The Rebel: A Bad Boy Romance

by Aria Ford

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “For a while they were in and out of rehab- a couple years. When I turned 18 they just got worse. Lots of arrests, but somehow no jail time. The day I turned 21 I came home after a weekend with my friends and they were dead. Three days later after the funeral Trevor showed up.” By the end I was whispering, my voice confused and drawn out. Nothing I described felt like it’d happened to me; everything before Trevor felt like a dream. In my dream I had friends, even if they only liked me for money. In my dream I had times where life wasn’t so difficult, even if it was only for an hour. For the first half of my dream, I had parents that loved me, and even towards the end I could remember moments where that shone through what high they rode.

  “You could’ve run, but you didn’t.” Nodding sullenly, I took a short breath before turning back to my window. Beyond the golden pools that marked the side of the road there was gaping, black spots. The moon was absent, and I couldn’t tell where the horizon ended and the world began.

  “I don’t know.”

  The rest of the ride was spent in silence, without even the sounds of the city to break it up. When Luciano finally slowed I blinked, only just realizing we were at the mouth of a near empty parking lot. The slab of concrete was only occupied by three cars, and I nibbled on my bottom lip as we passed by them all. Pulling into the space at the very end, he put the gear in park and yanked the emergency break before pulling his keys from the ignition.

  “Let’s go.” Scrambling over the center console just as I had done before, I shivered when my bare feet touched the cold concrete. Taking my wrist, Luciano locked his car before tugging me out of the shadow it created. The building I hadn’t noticed loomed over us, and I rolled my lips between my teeth.

  This apartment building wasn’t nice; it wasn’t luxurious or expensive looking, or even very big. It was quaint, almost, with white siding and a screen door that served as a back entrance. Through it, directly to my right, was a short staircase, but Luciano ignored it to stride down the hallway. Even in the dark I could smell how clean this place was, and my cheek twitched at the idea that people actually took care of themselves here.

  “...Where are we?” Flicking on a low overhead light, Luciano glanced back as my question echoed quietly. Reaching over me, he shut the door before stalking deeper into the room. My eyes widened as I realized that was all this was- a single room.

  “I can’t sleep with that bitch screaming all fucking night.” A small kitchenette took up one wall, and opposite it was a large, neatly made bed. Right next to me was a television mounted on a wall the color of coffee that had too much creamer in it. Under my toes the carpet was stiff, as if it’d been used too much.

  Discomfort filled my chest as Luciano kicked off his shoes haphazardly. He wore a short shirt, but that, too, was discarded with little thought before he fiddled with his jean fastenings.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Luciano’s dark gaze made the hairs on my body stand up as he scanned me slowly. Standing on stiff legs, I held my breath while my abdomen knotted up tightly. Heat flushed my face, and my tongue sneaked out to moisten my dry lips before he turned to me fully.

  “Get in the bed.” My breath caught as Luciano jerked his chin towards the mattress. Holding myself very still, I watched him slide his jeans down his powerful legs. In the low light every contour of his body was visible; each plane along his chest and the dips between each individual abdominal muscle. My heart thundered in my ears, the only sound I could hear, and I took a deep, trembling breath. Every part of him was etched from stone, hard and sharp and deadly.

  Blinking hard, my eyes flew to Luciano’s face to find him watching me. He wore no expression at all, and I cowered slightly as he cocked his head.

  “I should fuck you, you know. You have no idea how bad it would be for you if Georgio found you. Those screams you hear all night, every night, are from him torturing some slut.” Taking the space between us in two long, heavy strides, Luciano reached to brush my cheek with his scabbed knuckles. Flinching at his words, I couldn’t keep my whimper from sounding even as he opened his mouth. “But I’m not going to. Now, get in the bed, Aya.”

  “Wh- why…?” Stiffening as Luciano bent to loom over me, I held my breath even as his spread across my cheek.

