His Hellcat (Sassy Girls Book 1)

by Rory Reynolds

  HIS HELLCAT

  SASSY GIRLS #1

  RORY REYNOLDS

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016 by Rory Reynolds. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email authorroryreynolds@gmail.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places , and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  To happily ever afters.

  1

  Blake

  How did I get myself into this mess? I mean, how bad can my fucking luck be really? I came out to this place to get away for a little while. To escape the jackass ex-fiancé that won’t stop calling and my whore of a best friend that put that ex in front of fiancé.

  Seriously.

  What.

  The.

  Fuck.

  Just, what the fuck.

  Here I am in the middle of nowhere; we are talking bum-fuck-Egypt kind of nowhere, and my shitty rental car gets a flat. Why am I surprised? Now, don’t think I’m one of those prissy bitches that can’t change a tire because my daddy taught me how to change a tire and the oil—plus a few other things I never had to actually do myself before—but that’s beside the point. I’d change the damn tire if there was a spare.

  Tipping my head back to the sky, I shriek out my frustration. The abrupt noise sends birds flying and small critters running away from the maniac walking down the middle of this deserted piece of back road hell. My feet are killing me. I was in no way prepared for this little adventure into hell. I walked in on Margo bouncing on Shane’s cock, threw the bottle of champagne at them and stormed out. I’m still wearing my red, four-inch stilettos and a sexy black maxi dress. Not to mention, I have on a silk and lace shelf bra that is pinching the fuck out of my tits. It’s the kind of bra you buy and only wear when you know it’s coming off soon. Fashion not function for sure.

  Another round of pissed off courses through me as my mind replays the vision of Margo’s anorexic body writhing on top of what used to be the love of my life. In a fit of rage, I rip off my shoes and chuck them into the tree line. The sight of them bouncing off of a tree and crashing through the underbrush is mildly satisfying. Several minutes later, I’m questioning the rationale of ridding myself of the shoes. Especially, since now I’m walking down a dirt road completely barefoot. And this fucking bra! Reaching behind me I unclasp the vicious thing and rip it out of the top of my dress.

  “Fuck you, Victoria’s Secret,” I rant as I drop the torture device to the ground. Instant relief sweeps through me and I relish in FMB. For those of you who don’t know what FMB stands for, it’s free my boobs. It’s that glorious time of day when you can rid yourself of the underwire, the lifting, pushing, and pinching and free the motherfucking tah-tahs.

  Free.

  My.

  Boobs.

  Bitches.

  Feeling a smidgen better after my brief throwback to feminism, I have a bit more pep in my step.

  I have to be close to the cabin by now. I was only about ten miles away when the tire blew. Although, not a damn thing out here looks familiar, so I could be completely wrong. The years have changed this place more than I thought possible.

  I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking coming out here. My pissed off haze had caused my irrationally spontaneous, albeit necessary trip. I left the apartment, jumped in the first cab I saw, and ended up at the airport. When the lady behind the ticket counter asked me where I was going, I stared at her like I was a moron.

  How the fuck should I know something like that? Where the hell do you go when your entire life is back in your bed boinking like rabbits in heat?

  Home.

  You go home.

  That’s how I ended up walking down this godforsaken road barefoot and braless on my way to a cabin that I haven’t been to in nearly fifteen years. Since luck is obviously on my side, I half expect the cabin to be a pile of rubble when I get there instead of the sanctuary I seek.

  “Ah! There you are!” I can’t hold back the excitement when I see the rusty mailbox sitting on top of what use to be a four by four board cemented into one of those old milk cans. It’s still about half a mile up the road, but at least I’m nearly there. I can get cleaned up and hide away for a few weeks until I’m ready to deal with Satan and his slut-bag bitch.

  My excitement over the mailbox sighting lasts about three and half seconds before there is a huge crack of thunder, the skies open up, and it starts raining. Not just a nice spring rain. Oh no, we are talking a torrential downpour. I don’t know who the hell I pissed off up there, but this is getting ridiculous. Throwing my middle fingers out in the air and thrusting my hips in the ‘suck it’ motion I scream, “Fuck you mother nature! Yeah, you heard me, you fuckin’ bitch. Fuck you!”

  Several minutes later, the quaint little cabin is finally in my sights. Well, sort of, it’s more of a blur because of the waterfall I’m currently trudging through, but it’s there. I climb the three stairs up to the wrap-around porch and pray that the hide-a-key is still in its spot. Just as I reach up to the top of the door to feel for the key my wet and muddy feet lose traction, causing me to slip on the tile and gracefully fall flat on my ass. Okay, I lied. There was nothing graceful about my fall. I slipped, arms flailing wildly trying to catch myself (for the record, thin air doesn’t have any handles), then I crashed on my overly plump ass.

  For several long seconds I sit there wondering if maybe this is all just some bad dream. That’s got to be it. I’m having a Wonderland moment. Anytime now I will wake up and be nice and snuggly warm in my bed with a man who adores me. Not soaking wet, covered in mud, shoeless, braless, and flat on my ass on my granddaddy’s front porch. Nope. I just have to wake up.

