Rebel Ink

by Laura Wright

  “Why are you still here?” he says with a sneer.

  Asshole. I walk over to him. Not a hair is out of place. “It’s only for a couple more minutes, sunshine.”

  “Good.” He pulls me onto his lap, and in seconds his mouth is crushing mine.

  At first, I’m too surprised to do anything but assess. Then I realize what’s happening and rip away from him. “Jesus, Vincent.” I stand up. I’m breathing heavy. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  He just stares up at me. So casual. Totally unaffected. “Come on, Blondie.”

  I point at the door. “You just had another girl in here.”

  “So?”

  “Oh my god…” I must be insane. Seriously. To even have followed him in here. To give a shit. “I’m taking the limo back to the hotel.”

  He looks away and pushes out an annoyed breath. “Fine.”

  “And then to the airport,” I continue.

  “Should’ve done that this morning.”

  My mouth drops open. I have so completely misjudged this guy, I’m sickened. “I’m out.” I turn to go.

  “Jesus Christ,” he calls after me. “I didn’t do anything, okay?”

  My hands go up as I head for the door. “Not my business.”

  “I wanted her—”

  “Just shut up.”

  “I don’t mean I wanted her wanted her.” He curses. “I wanted that. Whatever that is. What it used to be. The thing that turned off my mind and soul so I could fucking function.”

  That last sentence hangs in the air as I hit the door. It makes me stop. He can’t function? Dammit. And the tone of his voice. No more asshole, couldn’t-give-a-shit Vincent. Whoever this is, his voice is small and young. And hurt. I close my eyes and breathe in. I shouldn’t care. I mean, I really, really shouldn’t. He just admitted to me that he came in here with that random chick so he could fuck away his feelings.

  Am I nuts? Or just trying to get myself good and hurt?

  I stand there, frozen in the doorway for a good three minutes. I want to go—and yet I don’t want to leave him. Not until I know what’s behind the anger and the shaking and the self-medicating.

  “Will you talk to me?” I say, though my eyes remain on the door.

  Silence.

  “Will you tell me what happened? Did she have a temper when you were younger? Did she hit you? Scare you? Tell you how worthless you were?”

  Another couple seconds of silence, then, “No.”

  He’s not going to do it, is he? Not going to tell me anything? Hell, maybe there’s nothing to tell. I want to go. I need Addy right now. My hand reaches for the knob.

  “She pretended her husband wasn’t raping me nearly every weekend for three years.”

  My guts drop to the floor and every inch of my skin is goose bumps. I whirl around and slam my back against the door. I know my eyes are wide and huge as I stare at him. And when our gazes meet there is absolutely no question that what he has just said is true. Tears gather in my throat.

  “He should be in jail.” My voice is a whisper.

  His eyes are stones. “He should be six feet under, but dreams don’t always come true.”

  “We have to go to the police.” I point behind me to the door. “He’s out there. Walking around. Like…like it’s nothing.”

  Vincent is up out of his chair and coming at me. “It’s pointless.”

  I shake my head.

  “She’ll lie for him.” He’s in front of me now.

  “You don’t know that—”

  “I’m the liar, Lis,” he says, his eyes probing mine. “I made it all up because of my grief over losing my dad. I didn’t want another man taking over that role, so I accused him. I punished him. That’s what she told me when I told her. Every time I told her. When I begged her for help. When I showed her the bruises. When I showed her…”

  My heart is beating so fast I feel sick and lightheaded. It all makes sense now. How cold she is. How angry he is. And Vincent had to come back here. “Why? Why did you come here?”

  “She’s sick. Cancer.” He sniffs. “It’s all she wanted. Her perfect little family, together again. For everyone to see.”

  Oh my god. I take his hand. “Well, fuck her. We’re going. Right now. We’ll figure out what to do later. You don’t owe her anything.”

  He walks with me, down the hallway and into the foyer. It’s totally deserted now. I can hear voices coming from another room to the right, but I couldn’t care less. I need to get him out of here.

  But he stops in the center of the foyer and turns toward the noise.

  “You don’t need to say goodbye,” I tell him. “You don’t need to say anything.”

  His fingers lace with mine and he squeezes my hand. I can barely breathe. There’s fresh air outside. Away from here.

