Her Rebel Page 9

  “Yep, born and raised,” she says, turning and leaning her hip against the counter next to the register.

  “Was most everyone around here born and raised here?” The town seems so tightly knit, like there’s this club I can’t seem to break into. It’s like I haven’t performed some secret rite of passage yet or something. Every day I keep hoping something will give; that it’s just a fluke people aren’t coming in yet. Maybe they don’t know the bakery is back open, but I’m starting to think in a town like this everyone knows everything about everyone.

  She shrugs her shoulders, and I can see her choosing her words carefully. “Most are from here, but Alp— I mean, my brother, likes to welcome in strays from time to time.”

  “They don’t seem too welcoming to me,” I mutter, not wanting to insult her brother. Why would it be his job to do the welcoming? I hadn’t even met the man, and if he’s some kind of welcoming committee for the town, then he sucks at it. I’ve been here for three weeks, and I have no idea who he is.

  “Well, it will just take some time.” She leans in a little closer to me, and I hear her sniff.

  “Did you just smell me?” Grabbing my shirt, I sniff myself thinking maybe I stink or something, but all I smell is sugar. No matter how many showers I take I think it’s ingrained from cooking sweets all the time.

  “No,” she says, stepping back from me like I asked her a crazy question when she's the one sniffing me.

  “You like working here, Gwen?”

  “I love it! You’re not going to fire me because I smelled you, are you? I can decorate the shop if you like. Halloween is in a few days, and I'll get it done today. Or it is the treats? You hate them? I can do them over again. Just show me how you like them. Please, you can’t fire me. No one else will hire me. My brother won’t let them and…and—”

  “Gwen. Calm down,” I say, cutting her off from her rapid-fire rambling. “I’m not going to fire you. I…it’s just…like a second ago when I made the suggestion about the decorations, you snorted like, “no one is coming in here,” and, well, if no one comes in here, neither of us will be working here.”

  “Oh!” She sighs like it’s no big deal, and I just stare at her, not understanding her at all. “They’ll come after.”

  “After?” I wave my hand trying to encourage her to finish her sentence.

  She hesitates and then looks around the room. “After Sheriff Wolfe stops scaring people away.” She says the words like I pried them from her using torture.

  At hearing his name, my eyes shoot to the front window to see if he’s loitering outside my shop again. I thought cops drove around in their cop cars, eating donuts, but the one here walks up and down Main Street all day, eating my cookies and drinking my coffee. He stops in front of my bakery more than anywhere else and glares in here like I’ve done something to offend him.

  It was his family who owned the bakery before I did, but I was told that he wanted to sell it. The lawyers explained that he didn’t have the time to run it, which I could understand if he was the sheriff. And no way could I see him running a bakery. He’d eat himself out of house and home.

  The man was a jerk-face. A sexy, giant jerk-face who was my biggest customer, but still a jerk-face, and he could barely form a sentence on the best of days. At first I thought maybe he could only grunt and growl. But then I saw he didn’t have a problem speaking to other people. I’d heard him talk to Gwen a few times and everyone else, but with me it was like I was too much of a bother or something. If he couldn’t stand me, why was he always hanging around all the time? Why did he sell me the shop? It’s not like I twisted his big, hairy, muscled arm or something. In fact, it was the opposite. I remember that day like it was yesterday.

  When I came to see the place, I was so excited. I knew before I’d even got here I was making an offer. The pictures online showed me it was everything I wanted. The place was even decorated in my favorite color, red. All I'd have to do was get a new sign.

  I was so excited to finally see it in person, but the first time I walked inside all I saw was him. I thought he was sitting at a mini table in the bakery, but it didn’t take me long to realize the table wasn’t mini. No, he just made it look that way because he was so big.

  I stood mesmerized by him, my whole body coming alive. It was a feeling I’d never felt before, like warmth washing over me. His big silver eyes grew bigger at the sight of me. But then he stood from the table and stormed out of the bakery. Just before he hit the door, he threw over his shoulder, “It’s hers.” He made it clear he was done with me and the bakery. Or so I thought.

  For some reason it knocked the air out of my lungs when he dismissed me so easily. I shouldn’t have been so taken aback by him. I wasn’t one to get noticed by men. I’m short, chubby, and have curly red hair that I can barely control. It’s why my parents named me Ruby. So having him all but ignore me shouldn’t have hurt so much, but it did.

  Then I found out he’s the sheriff. I felt like he came in here to poke me, and now I find out he’s keeping people away from the shop too. What’s this? Some scheme he does or something? Sells the bakery, drives the bakery person out of business and buys it back for dirt cheap, then does it all over again to someone new? I can’t even report him because he’s the freaking sheriff.

  Maybe that’s it. That day he saw me, he knew I was an easy mark. Well, the next time I see him I’m going to give him my two cents. Really give him something to growl about.

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  Acknowledgments

  The Rebel Series is written in part by Abby Knox.

  We loved her stories so much, we stole them from her and filled them with Alexa Riley goodness.

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  Chasing the Night

  By Abby Knox

  COMING SOON!

