Rebel Ink Read online

  “Where’s the douche you were dry-humping?” I toss back.

  She sighs. “Addy made him go away, and then Rush cut in and she took over in the dry-humping department. I figured I wasn’t needed.”

  “Third ball?”

  “Eleventh toe.”

  I sniff a little laugh at that, then gesture for another round to the nearest bartender. This one happens to be a very hot chick. Might be nice to let the snake feed again tonight—maybe even release its venom.

  “Vincent?”

  “Yup?”

  “Do I…” she sorta stutters. “Am I…”

  I turn to look at her. When she still doesn’t say anything, I sigh. “Spit it out, sweet tits.”

  Her shoulders sag. “Do you have to use that kind of language?”

  “Is that the question?”

  She swivels to face me now, her whole body, crossing her long, tanned legs like a debutante. “Can you not be…you for just a second? I have a serious question.”

  I hold up one finger. If I’m going to hear something serious from Blondie, I’ll need something to dull my senses…or my hearing. I toss back the shot, gesture to the barkeep for two more—one for me and one for Blondie, cuz I’m not a complete fuckface—then eye her again and raise a brow.

  “Okay,” she starts dramatically. “Here goes.”

  Jesus. So much work…

  “Am I…” She shrugs. “Unattractive?”

  Chicks. “To me? Or in general?”

  She fails to see the humor and gets instantly uptight. “Oh forget it.”

  Chicks.

  The bartender sets both drinks down in front of me and with my index finger I slide one over to Lisa. Lisa—she looks like such a fucking mopey dope right now. Why is the job of patching her emotional, insecure tire falling to me? Addison, get your ass over here.

  Oh that’s right. Rush has his hands on it right now.

  “You’re attractive, okay?” I say. Done. Over.

  “Okay.”

  I eye her. Still facing me, drink in her hand. Shoulders slumping, frowny face. Definitely not over. “Oh, come on. Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “That girl thing where you say everything’s cool but it’s really not cool cuz you can’t face what you’re feeling—or to get the guy to probe further. Either way, I hate that shit.”

  She’s quiet for a second. But I’m pretty sure that when she speaks again, she’s going to tell me to go fuck myself. Which would be my cue to stand up and get the hell out of here. But she actually surprises me. She drains her shot, drops the empty on the bar and leans in. I can smell her perfume.

  “The thing is,” she begins. “I used to be sort of the center of attention at stuff like this. I kind of counted on it. Needed it.” She drags her teeth across her upper lip which makes my cock twitch against my zipper.

  Down, boy. That ain’t no place for you.

  “Granted, that’s another issue all unto itself,” she continues. “But anyway…I walk in here tonight and…nothing. It’s like I’m one of many. Or nothing special at all. Is my dress boring? Is my makeup wrong? Is it caked on? Do I look old? Am I—”

  “Jesus Christ,” I interrupt because I’ve just spotted a porn scene being filmed on the dance floor. “Look at those two. Do they ever give it a rest? It’s like fucking dogs in heat.”

  “Says the dog in heat,” she mutters, turning around to check out what I’m referring to.

  “At least I keep my debauchery on the down-low. I don’t need everyone checking out my moves.”

  She laughs. “Your moves. Ha.”

  “Don’t mock what you don’t understand, Blondie. Won’t ever understand.”

  “And you don’t mock what you don’t understand. Like that kind of unbridled, authentic passion,” she returns. “If you’ve never been in love, you don’t get…that’s assuming you haven’t…”

  “I haven’t.” Proud card-carrying member of that tribe.

  She turns back and her lip curls a little. “But they are kinda gross.”

  My mouth curves into a smile. “Two more,” I call to the hot barkeep.

  Once again, I slide a drink Lisa’s way, and once again she pounds it. She kinda looks like I feel. Like I’ve felt for the past couple of months. Ever since the phone calls started coming in. A little bit weak, a lot distracted. Sick to my guts. I roll my eyes at what I’m about to do. “You wanna hang out or what?”

  Her eyes come up and meet mine. “Excuse me?”

  “You know, while those two grope the shit out of each other. You and me. Hang out and drink.”

