SAVING REBEL: Renegade Rebels Motorcycle Club (3 page)

“NO!”  I interrupted, before she could even start in on me.  The last thing I needed was Rebel hanging around the clubhouse and getting in the way of business.

She stomped her boot on the cement, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips.

“Well, fuck, can I at least get a hug from my big brother?”

Her blue eyes were exactly like mine, and exactly like our mother’s.  Memories began flooding my mind as I stared down at her.  

“Yeah, sure…” I closed the distance between us, pulling her tiny body into my arms and smelling whiskey…and Mason…on her.  

I pulled away quickly before she could get too comfortable.

“Thanks.  So, can I hang out for a little while?  I don’t have to live with you, right now.”

“Where do you live, Rebel? What happened to the Cunninghams?”  I knew she had been fostered by the same family all these years.

“Live? Oh, you know…here and there.  I left the Fuckingham’s on my eighteenth birthday.  I don’t know how they let people like that foster children.  It’s fucked up.  They were awful, Harley!”  Her eyes clouded over with tears as she looked at me. “I’ve been mostly hanging out on Missy’s couch for the last year.  She lives in her grandma’s old house in Oak Cliff.  You remember Missy, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I think so.  I’m sorry, Rebel.”  I felt like shit, but I tried to remind myself there was nothing I could do. “I would have taken you if the judge had let me.”

“I know, Harley, I know.”  She wiped the tears from the corner of her eye and straightened her posture.  She looked vulnerable for a moment, but she quickly regained a thick armor that I had seen a million times before.  Even before our parents were sent away, Rebel had a hard side to her.  She didn’t take shit from anyone, and it surprised me to see how her spirit had been broken, even if she only let it show for a second.

“Alright,” I relented, “come inside and I’ll get you a beer.”

“Whiskey,” she demanded and I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Please?”

I shook my head, knowing it wasn’t going to be easy getting rid of her this time.

“Alright, alright…”  

I glared over at Mason, who had been standing there with a bewildered look on his face the whole time.

“Put your cock away, Romeo, and join us.”

“Fuck…” he replied under his breath as he followed us through the door.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

Despite the look on Harley’s face when he walked in on us, I wouldn’t have traded those moments with Mason for anything.

His muscular body was a far cry from Jimmy’s, and for the first time, it felt like I had been with a real man.  

Of my own choosing, that is.  Mr. Fuckingham didn’t count. 

What kind of real man took advantage of his foster child?  He was a scumbag piece of shit, and I was so glad to be out from under his roof.  

I had left a note when I left.  I told Mrs. Fuckingham all about her disgusting husband, even though I had told her before, but she never believed me.  Accused me of lying and instead of doing anything about it, she just beat me harder when she’d catch me spending time with Jimmy, or hell, even when she’d catch me on the phone with him.  They had a strict ‘no-boys’ policy for their foster daughter, and the irony was not lost on me that the vile things going on behind closed doors in that house were a stark contrast to the public face they tried to show the world.

I knew the note wouldn’t do any good, but I left it for my own well-being.  I wrote it all out - every vile and disgusting act - just to cleanse myself of it.

Of course, it didn’t work.  But whatever.  I could deal with the memories now.  A bottle of whiskey and a few pills helped along the way.

But Mason? I’d been crushing on him since I was twelve. We all grew up together, and I watched them from the sidelines as they worked on bikes with our fathers.  They were always trying to shoo me away, the annoying sister.

Harley was Harley, but Mason had always been the masculine one.  He hit puberty first, his voice changing and hair growing on his face before anyone else in their class.  By the time he and Harley were eighteen, right before the big bust, Mason looked like he was twenty-five going on forty.

Once I figured out how things worked between boys and girls, I had many the girlish fantasy of k-i-s-s-i-n-g Mason behind the clubhouse.  He didn’t give me a lick of his time or attention, although he was nice when he had to be.

But when I walked up on him today? Holy shit.  

At first I didn’t know it was him.  I had no idea if he would be there or not when I decided to visit Harley.  But when he turned around, and I saw it was him? My heart began racing like a winning thoroughbred that just ran a mile.

Oh, yes, he was definitely a real man.