  Part 3 of Her Big Easy Wedding

  This sneak peek is unedited and subject to change… follow Abby Knox on Instagram for news and updates!

  Chapter 1

  Chastity

  The bride’s wildcat cousin from Baton Rouge was having a rough morning.

  Chastity DuChamps opened one sleep-crusty eye. She shouldn’t have done that. The sunlight streaming through the blinds instantly seared right through her eyeballs and into the back of her skull.

  Whenever she visited her cousin Rosemary in New Orleans and slept overnight in one of the many guest rooms overlooking the lake, she always woke with a slight bit of confusion over where she was, at first. But that feeling would dissipate in a few seconds as wakefulness took hold. There was always the lovely four-poster bed, and a huge window seat with lush pillows and blankets. She would often be awoken with the aroma of coffee and fresh beignets prepared by the cook and all-around wonder-woman Lety, who served guests as if they’d ordered room service.

  This morning was not anything like that.

  This little room was not becoming more familiar to her the more she woke up. She peeked around for clues. The only thing 100 percent certain was that she was definitely not in her uncle’s house on the lake. This room had a fucking popcorn ceiling, for starters. And these sheets were not Egyptian cotton.

  How she got here was another mystery. The only clear memory was she had started the evening at Rosemary’s bachelorette party last night, which had begun with a five-course dinner, with lots of champagne, at the mansion. Everything after that was a blur. Judging from her current state, she’d say the party was a roaring success.

  Chas gingerly rolled to one side, stood up and realized she had been asleep in her party dress. She had a pattern of its sequins embedded into the skin of her arms. Those arms were now searing with the pins-and-needles sensation of having been slept on. Shaking them awake, she thanked god her legs were working, if a bit wobbly, because she had the urge to pee more than she had ever had in her life. She looked around. There was a door to a small room in the co
rner. That had better be the bathroom, she thought, because either way she was going to pee in it.

  It was indeed a bathroom, and after she had relieved herself, she checked her reflection in the shabby little wall mirror.

  This was the one day she was thankful for bad lighting. Never mind that she had obviously skipped her nightly makeup-removal-and-moisturizing routine, because the real story here was the giant love bite on her neck.

  She watched her eyes grow huge and fearful in the mirror.

  Had she been making out with a giant leech? Because that was the only level of suckage that might possibly have produced such a bruise. No way that was going away before the wedding in two days. Shit. Forget about her own mother killing her; that old lady would have to get in line behind Rosemary and Aunt Betsy.

  Focus, Chas. Focus. Where are you? And who were you kissing last night? Chas closed her eyes, and then she sniffed. A man’s scent. All over her. Like, really all over her.

  She did not hate this scent, whoever it was. Too bad he wasn’t here so she could interrogate him about this giant hickey.

  She stumbled back to the bed to look for her phone. Surely the GPS could tell her where she was and how to get back to the mansion. She could probably enlist some of the other bridesmaids to help her sort her evening out. She really didn’t want to bother Rosemary with any of this.

  As she dug through the mess of sheets and blankets, Chas got her biggest clue about the night’s events. There, in the middle of the bed, was a small spot of blood. Her mind raced. Did that really happen? The ache between her legs and her sore thighs gave her the answer. Yes, some serious shit happened, and happened rather enthusiastically, she surmised.

  Whoa.

  So...not a virgin anymore. On the one hand, mission accomplished. On the other hand... dammit, I missed the whole thing.

  Now she was desperate to find her partner in last night’s crimes. She looked around the room for clues, but all she found were her pashmina and her shoes. There was something else, too: a soreness on her butt.

  What in the world?

  She lifted up her dress and twisted her torso enough to see what it was. A bandage. She lifted the tape around the bandage to reveal a tattoo of a Valentine heart that looked like it had been clawed by a wild animal. On the heart was a letter “G” written in elaborate calligraphy.

  G? Who the fuck is G?

  She had to find her phone.

  Oh man, she also needed water. And coffee. And a large JB Chicken crispy breakfast biscuit slathered in butter and ghost pepper jelly. And ibuprofen, stat. But first, her phone.

  Ignoring the little blood stain on the bed that represented the end of her innocence, she kept rifling through the sheets, pillows and blankets. Finally, she found her clutch purse, under the bed.

  She opened her clutch and breathed a sigh of relief as she plopped onto the floor. A few undamaged brain cells must have started working again, because she suddenly had the brilliant idea of looking at her photos. Yes! Of course! Surely there would be photo evidence of what happened last night.

  She ignored the little red dot that indicated she had several unopened text messages and tapped the photo icon on her phone screen. Up popped an album marked “G.”

  Because, of course. Drunk Chas could not be bothered to do any favors for future Sober Chas by fully naming the dude who presumably had “taken her flower.” That would be her mother’s phrase for it.

  She held her breath and clicked on the album marked “G.”

  What opened before her was a series of images that would make any brothel madam blush. Good lord! Who was this acrobatic and... whoa! Tanned, muscular specimen with a six-pack that you could bounce a quarter off of? She swiped through and felt the heat rising her to face. She got a glimpse of long, wavy brown hair. Nice. A shoulder with a Jolly Roger tattoo.