  Her chin lifts and she studies me. “I thought you wanted some tail.”

  I don’t tell her I already got some. Maybe cuz I don’t want to think about why the fuck I walked away from some easy head. I shrug. “I’ll take a night off. Give my dick a rest.”

  “Oh, Vincent. Your charm and manners dazzle me.”

  “So, is that a yes, Blondie?”

  She sighs. “Well, I don’t seem to have a better offer. But can we switch to tequila? If I’m not going to remember tonight, I’d at least like to wake up among the living tomorrow.”

  I order us T-shots and when they come we clink glasses and toss ‘em back like sailors on leave. Or two people who have heavy shit on their minds and need to go comatose. I signal for another round—actually what I signal is to just keep ‘em coming—and when they do and I hand Lisa a glass, our fingers touch. They’re soft and warm, and I sorta pretend like the feel of her skin doesn’t do anything for me. When in fact, it gives me a slight chub.

  “Thanks,” she says.

  “Sure.” I put the glass to my lips, then stop. “Hey—and Blondie?”

  Her eyes lift to meet mine. They’re wide and the color of ocean water.

  Here I go. My soft side coming out as the alcohol goes right on in. “You’re hot as fuck. Like the mind-whacking kind. The kind where a dude isn’t satisfied even if he jacks all night long because he wants you again.” There. That should keep the shoulders up, the tits out and the tears at bay. I jerk my chin at her. “Cheers.”

  My eyes won’t open.

  I mean, really they won’t open. I think they’re fused shut. And my tongue…it’s doubled in size. And there’s a taste. My stomach rolls.

  Oh, god…it’s coming…

  I turn over in my strange, blind state, grab whatever’s beside me and barf into it. The pressure makes my eyes slam open, and the sight and smell of my vomit makes me retch again.

  “Ohhh…” I moan. Head. Pounding. Need…I dunno. What do I need? It’s been a long time since I wasted myself. Addy will have a cure. In the blender. She always has a cure.

  I swallow and wipe my mouth off with the sleeve of my…no sleeve. No sleeve? Wait…that was my skin. Oh, shit. My dress is still on. I slept in my dress.

  “Fuck me,” a male voice beside me rasps. “That smell…not cool, Blondie.”

  My heart stutters. Male voice. I know it. How do I—Blondie.

  BLONDIE?!?!

  Oh, no…

  “Vincent?” I eke out as I glance over my shoulder.

  “Don’t yell,” he grinds out.

  He’s lying beside me, fully dressed, shadow of a beard, eyes at half-mast as he stares up at the ceiling.

  My stomach rolls again. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no.” Trash can, wherefore art thou?

  “Voice. Blondie. Down. Please. Fuck.”

  The smell of the trash can wafts toward me and I shove it away. I can’t throw up again. I need fresh air. A shower. Advil. For my head…and my lips. Lips? I reach up and feel them. Swollen and sore. Why?

  My heart descends rapidly into my stomach. “We didn’t…?”

  “What?” he utters. “Drink the entire bar? Maybe.”

  “Not that. Did we…you and me…” I can’t say it.

  “God, no.” He sits up and winces. “And after seeing that performance of ‘Drunk Chick: the Morning After’ we never will.”

&
nbsp; Something moves through me. Not sure if it’s relief or feeling affronted. “Where are we?” I demand in this strange, high voice that doesn’t at all sound like it belongs to me. I think it belongs to my old friend, Tequila. She used to be so kind…so forgiving… “Is this your apart—” I stop because, seriously, where are we? I glance around the room. Except it’s not exactly a room. Leather club chairs…tiny windows—

  Someone clears their throat behind us and I jump, then instantly feel like ralphing again.

  “The plane landed twenty minutes ago,” she says. “We didn’t want to wake you, Mr. Vincent.”

  Mr. Vincent? What the hell is happening? Am I still sleeping? Plane? I sort of work myself into a sitting position and face the woman who, by her clothing choices alone, I’m going to guess is a flight attendant.

  My guts clench. What in the hell have I done?

  “What time is it?” Vincent asks her.

  “Ten a.m., sir.”