  “Vincent,” I say and try to tug him toward the door.

  But he’s not listening. He’s refusing to go.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Come on.” Still gripping my hand, he takes off toward the sounds of the party.

  “Wait,” I say. “Don’t go in there.”

  But he doesn’t answer. Just keeps going. I try and keep up with him, my heels clicking on the marble floors. There’s nothing I want more than to get out of this place. It’s like a beautiful, cold prison. And I can’t stop envisioning a young boy—with no one to protect him. No one who believes him.

  We break into what looks like a massive dining room, but with a hundred people instead of the table and chairs. There’s a buffet at one end of the room and at the other end, a raised dais. My stomach drops as I stare at it. Emily and Garrett Birch are up there. Celebrating, surrounded by their friends. Someone slips glasses of champagne into our hands. A microphone is going around.

  “…congratulations, Bunny and Garrett. We love you.”

  “…a couple of such incredible integrity. We are so grateful to have you as friends.”

  I can barely stand it. What lies. They should know. Everyone should know.

  Applause breaks out. And oh god, I think Vincent is thinking the same thing because he drops my hand and when I turn to see why, I notice he’s got the microphone now. The blood drains from my face. Everyone is turning to look at us. At him.

  “Mom,” he starts. “Garrett.” He lifts his face to the dais and addresses them. “Congratulations on fifteen years of marriage.”

  He sounds completely normal. Controlled. But I can feel the heat coming off his skin. And I know beneath it, he’s trembling. The Birches are watching him with total ease. They aren’t worried at all. I want to wring their smug necks.

  “All of your friends are gathered here to celebrate such an achievement. The love you two share. The bond that defies anything and everything. New family unit…cancer…the sexual abuse of your only child.” I gasp. And I don’t think I’m the only one. “It’s pretty incredible.” He pauses and raises his glass. “Fuck the two of you very much. May you drown in pain and suffering for the rest of your lives for what you did to me. I know I will.”

  In the palpable silence, Vincent drains his glass then drops it on the floor. The crash is our exit, and when he leads me out of the room and down the hall toward the front door, I can’t hold on to it anymore. I burst into tears.

  She’s stripping me.

  Motherfucking Blondie. Lisa. The chick who rejected my threesome—and I’m pretty sure that’s what it was. The girl who got me out of that house tonight. She’s taking care of my ass. Her eyes are red from crying, which she did for about fifteen minutes on our way back to the hotel. I held her hand while the waterworks went down because A: she seemed to need it. And B: I seemed to need it.

  Tie’s off and she tosses it over the chair. Suit jacket, same deal. Then she starts in on the buttons of my shirt. Her hands are coming real close to me and I’m not sure how that’s gonna work. I’m damaged inside and out these days. The no-touching thing, it started after I left home, but got worse a few months back wh
en my mom contacted me. It was like a black cloud moved in and refused to leave. Squatter’s rights, yo. Just setting up camp, twisting my mind every time I was fucking someone. I didn’t want their hands on me. Eyes on me. Didn’t want to talk.

  Lisa kills that last button and slides my shirt off. For a sec, she just stares at my chest. Got a lot of ink there. Not even sure there’s any blank canvas left. The light in the room is on dim, but I’m sure she can see it all. The words, the black and gray scratch marks, the dragon flipping her off. She’s so uptown I kinda don’t know if this turns her on or not. She reaches for me then, and I wait for the flinch to come. But when her palm makes contact with my abdomen, all I feel is heat. My eyes close for a sec and I just breathe. Cuz, again, with her I can. Motherfucking Blondie. Is she my savior or what?

  “Do you ever wonder about these?” she asks me.

  My eyes flip open and I stare at the top of her head. “What do you mean?”

  “Why you got them? Why so many?”

  “I love ‘em. They’re fucking art.”

  She nods. “They are. Especially this one.” Her fingers brush over the lower part of my abdomen, through a bit of my happy trail, and my breath kicks. It’s a piece I did myself. Of a hawk sitting on the Virgin Mary’s shoulder. It hurt like a motherfucking bitch on steroids.