  “I don’t fuck women that are unwilling. Non sono un mostro fottuto. Uccidere persone che accettano il rischio di morire. Quando combatte, è finito per quella persona. Non finisce mai per te. I enjoy ending lives completely.” My eyelids grew heavy at Luciano’s foreign tongue, body swaying forward from the warmth that radiated from him. He was always hot, but not like the sun with its welcoming rays. No- he was hot like a fiery volcano, his soul buried deep underneath his rock hard exterior just waiting to be unleashed.

  The rumbling, heavy growl made my eyelids pop and my breath hitch, and a small mewl escaped my parted lips. Hard fingers slipped from my cheek into my hair, and Luciano gripped the strands in bands of iron. Pulling me with a soft grunt, he tugged at my scalp as my knees hit the edge of the bed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  LUCIANO

  Scratching at my beard, my fingers ruffled the short hairs as my lips twisted into a grimace. A busty news reporter blasted from the television speakers, her words fast as she droned about a shooting that had happened sometime during the night. Someone had killed a kid- just shot him right in the head as he slept.

  My cheek twitched, the blood pumping through my heart thickening as disgust mixed with anger. The concoction seeped into every vessel I had, and I arched my back as my muscles began to smolder. Clasping my hands together tightly, my fists ached to hit something.

  “Aya.” Her name was a grunt as I shoved myself to my feet, my legs tightening from the urges that surged through me. “Let’s go.”

  The air moved around behind me, and the springs in the mattress creaked quietly as Aya climbed off the bed. Snatching my pants from the floor, I slid into them as her gaze bored into my back. My grimace darkened at the sensation, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

  Aya wasn’t attracted to me. I just didn’t feel the need to skirt around her pitiful boundaries. My mind went to the night before, picking on a silent conversation within the confines of my skull. She was resigned; that was what shone in her eyes when they met mine. At any point I could decide she was a burden and end her, and she couldn’t do anything about it. Her aim wasn’t to please me in whatever way but to get comfortable enough to actually enjoy life.

  After all, she didn’t know when it would end.

  But why wasn’t she a burden? The question pulled another grunt from me, and I fished for my keys before stalking to the door. There’s still no reason to assume she’s not useful to the Russians or who-the-fuck-else Trevor was working for.

  “Tell me more about the man with the scar on his neck, Aya.” Pulling onto the street, I reached for my pack of cigarettes and threw it into Aya’s lap.

  “He was short- shorter than me. He smelled like the ocean. And he talked with a lisp. He had orange hair and blue eyes. But Trevor called him Angelique…and- and he looked-”

  Glancing over as Aya stumbled over her words, my eyes narrowed on the discomfort splattered across her face.

  “He’s a cross dresser.” Spitting out the observation, I flexed my fingers against the wheel as Aya nodded furiously. Turning back to the road, I only had a moment to focus before she reached to offer me my cigarette.

  “Y- yeah… B- but he had the mustache… and the scar. He started showing up four months ago. Every time Trevor got more drugs he’d appear the next day, and he gave him them. One time Trevor got really drunk and started screaming at him because he was being j- jerked… around. And that he needed to hold up his end of the deal. The man slapped him and yelled that he would when his boss got what he wanted.” Holding the smoke while Aya talked, I slowed to a stop for a red light before exhaling harshly. At least the guy was fucking memorable.

  I took the long wa
y to get to the gym, giving my mind time to churn over what Aya had revealed. Trevor was in some deep shit, that was for sure; part of me regretted killing him so fast. Glancing over at the woman in the next seat, I ground my teeth together and tightened my grip on the wheel.

  We were missing something fucking important.

  Shoving the gear in park, I pulled my keys from the ignition before reaching to snatch my cigarette from Aya’s bony fingers. The stick was only half burned away, and I lipped the butt absently. Jumping out of my car, I waited for her to follow before glancing around. The lot we occupied was surrounded entirely by large buildings that blocked the early morning sun. Cast in shadow, it looked seedy and gross; this was the kind of place a person committed a crime. Narrowing, my gaze landed on a rusted door across the lot, the paint peeling so bad I could see the rolls from where I stood.

  “Why do you bring me with you? I’m a hostage?” Weaving between cars towards the dingy, dark orange barrier, my legs stiffened at the notion. Aya was getting bolder with her questions; they were no longer shallow or superficial. Granted, she doesn’t really ask too many questions, but whatever. Without breaking my stride I spoke up, my explanation flung carelessly over my shoulder.