  Sir? I try to piece this strange puzzle together. Did Vincent hire someone to fly us somewhere last night? And why? What were we both thinking? Oh, god…my gut rolls. Again.

  Vincent’s on his feet now. How has he done it without falling over or ralphing? And why does he look so fresh? Well, not exactly fresh, but decently put back together. I can’t even imagine what state I must be in.

  “What time did we board?” he asks, running his hand through his fauxhawk.

  The woman looks a little sheepish. “Around four a.m. Las Vegas time.”

  I shake my head and plan my course of action. Standing is up first.

  “I know I didn’t instruct anyone to go to the airport,” he says. “So how did we get here?”

  “Town car at the club. It was waiting outside, and you asked the driver to take you home. With your…” Her eyes move over me. “Guest.”

  Okay, seriously, I’m going to puke again. So many things wrong with this. First, was I actually going to Vincent’s place with him last night? Clearly he hadn’t planned the airport thing. And second, I’m pretty sure this woman thinks I’m a hooker.

  “So, she’s been having me trailed,” Vincent says.

  I look up. I’m on my hands and knees now. Almost there… “Who?” I ask him.

  He ignores me.

  “I suppose we can’t refuel and return to Vegas?” Vincent continues. He sounds different. Older, maybe? Cleaner?

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the flight attendant says. “I do have instructions to return you tomorrow, however.”

  “That doesn’t help, Carrie.”

  Carrie? He knows her? What is all this? Am I in some alternate universe? He didn’t hire her? He did hire her? My brain is fuzzy—along with my tongue.

  “I apologize, sir.”

  “It’s not your fault. I know who to blame for this whole thing.”

  “Vincent,” I try to yell, but it comes out sounding like an animal’s cry of pain. Which is sorta right on the money. I’ve had enough. I’m confused and tired and weirdly hungry yet vomity too, and I want to know what’s happening. I want to know how we got here, why we were brought here and where Addison is. My eyes catch on something under one of the club chairs. Is that my purse?

  When I look up again, Vincent is staring at me. He looks dark and miserable.

  “Where are we?” I say.

  His jaw tightens. “Minnesota.”

  What the fuck? My stomach plummets and rocks. “Why? How?”

  As the stewardess disappears, he releases a heavy breath. “There’s a party here I’ve been asked to attend. Forced, is more like it.”

  Still confused. Really, really confused. “Whose party? I don’t understand any of this—”

  The plane’s door opens then and sunlight suddenly blasts inside the cabin.

  “My mother and her husband,” he says.

  Mother? He has a family? I mean, of course he does, I guess. I just always think of Vincent as descended from wolves. Or vultures.

  “They’ve been blissfully and ignorantly married for fifteen years.”

  “So…what? This is an anniversary party?” I push myself to stand and walk over to him. “And why do I think you’d rather be anywhere else?”

  His nostrils flare. “Because I would. Come on.”

  We stumble out of the plane and hiss at the light like two vampires who just exited their coffins. Squinty, I descend the stairs behind him. Cool morning air greets me and I breathe it in. Fresh air. Country air. Minnesota air? I see that a town car is waiting on the tarmac like we’re flippin’ royalty or something, and for one second I wonder just who the hell Vincent is. Because, I mean, look at all of this. Private plane. Sleek black town car. Does the tatted and pierced boy with the sexy eyes and filthy mouth have secrets?

  Methinks so.

  As the driver waits by the back door of the car, someone emerges from it. She looks somewhere around forty-five and is pretty conservatively dressed.

  “Is that your mom?” I ask.

  Vincent exhales heavily. “My nanny.”

  My mouth falls open as I hit the bottom step. And as I watch, the woman comes right up to him and pulls him into her arms.

  Just the smell of this state makes my skin crawl, and yet I need to keep the windows open. Blondie and I don’t smell so hot. And speaking of Blondie…

  I venture a glance in her direction. She’s staring out the window. Her red dress is dirty, her hair is wild—and admittedly kinda sexy—and she’s missing a shoe. After she realized it, she ran back up the stairs and into the plane to look for it. Never found it, though. She does however have her purse. Which is more than I got. My phone is in my pocket, but my wallet is gone—which is bad. Going to have to cancel everything when I get to the house.