  “But I can’t help but wonder,” she continues. “If maybe they’re also…armor or something?” Her eyes lift to meet mine then. Gorgeous blue surrounded by long blond lashes.

  “I’m not following,” I say. Both her hands are on me now. Tracing my ink. It’s distracting as fuck.

  “Do you think you put some of this on your skin to protect you?”

  My chest grows tight as I get what’s she’s saying now. “You mean, so he’d never touch me again?”

  Her eyes fill with tears, and she nods.

  Fuck, this chick kills me. I release a breath. “I never thought of that, but I guess it’s possible.”

  Yeah. I would’ve pretty much done anything to keep Step-Prick away back then. Maybe moving to another state hadn’t felt safe enough. I needed a motherfucking keep out sign on my skin.

  Her hands fall to my belt buckle next. And even through her tears, she flips it open and off, then tosses it with the rest. Determined girl. Like that about her. Finally, she unbuttons and unzips. Her surprise has those tears drying in a hurry.

  “You’re not wearing underwear.” She looks up.

  My lips twitch. I want her smiling again. She’s irresistibly hot when she smiles. “Underwear is bullshit.” I say.

  “Oh, Vincent.” She rolls her eyes and smiles.

  Hot.

  I full-out grin back. So what now? I don’t ask. I know she sees how hard I am.

  Without another word, she just strips me bare and takes my hand. “I’m going to put you to bed.”

  “I’m thinking you mean that in the boring way,” I say, letting her lead me.

  She pulls back the covers. “After the night we’ve just had, is there any other way?”

  “Fuck yeah. The dirty way that ends up with my face between your legs.”

  She sorta pauses then, her eyes on the pillows. “I don’t want to be another one of your escapes, Vincent.”

  I stop too. Because my chest just went tight. I don’t want that either. So I don’t say anything more. Just let her do whatever it is she’s doing.

  “Come on, get in,” she says, patting the mattress. She ignores my hard on as I oblige, then when I’m back to the mattress, she pulls the covers up to my chin. “There. Snug as a bug.”

  Who wants to fug, I don’t say. Because she’s staring down at me. Her eyes still carry the ghost of what went down tonight. Maybe her heart does too. She’s taken it on. My pain. The shit of my past. I’m not exactly sure why, but it’s beyond cool. Something no one’s ever done for me before. Not that I’d have let them. Lis is different.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  She beams. Like freaking lights up with a soft pink glow of happiness. “See. I knew you’d like it. Being taken care of is—”

  “No. No.” I shake my head. “Not for this. This is great, but…” I shove the covers down to my waist and grab her hand. “Sit for a sec, will you?”

  When she does, I thread our fingers together. Like I did back at the house. I think I want to remind her or something. Or maybe I just dig it. “Thank you. For tonight,” I clarify.

  “Oh.” She shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”

  “You know it’s not, Lis. It’s a huge fucking something.” My eyes hardcore connect with hers. I’m not a crier. Never have been, even when I had real reason to. But there’s shit going on inside me right now as I look at this girl…tears of the heart or something. It’s like, sweet pain. “I’ve never told anyone what I told you. The things you heard…”

  “Is that what you’re worried about?” She leans in a little, her expression so sincere it kills me. “It’s all safe with me, Vincent. To my grave, okay?”

  I shake my head. My chest might actually explode here. “Leave it to me to fall for a chick who’s taken.”

  “Come on.”

  “I’m serious, man.”

  She laughs. “You didn’t fall for me, Vincent. You’re keyed up, emotional. It was a crazy night—”

  Okay, that’s so not it. And I need her to know that. I can’t help myself. I have her in my arms and on top of me in like five seconds flat. Oh sweet, delicious weight. Vincent Jr. is thrilled. He kicks up to greet her. I feel you, buddy.

  Lisa’s surprise registers on a gasp, but she doesn’t try to move. Good thing too, cuz I don’t think I’d let her. I wrap both my arms around her, vise-style and inhale. She smells like flowers and tears. Fuckin’ right, I’m falling.

  “Vincent,” she starts.

  But I’m finishing. “Listen, gorgeous. I can’t have you telling me what I feel anymore, okay? Especially when it comes to you.”