  “You’re not a hostage. Sylvi doesn’t take hostages. The idea of extorting money by playing with someone’s love for someone else is distasteful to him. You’re just of determinable value. I’d rather Sylvi didn’t kill you and Georgio didn’t torture you.” My tone was harsh, and under my fingers Aya’s wrist flexed. Letting loose an irritated sigh, I stopped a few feet from the door to turn to her. “I haven’t killed you yet. I don’t plan on letting someone else kill you, either. Questo è il mio diritto e deciderò quando sei inutile.”

  Watching Aya roll her thick bottom lip between her teeth, my eyes narrowed and my cheek twitched. For a second my brain pondered what she heard when I spoke my native tongue. Surely it must’ve been something pleasurable; she didn’t know what I had said but still looked so at ease. Squeezing her wrist absently, my throat clogged with annoyance before I tugged her to the door.

  “Luciano! Sei venuto in una buona giornata, mio fratello.” It felt like much longer than a day since I set foot in a gym, and I released Aya’s arm to roll my shoulders. Dylan’s voice was loud, echoing off the high ceiling and the beams that held it up. The friendly greeting overpowered the sounds of people punching bags and each other.

  Taking Dylan’s large hand, I only grunted as my gaze scanned his form. For a burned-out boxer he looked good, his pale blue eyes shining and blonde hair dampened with sweat. Shirtless, he sported lean, wry muscles that no longer held the rigidity of his 20s. His gym was always too hot; even in the summer he only had a single fan on for his wife as she worked behind the front desk.

  “Dylan. I brought a friend for your wife.” Even as I spoke the words a little voice in my head protested. Dylan’s wife was nice enough, but she was also extremely critical. Grimacing as I released his hand, I glanced at Aya only to find her mossy gaze on me, swimming with apprehension. My eyelid twitched, jaw clenching, and I blew a hot breath from my nose.

  “Great- you know, Sarah’s been grumbling to herself all morning. I bet she could use the company.” Nodding slowly at Dylan’s almost perky observation, I watched the color drain from Aya’s face. The only time I left her alone was at the house where I knew exactly where she was at all times. Sylvi wasn’t a coward, but I didn’t put it past him to try something when I wasn’t there. If he did, there was no point in being angry because there was nothing to be done. Life would go on- he knew that.

  But I didn’t want Aya to die until this fucking shit storm that loomed over her had passed. Acting hasty never amounted to anything good.

  Slowly Aya took a step, and her throat flexed in a gulp as her eyes finally left mine. Her body was stiff as she walked away, and my gaze slid down her form. She was filling out- her ribs had disappeared and her hips were less pronounced. Long legs rippled from the tension that gorged her muscles, and I narrowed my eyes on her ass. Twitching, my fingers prickled before I forced myself off her.

  There’s no fucking way she’ll let me touch her. The thought brought a certain taste of bitterness to my tongue, and I gnashed my teeth. Many things I might’ve been, but a rapist wasn’t one of them. Whores brought me no pleasure but finding a woman to fuck was more complicated than simply asking. I had to find a club, pick a girl that didn’t look too drunk, and worry about her vomiting in my car. That was just too much work when it was just as satisfying to jerk off in the shower.

  “Luciano-” With a jerk of his head Dylan beckoned me, and I followed him to a line of punching bags before he spoke up. His voice was harsh, gravely from dozens of hits to the throat that was easily covered up by pitch. “You really have a slave girl, then? I thought that was just a rumor Johann said to make himself feel better about you losing him a ton of money.”

  Clenching my hands into fists, rage ripped through my chest as I sneered at the man before me. My shoulders tensed, back straightening as my heart pounded hard against its cage.

  “She’s not a fucking slave. I don’t trust Sylvi not to kill her- that impatient fucking ass. Trevor had her for a reason. I want to know why.” Hissing, my mouth dripped venom, and Dylan arched a bushy eyebrow. Skepticism overtook his expression even as his hands reached for a bundle of fist wrap.