  Closing my eyes, I will myself to wake. For the nightmare to be over. Another loud crack of thunder startles me and I screech like a girl. It’s official, this is my life and it fucking sucks. Brushing my hair off my face with my now mud coated hands the reality of my situation cuts through the fury I’ve been holding onto since the ones who shall not be named did the thing that I can’t bear to think of another moment. My nose stings and my eyes are quickly filling with moisture that I can’t blame on the rain.

  “Damn it, Blake, buck the fuck up. You will not break down.” My little pep talk chases away the initial onslaught of tears, but fate, being an even bigger bitch than Mother Nature, decides she was having none of that. My phone, which has been without signal for the last two hours, decides to miraculously find half a bar of signal and starts playing Nine Inch Nails, Closer. That asshat just won’t catch the point. I haven’t answered a single one of his calls or texts, but the bitch-beast is raging right now, which is why I find myself swiping my muddy finger across the screen.

  “What?” I practically scream into his ear.

>   “Holy Christ, Blake, baby where are you?” Shane sounds frantic. Good.

  “It doesn’t matter where I am, Shane. Where’s my best friend, huh?” Contempt is dripping from each word as I speak slowly, making sure he gets just how much he fucked up.

  After a loud, dramatic sigh, he says, “Baby, this is all just a misunderstanding. It means nothing. Really, just come home.”

  I’m not sure what pisses me off more, his placating tone or the words he speaks. “You motherfucking douche canoe! Are you fucking kidding me?” I screech into the phone.

  “Ending up in the wrong restaurant for a dinner date is a misunderstanding. Fucking my best friend in our bed, on our anniversary, is not a ‘misunderstanding.’” Even though he can’t see it, I emphasize misunderstanding with little air quotes. I’m on a roll now. “Oh, and it means nothing? Really? Are you kidding me with that shit? It means everything!”

  When I’m finished, I’m breathing heavily and my heart is pounding. I might have a freaking stroke and die here on the porch.

  “You know I only love you, Blakey. Come on home and we’ll celebrate our anniversary and everything will be just fine.”

  “Ohmigod, you are so fucking lucky I’m not there right now, Shane. I would take that condescending tone of yours and shove it so far up your ass you’d be tasting ball sweat for the rest of your life.” I rage, “I’m not coming back. I’ll send someone for my shit.”

  “Now, now. Don’t be irrational. Is it that time of month again already? You know how you get when you’re PMS’ing.”

  That’s it. The last straw. Consider this camel’s back broken.

  I scream out an incoherent rant of curses and maybe even a hex or two. I’m possibly speaking in tongues, who knows, but it’s an ugly, vicious diatribe. Just to be sure the point has gotten across, I throw my phone at the door and send it crashing in a satisfying crunch of broken plastic and glass.

  I pull myself up off of the ground and continue ranting as I pace in tight circles. I have only made a couple of laps before the door to my cabin swings open startling me. Again, I slip on the wet tiles and end up unceremoniously on the ground. This time, I land flat on my back and have the wind knocked out of me. I lay still for a moment trying to catch my breath.

  Fuck me.

  “What the hell is going on out here?”

  Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I look up, and up some more, at the tall stranger standing half-naked on the porch of my cabin.

  “None of your fucking business. Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my cabin?” I snap. Okay, to be honest it was more of a wheeze than a snap, but attitude is kind of hard to manage when you’re flat on your back, soaked to the bone, covered in mud, with your skirt up around your coochie. I was lucky to get the breathless wheeze out of my voice box.

  Much to my disbelief, he shakes his head before bursting out in laughter. I’m torn between embarrassment and rage. Since rage has been working out so well for me, I opt to go that route and let loose with a slew of curses as I slip and slide on the tiles, trying to get back to my feet.

  “I’m going to kill him. Yeah, that’s it. I shouldn’t have been the one to leave. He should have gone and crawled back into the hole he came from. This is all his fault. Stupid motherfucking cunt-faced dick-weasel…” I’m not even talking to the laughing hyena at this point, I’m back to ranting to myself.

  I nearly get back to my feet when I slip again, fully expecting to fall flat on my ass. Imagine my shock when my arm is engulfed by a big, strong hand and I’m pulled against a rock solid body instead.

  “Easy there, sweet cheeks.” His voice is a deep baritone, with a hint of a southern accent. I’m torn between shoving him away and dry humping his leg. That sweet, southern twang is hot, but then I remember men are scum so I choose to push him away.

  “Don’t touch me,” I mutter.

  “Sorry, my mama raised me to help a lady in distress, not watch her fall on her face,” he answers, his eyes raking up and down my body salaciously.

  “My ass.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I wasn’t going to fall on my face, it was my ass you saved. So thanks, I guess. Now would you mind telling me who you are and what you’re doing in my house?” I punctuate my statement by popping my hip out and crossing my arms over my chest in the true ‘I am a pissed off woman’ stance.