  Her lips part. “I’m not. I’m just saying—”

  “That I’m not into you—like in a real way, right? That’s bullshit, Lis. We both know it.” She’s still wearing her hot little dress, and I’m fucking ready to get her out of it. Fingers, work your magic and find that zipper.

  “I don’t think I do know it,” she says.

  I release her a little. Just to get to that zipper. “Well, here it is. I’m into you, woman. Hardcore. Mindfuck. Possible belief in destinies and soul mate kinda shit. Wait”—zipper going down—“maybe not the soul mate thing.”

  She laughs softly, but her eyes are imploring me. “And you know, the other bit is I’m kind of…taken.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. She’s so funny. Lost her way, I think. Like me. But hey, maybe we can help each other. Find a way back together. “Sit up a sec,” I say, releasing her.

  She does. Looms over me. And for one moment, I just sorta take her in. Hottest chick on the planet. Especially right now. Hair coming out of that bun, cheeks flushed, tits near to popping out of her dress. And speaking of that dress. It’s so getting in my way.

  “You want me to compromise you, Lis? You want me to be the reason you have to break up with Buttons?”

  Her eyes widen. “Vincent—”

  “Cuz I’m cool with that, baby.”

  She laughs. “I know you are.”

  My hands come around and grab her ass, hard. “I want you.” I lift my eyebrows, give her the serious eyes. “Like, in the real way.” And I mean it. I hope she sees how much.

  I think she does because her eyes soften.

  I yank her forward an inch till she’s sitting on my shaft. “Like in a way that kind of scares the shit out of me.”

  There’s a beat here where neither one of us says a thing. We just look at each other. I’m waiting and she’s thinking. And that’s fine. I’m being real. I want this chick. Like, for my very own. And not just tonight.

  After a moment or two, her mouth splits into a gentle, almost shy smile. It’s flippin’ adorable. “I want you to
o.”

  “In the real way?” I tease her.

  That smile widens and she pushes up on her knees and starts taking off her dress. Okay. So the real way. Fuck. Yeah.

  “You want help?” I ask her. Shit, I’m fucking Lancelot over here.

  She shakes her head nice and slow.

  And I put my hands behind my head and just watch.

  Dress comes off first. Over the head and onto the floor. Leaving only a tongue-flopping-out-of-my-mouth matching strapless bra and thong. See-through pale pink lace. My dick is crying already. Poor guy.

  “You know I’m going to have to fuck those tits at some point, right?” I say.

  “You’re so crude,” she says, laughing in spite of herself as she removes her bra and tosses it aside.

  “And you love it. Look at those nipples. Hard and tight. Proof positive, baby.” She laughs and shakes her head again. When she starts to take off her thong I stop her. “Wait.”

  Blue eyes hit me with lusty confusion. “What?”

  I answer in the only way I can in that moment. Jacking up, pulling her against me and flipping her onto her back. Now she’s skull to the pillow. Laid out like a fucking Vincent buffet.

  She gasps.

  Shit, so do I. The girl has a body on her, man. A real woman’s body. Curves and ass and heavy tits. It’s a wonderland, and V’s gonna take his time with the exploration.

  I start down at her feet, giving each one a slow kiss as I ease them apart. Her ankles are hot and smooth and I’m a licker. I want to know what she tastes like. Everywhere. And as I do, running my tongue over each anklebone, I see her hands fist the sheets at her side. That’s right, baby. Anchor down.

  I kiss and lick my way up her calves until I get to her knees. The backs fascinate me and I spend a good amount of time there, biting her skin and licking in the crease. It’s so hot in there, and with every swipe of my tongue, she jacks her hips and moans.

  “Don’t fret, baby,” I tell her even as my cock is leaking pre-come on the sheets. “I’ll get to that anxious pussy of yours. Just have to make sure it’s nice and juicy first.”

  She groans as I move upward. “It is. Dammit, Vincent. It is.”

  I laugh against the skin of her right thigh. So smooth. “I’m not talking just wet, Blondie. That won’t do. I want your cream dripping down…” I run a finger up the inside of her thigh. “Right here.” Then I send another finger up the other side. “Here too.” The lace on her panties is soaked. I can tell because the pale pink isn’t so pale anymore. Maybe I was wrong.