same sense of humor, and even though he had to be ten years older than her, he never used his age as some sort of measuring stick – older guys always tended to do that “well, I’ve lived longer so I know more” shit, and she hated it, even if it was true sometimes.
But Rush treated her like an equal as they spoke – or, at least, mostly like an equal. He did seem to enjoy calling her “little girl”, playfully, like a term of endearment. And the way he looked at her…well, it made her feel like an innocent young thing who needed to be taught a lesson or two, that’s for sure.
Ricky and Sasha been hanging out with the two guys for the past two hours, and were both having a blast. At first, Ricky had wanted to rain hellfire down on Sasha for actually taking her to a biker bar, but at the end of the day she was glad for the change of pace, the fun company, and the sense of danger.
Because it was clear that Rush and his buddies were dangerous. They all bore leather jackets with MC patches on them, and the bar itself seemed more like a front than anything else – the two girls were the only ones there without a cut.
“So have you seen any good shows lately?” Ricky asked, wanting to keep the conversation rolling. He shrugged.
“Not really. Been pretty busy with work,” he said, eyes growing slightly distant. Curious, she probed.
“Oh? And what do you do for work?”
The moment she asked, she regretted it. Those green eyes of his seemed to pin her down as he looked at her, studying her. He leaned in close, and Ricky felt momentarily dizzy.
ROMANCE: BAD BOY ROMANCE: Bad Boy Brother (Stepbrother Interracial College Romance) (Contemporary Stepsister Taboo Romance) Page 151