  His eyes wander back down my body, stopping to ogle my boobs before moving downward. He is staring at my hips and I feel a bit put out. I know I’m not the typical thin model type. I have largish tits and my ass reflects my love for maple-iced donuts.

  Then I realize the skirt of my dress is pulled up so far he can clearly see the landscaping I had done in order to surprise the douche. I quickly pull the wet material of my dress down over my hips and blush. From the look on his face, I can tell he’s barely holding back laughter. The fact that a sexy as sin man is seeing me at my worst is almost more humiliating than catching the cheating bastard going to pound town on my best friend. The stinging is back in my nose and my eyes are brimming with tears. This time there will be no holding back, the rage that has been carrying me through these last hours finally dropped me on my ass and now I’m left to deal with the fallout. I feel one traitorous tear slip past my lashes followed by another and another.

  “Hey, don’t cry.” He reaches for me and I pull away. I definitely don’t need comfort from a stranger who quite obviously finds my situation hilarious. “Look, my name is Hutch. I’m here for a little solitude and some R&R. This is my buddy’s cabin.”

  My eyes are wide like saucers at the revelation of who is standing in front me. Lt. Hutchinson—Hutch as his friends call him—was stationed in Afghanistan with my brother and he saved his life many times over. Every time I spoke with Drake, he raved about Hutch and how he was a true hero. Without another moment of hesitation, I fling my arms around Hutch’s waist and hug him close.

  “Thank you,” I manage between sobs. Instead of crying over the shit that my life has become, I’m crying because the man who kept my brother alive—and nearly died to do so—is standing right here. I can’t even begin to explain how much gratitude I have for this man.

  “Uh... for?” He stutters. I’ve obviously confused him with my mercurial change in mood.

  I look up and give him a watery smile, “For saving my brother.”

  “Are you Blake?” He asks, dumbfounded. “Drake’s little sister?”

  I can’t choke back the laughter, “Yep, by exactly two minutes. Did he not tell you we’re twins?”

  “Um, no, the way he talks about you I assumed you were a kid with skinned knees and pigtails. Not…,” his eyes take me in again, “not a grown woman.”

  Fuckin’ Drake. He always talks about me like I’m still chasing bugs and digging up worms with him and his goober friends. I never was a Barbie dolls and tea party kind of girl. Total tomboy, through and through.

  Hell, sometimes with my name people completely forgot I even was a girl. Well, until I hit puberty that is. The boob fairy was very kind to me at a young age. Didn’t change my tomboy ways, much to my parents chagrin.

  I have five brothers; I’m technically the youngest and the only girl out of six kids. Mom was excited to finally have an excuse to buy cute frilly dresses, pink everything, and other girly stuff. Instead, she got me. I wore my brothers’ hand-me-downs instead of those pretty pink dresses and every time momma tried to let my hair grow, I would shear it off as soon as I found the scissors. It wasn’t until I went away to college that I even considered the benefits of my feminine frame.

  I smirk up at the handsome hero, “My brother likes to forget that I’m all grown up now, too. We haven’t seen each other in many, many years.” I sniffle at the thought. “He decided to enlist instead of heading off to college with me and he hasn’t been home since.”

  Hutch’s arms flex around me. “The life we signed up for makes it difficult. This is the first time in a long while I’ve been stateside
myself. It is a major adjustment for sure.”

  I nod my head in understanding and slowly extract myself from his arms, realizing that I am pressing my very wet, and not so appropriately attired body up against him. Another loud crack of thunder makes me nearly jump out of my skin and I grab onto Hutch’s arm, causing him to chuckle.

  “How about we go inside and get you cleaned up?” He suggests before looking out towards the drive then back at me a couple of times. Putting his hand low on my back he guides me to the door. “So where is your car?”

  I can’t hold back my huff of frustration, “The stupid rental got a flat tire a few miles down the road and of course it didn’t come with a damn spare, so I walked.”

  Looking down at my bare, muddy feet he raises his eyebrow in question.

  “I was wearing fancy heels and after a mile or so my feet hurt. I may have thrown them into the woods.” I fold my arms over my chest in defense. “I’ve had a shitty day. I came here to get away from everything. And so far, nothing—and I mean nothing—is turning out like I anticipated.”

  I braced myself for a lecture, knowing from what Drake has said about Hutch that he would never have been caught in half the situations I found myself in these last twenty-four hours. Of course, I was proven wrong yet again when he did the last thing I would have expected. He tilted his head back and let out a burst of laughter. The sound was like a warm brownie, fresh from the oven, delicious and forbidden. I could never pass up a warm brownie, so for the first time today I wasn’t surprised when I let go and laugh right along with him.

  It was ridiculous. Never in a million years would I have pictured myself soaked to the bone, covered in mud, freshly scorned by both my fiancé and best friend, standing in the middle of nowhere with a virtual stranger, laughing my ass off at the absurdity of it all. It doesn’t take long for my laughter to turn into tears. I’m not even aware it happened, but there I am cuddled back into Hutch’s hard chest as I cry my eyes out.