  The house.

  Their house.

  We exit the highway and head for the ‘burbs. I haven’t been back in years, but everything looks the same. The Lunds grocery store where I always used to get those sour cream muffins after smoking a blunt with my friends. And farther up, miles and miles of white fencing and some of the most beautiful horseflesh in the country.

  My head is aching fierce now. Can’t believe I’m giving in, giving up after all these months of pushing her back. Granted, she went rogue getting me here—but I’m not calling Rush and making him book me a ticket, now am I? I’m letting this car take me to the one place on earth that rattles my bones.

  Kelly is staring at me. Probably wondering what the hell happened to me. I was all preppy haircut and virgin skin when I left.

  “It’s so good to see you,” she says to me. Like she means it. And my guts get tight.

  “You too,” I say.

  Her gaze flickers in Lisa’s direction. “Is this your girlfriend?”

  “No,” Lisa answers instantly.

  I sniff, grin. “Don’t hurt yourself with that swift reply there, Blondie.”

  She turns and acknowledges me, then Kelly. “I just want to be very clear.”

  “It was just a one-night thing,” I say.

  Lisa’s mouth drops open. “No it wasn’t.” She turns to Kelly. “No thing. Or…night.” She groans oh my god under her breath and brushes a hand over her face. “We were out with friends. We got…separated.”

  “What we got was shitfaced,” I say.

  Lisa groans again.

  Kelly laughs. “It’s all right. I understand. I was young once.”

  My eyes connect with hers. My nanny. A real mother to me when mine was adrift on new and mind-altering love. “What are you still doing here? Working for them?”

  Something steals that gentle light from her eyes. “Private secretary. To them both. And with your mother’s—”

  “Right,” I say quickly.

  Lisa jerks her head in my direction, gives me a look. She doesn’t like that I interrupted Kelly. Thinks I’m a rude asshole. But what’s new? She doesn’t need to know everything. Details and shit that are none of her business.

  The car turns onto the drive and I glance up. Pin
pricks of something I refuse to name attack my skin. Like someone trying to squeeze all the ink out of it. Sunlit green lawn and ancient trees, a spotless tennis court and a picturesque pond, surrounded on both sides by Gable Lake, give way to my family’s twenty-two acre estate. Nothing’s more beautiful than this place.

  Nothing’s uglier than it either.

  As soon as we stop, Kelly gets out of the car and heads inside. She knows I need a second. Fuck that. I need another five years.

  “You going with her?” Lisa asks me.

  I don’t answer. Just gesture to the driver to close the door.

  “Okay.” She turns to face me. “Spill. What the fuck? What is this place? Looks like a resort, and that’s saying something as I come from the land of mansions.” Her eyes narrow. “Are you rich? Does your family live here?” She shakes her head like she’s trying to make sense of it. Good luck. “Did you grow up here?”

  “Fuuuuck.” I drop back against the seat. I don’t wanna. Just…don’t wanna.

  For a couple of seconds, she just sits there. Waiting. Staring. Then she exhales loudly, grabs her purse and opens the door. “I’m going to call a cab and head for the airport. I gotta get back. Check in with Addy. I’m sure she’s freaked out.”

  I stay plastered to the leather seat like a pussy. “All right.”

  “All right?” she repeats.

  Jesus H. Christ. “Yes, all right.” I let my head fall in her direction. “What am I supposed to say?” That I feel like a fucking infant? All I need’s a car seat and a binkie with a skull on it? That my heart is slamming against my chest so hard right now I might drop unconscious? And that admitting any of those would be a helluva lot better than having to go inside?

  “You’re supposed to tell me something,” she returns hotly. “We’re sitting in a town car in front of your family’s…estate? In Airno, Minnesota—”

  “Orono,” I correct.

  “Whatever,” she grinds out. “I woke up like an hour ago on the floor of your family’s private plane. I’m pretty sure they kidnapped us? Like…back at the bar…” She groans and scrubs a hand over her face. “I’m confused, and nauseous, and probably look like a broken-down hooker. And I don’t belong here. I’m sure you agree. So, good luck to you, and maybe I’ll see you back in Vegas.”