  “So it’s true about Trevor- he was working for the Russians after all?” The quizzical note in Dylan’s voice snapped me out of my red haze, and I narrowed my eyes on him. My mind’s eye burst with color, flashing back to the ride here and the description Aya had given me of the cross dressing man. Dylan might know something, I grumbled silently, people come here all the time to get patched up.

  “Yes. I need to know if you know anything about a man with a scar-” Sliding my pointer finger down my neck as Aya had, I watched through slits as Dylan followed the movement. “He’s a cross dresser- orange hair- short as fuck…”

  “I’ll have to check, Luciano. You know it all looks the same to us now- just going through the motions. The only time we really remember is if it’s a kid that got caught in the crossfire.” Dylan’s words hit me in the chest, and I grunted as I remembered the face of that little girl from this morning. Even the most heartless murderers in the game didn’t kill kids- it was an unspoken rule. If a person put a hit out on a child, it was that person that usually ended up dead. Children were never bad; evil wasn’t inherent.

  Kids had to learn all of that, and sometimes a really sick fuck got his claws into them- like Georgio. The man was a god damn psychopath, with just enough sociopath in him to fool people. He even managed to buy out an orphanage in Italy to ‘express his distress over violence’. It’d been a very public thing even though I knew that some of the kids were going to end up like me. Georgio wasn’t stupid enough to use all of them; someone would notice eventually.

  Shaking my head of the thoughts, I thrust my hand out as Dylan unrolled the wrappings with expert fingers.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AYA

  Staring at the globs of blood and tissue coating Luciano’s knuckles, I pursed my lips together as my chest tightened. He was shaking, sweat pouring down his back and sides to gloss his tanned skin. The salty liquid glistened atop his palms, and beyond his outstretched fingers it followed the ridges of his sharp physique. His muscles trembled even as he gulped for breath, his chest heaving as he stood on shaking legs.

  “Luciano, you look ready to drop. Why don’t you stop for today?” Sarah’s familiar voice enveloped me, but I couldn’t rip my gaze from Luciano’s form. She talked so much it was almost impossible to hear my own thoughts; for my past three visits it’d always been this way. I would listen to every opinion she had about anything.

  So used to Luciano’s quiet, his short bursts of demands, my abdomen twisted every time he pulled me into this place.

  “Shut the fuck up, Sarah. I didn’t fucking ask you.” The harsh, rasping snap crackled throu
gh the air like thunder, and I jerked in surprise. My heart pumped harder, faster, as Luciano whirled around to glare at the woman next to me. Holding my breath, I watched his face contort with rage, and my blood went cold. Before me he seemed to grow, and my eyes widened when his narrowed gaze landed on me.

  Blood pumped harshly in my ears, and a whimper tightened my throat when Luciano advanced. I couldn’t even blink before his shaking hand was wrapped around my neck. Muscles seizing, even my heart skipping a beat as he forced me to him. The smell of sweat and blood was potent, dizzying, but my body refused to move as the heat seeping from him threatened to scorch me.

  “You’re going to hurt the poor girl…” I couldn’t hide my cringe at Sarah’s grumble, and Luciano squeezed my neck. His muscles rippled under his thick, tanned hide, and goosebumps washed my skin. Wheezing slightly, my lungs struggled to fill even as my brain told me he wasn’t hurting me.

  If Luciano held me with the violence that overwhelmed every part of him but his left fingers, I would be dead instantly.

  Storming off without a word, Luciano dug his fingernails into the side of my neck. Finally my soft cry escaped as he dragged me through a doorway, jerking my head to the right. Ice replaced my blood, and my shallow panting grew loud before he carefully loosened his grip.

  “Shit- fucking god damn-… Cazzo di lividi così male.” Letting out a string of profanities on a hot breath, Luciano released me completely. His hands seemed to have a mind of their own as he cupped the back of my head, drawing me close. Hot, heavy exhales swept down my nose and cheeks, smelling of mint and coffee. Gently tilting my head, he pushed aside my hair to gaze at the offended spot.