  Really, dude?

  There was a hip tattoo that matched hers, only with the letter “C.” “Oh god,” she groaned.

  What tattoo artist in his or her right mind would allow this to be done on a pair of drunks?

  She saw in the thumbnails there was a face. Her heart skipped a beat and she was about to click it when another one distracted her. A pretty shocking one.

  Oh my. Was that his...it was. Oh god. Yeah, she clicked. Who could resist?

  Wow.

  Well.

  She checked herself. Was she actually grinning at a dick pic right now? That was a first. That explains why she was finding it hard to walk this morning. And why she had

  somehow agreed to matching tattoos, because damn. That thing could probably convince just about anyone, man or woman, to sell both kidneys in exchange for a thorough night of hot sex.

  Enough, Chas. Get to the face. We need to identify this bad boy.

  She clicked on the thumbnail of his face. It wasn’t a full face. Most of the screen was taken up by her own smiling, drunk-ass face, with the presumed G’s face taking up about one eighth of the screen at the top right-hand side. She saw a brown eye, sun-kissed skin, long, wavy hair. Did he have a beard? She could not tell. She kind of hoped so. He was most definitely a hot piece of ass, beard or no beard.

  Nothing to indicate a name, though.

  Crap.

  And who was she, exactly? Five years ago, at the age of 17, she was Miss Junior Baton Rouge 2012, cutting the ribbon on the new YMCA splash park, smiling wide for the newspaper photographer. Now she was on the floor of a weird apartment, in the dress she’d worn the night before, desperately searching for clues about the man who took her virginity.

  She pressed the “home” button to go back to her text messages for more clues. But as soon as she did that, everything went black.

  Wait, what?

  Yep. Her phone was dead.

  And she was pretty sure she did not have a phone charger. Sure, hell-bent on losing her virginity last night, she’d remembered to tuck a condom, a passport (she didn’t drive, so no license) and her daddy’s platinum card into her clutch. But a firewire? Why on earth would that be necessary?

  There was also a bigger problem here. Not only did she not know who G was, not know where she was, and not know where her fellow bridesmaids might be, she also did not know if she’d messed up the whole encounter by shifting into a wildcat last night.

  That last detail was pretty important, too, because it could have meant the difference between her supposed partner being alive and walking around with the glow of a freshly laid man, or being in hiding and scared to death.

  Or worse—actually, very literally dead.

  ***

  “G”

  Oh shit. Am I dead?

  Because that would really, really suck. Nobody wants to wake up dead after the first time they ever have sex.

  Because, as it turns out? All the fuss, all the songs, all the heartache, all the drama? It happens for a very good reason.

  Because, G decided upon waking up, sex was good.

  Better than good. Pretty fucking great.

  Now, if only he could remember who she was and how it all started.

  He opened his eyes in hopes that it wouldn’t all disappear like a really amazing dream. The sun was coming up but still mercifully obscured by the trees.

  The fuzzy events of the night did not disappear like an amazing dream that he wanted to close his eyes and get back to. Things had actually happened. Some really fucking sublime things.

  It was all real. At the nearly freakishly old age of 25, G had finally lost his virginity. All of his buddies at Ashton Boudreaux’s bachelor party would be very happy for him.

  Except they were not there right now. And neither was she. Whoever she was.

  Curious.

  Even more curious was the fact that he was lying on the grass in the woods. Naked. Alone. And his belly was full.

  He had the taste of fresh blood in his mouth.

  So he had shifted to the wolf last night. How in the hell did that happen? It wasn’t a full

  moon. Besides
, no pack of wolves like Ash, Bobby and Vann would ever plan a bachelor party on the night of a full moon. Not unless they all wanted to end up dead or in prison or both. Alcohol and full moons do not mix. Especially not when it comes to shapeshifters.

  Sure, he wasn’t always the best at keeping track of his moon cycles, but that’s pack mentality. You depend on each other.

  But where was his pack now?

  He went through the list. Ash was probably at Rosemary’s flat, sleeping it off. Vann West, their boy who was now a celebrity chef, had just last night come home from a shoot in Seoul, South Korea, for the week of wedding festivities. He was probably off boning his new girl GiGi, whom he hadn’t seen since March. G wondered if that would last, knowing what he knew about them both. He also wondered if those two ever did stuff with icing.

  Focus, man. Focus.

  Where was Bobby? Bobby was known to get melancholy toward the end of the night, whenever the pack partied together. G wasn’t sure, but it probably had something to do with his past. It was so long ago, but Bobby would carry that cross to his grave. Poor guy. G hoped sincerely that his friend would one day be able to get his mind off of it. Of course, G and Ash and Vann knew exactly the only person who could help Bobby with all of that. The only one who could not see that was Bobby.

  Look at yourself, G. Lying naked on the ground in the pre-dawn hours and all you can think about is your friend’s happiness? No wonder you were a virgin until last night.

  Get it together. Find your clothes. And then find the girl.

  G carefully sat upright. He looked to his left. There was the lake. He and the boys had probably gone for a dip to sober up at some point. Had he brought the girl with him for that? Was she still here?