Page 4 of His Loyal Rebel

Turning off the main drag, she headed to South Tenth. Her mood soured. Angie was thirteen months older than her and had always fought. Her parents pit them against each other, making the sibling rivalry worse by always making an example out of her.

'Don't act like Twyla.'

'Don't lie like Twyla, or you'll get grounded, too.'

'Twyla, why can't you be more like your sister? She never causes us problems.'

She grew up hating the way they treated her. As if she was the example of what her sister shouldn't do, even though she was the youngest. Angie hated her for getting all her parents' attention.

The attention she never asked for but received all the same. If verbal abuse was called attention.

She was far from perfect but not once had her parents made her feel loved or showered her with the positive praise Angie received from them.

By the time she was thirteen years old, she had given up on trying to gain favoritism. If they couldn't love her for who she was, then she'd live her own life on her own terms.

Once she matured, she'd done what she wanted, paying no attention to curfews or rules. Eventually, her parents stopped caring. No one noticed when she stole a shirt from Meier and Frank. No one noticed when she went joyriding in her father's car before she was legally old enough to drive. No one noticed when she lost her virginity at fifteen years old.

Exhaling loudly at the sight of a motorcycle parked in front of her sister's two-bedroom cottage, she parked along the street. It wouldn't surprise her if Angie hooked up with a biker after finding out she'd moved in with Big.

She and Big only lived together for one month. Not long enough to save her money like she'd planned.

Knowing Angie, she was probably making her way through whatever biker club let her hang around, trying to outdo her. As if dating an outlaw was cool.

No, thanks. She wasn't playing that game. One biker was enough for her. She was swearing off the rest of them. The next guy she dated would have a nine-to-five job and drive a Celica or pickup.

She shut off the car. Leaving her things in the vehicle, she walked up to the front door. Music blared inside. She looked out at the street. It wasn't the best neighborhood in town.

Houses were literally ten feet apart up and down the block, with matching houses across the road. A few children played two driveways down, and a pizza delivery car roared past.

Lifting her hand, she knocked.

Several minutes passed, and she kicked the door, rattling the wood against the frame with her force. She wasn't going to stand out here all night until someone finally opened the door to find her waiting.

"Angie?" yelled Twyla, banging on the door. "It's me. Your sister. Open up."

She shook the pain from her hand. Her stomach coiled tighter the longer she waited. Her day kept going on and on, and she wanted it to end.

Finally, the door opened. Smoke rolled out, and she wrinkled her nose. Or maybe her disgust was aimed at the man blocking her view of the inside.

"What do you want?" The guy shucked on a leather vest over his bare upper body.

She ignored his question and squeezed past him. Going straight to the boom box on the entertainment center, she shut off the music.

"Angie?" she said.

"Go away," shouted her sister from the bedroom.

She rolled her eyes and walked down the short hallway, and stepped into the room. Her sister stood by the dresser, slipping a shirt over her head.

"I need to stay here," blurted Twyla, taking in the mess.

There were clothes strung everywhere but in the closet. At least a dozen beer cans covered the TV tray her sister used as a nightstand. Her nostrils stung. It smelled like alcohol, pot, and B.O. in the house.

"What happened to Big?" Angie slid her feet into a pair of white Vans. "Did you cheat on him?"

"What if I did?" She shrugged. "I just need a place to crash until I save up enough money to rent an apartment."

She hadn't cheated. Big had.

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