He was raw masculinity, wrapped up in a huge, delicious package of thick, long black hair, leather and denim.  And he tasted like whiskey.

What more could a girl want?

When I saw that he didn’t recognize me, I couldn’t help but play with him a little. I figured he would eventually recognize my voice or something, but he had no clue who I was, and he was really taking the bait when I teased him.  I didn’t think he’d really bend me over his bike, but when he did, I couldn’t have been happier.

And now that I had a taste of him, I knew I was going to need a much bigger bite.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

Holy fuck.  I was mortified!

I couldn’t believe I had just fucked my best friend’s sister — and Rebel, at that!

Watching her sitting at the table with Harley and me, drinking her whiskey straight from the bottle, those pink lips wrapping around it like a vise and batting those fuck-me baby blues at me — I was wound up like a snake about to strike.

And I felt like a complete fool.

I should have recognized her!  Hell, I had known her all her life.  

And yet she never looked like this before.  Last time I saw her, she was just a kid.  Now, she was a grown fucking woman with the best set of tits this side of the Trinity River.

Not only did I feel like a fool, but I was pissed.  And turned on.  And way fucking pissed.  My cock was betraying me, still raging hard in my jeans and there’s nothing like being angry and horny at the same time.

How dare she take advantage of me!  What kind of scheming hussy does something like that?  Rebel had always been a handful, and I knew that.

I knew it when she was five and she got busted for throwing apples at the cars speeding down Harry Hines Boulevard. I knew it when she was eleven and she took all of her Barbie and Ken dolls and super-glued them to all the bikes in the shop, saying they needed hood ornaments to be prettier.  

Her dad had been so pissed.  And yet, she had him wrapped around her finger so tightly, he promptly forgave her.  He found her constant antics amusing, which is why her gave her that nickname early on.

Rebel.  She was almost like an informal mascot for the Renegade Rebels Motorcycle Club.  And she loved every minute of it.

Being the only daughter of the MC president and his wife gave you a special place at the table, so to speak.  Everyone watched out for her, and everyone spoiled her.  And she took full advantage of the privileges. 

Rebel always got what Rebel wanted.

And by the look she was giving me across the table, what she wanted this time was me.

Her eyes twinkled as she smiled, licking her lips after pulling the bottle from them.  

It was going to take all my strength to resist her devilish temptation, but I knew if I didn’t, Harley would kill me.

And that thought alone was enough to make my cock wither up.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

“Of course you can’t join the club, are you out of your mind, Rebel?”

“No, Harley, I’m not.  Dad almost let Mom join.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not Dad, am I?”

Pain and disappointment crossed her face as she pleaded with me. 

“Just tell me why not then!”  She was pouting, tears springing to her eyes.  I groaned inwardly, the last thing I wanted to do today was sit across from my little sister and make her cry.

“Because you’re a girl, Rebel!  You’re barely eighteeen—.” 

“I’m NINEteen, Harley!” She interrupted, her voice so high-pitched it hurt my ears.

“Okay, okay, whatever. You are still way too fucking young.  And you know the rule - no women allowed!”

“Yeah, well, you’re the president, you can change the rules anytime you like.”

“No, I can’t.  You know we’d have to take a vote, and no member in his right mind is going to agree to having a woman in the club.  So stop fucking asking me!”

She was pissing me off and my sympathy for her was running low.

“Now, let’s figure out another plan for you.  You can still stay at Missy’s right? Do you have a job?”

“No, I don’t.  I’ve been looking and looking.  I was waiting tables for a while at a diner on Greenville, but they fired me.”  

If her bottom lip got any bigger, it was going to fall off her face.

“Look, stop pouting, Rebel!  I don’t know what gave you the idea I would let you join the club, so I refuse to feel like shit because you were so misguided.  Keep looking for a job, and go back to Missy’s.  It sounds like you’re on the right track.”  I reached in my back pocket, pulled a wad of cash out of my wallet and handed it to her.

She took it and tucked it inside her bikini top.

“And for fuck’s sake, buy some fucking clothes.”

“Harley, I wish you’d reconsider.  Let me just hang out for a while.  I could help out here.  I could clean the shop, or run errands or —.”