Page 63 of Rebel Revenge

Kian leaned in, breath misting across my cheek when he dropped his voice low enough only for me to hear. “Nah, little demon. ’Cause when I fuck you, I’ll have you panting so hard you can’t even utter a sound.”

My eyes widened. He might as well have fucked me right then and there, ’cause despite my normal quick wit, I was at a complete loss for words. Until that moment, I hadn’t even been sure he wasn’t gay.

But that doubt had been laid to bed and tucked in with a kiss of promise I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about for a while.

Kian moved on though, like he’d just asked me to pick up toilet paper at the store. He held an arm out to Fang. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you upstairs. Can’t have you sleeping out here, and if you go down with her trying to help you, you’re gonna crush her.”

I was sure it was only the implication he might hurt me that had Fang agreeing to Kian’s help. I trailed after them, more worried with every step because Fang really was wobbly on his feet. Kian got him into my bed, and he was asleep almost instantly.

Kian and I stood side by side, watching him.

“Seriously, should I be worried? What if he has a brain bleed? I don’t think you’re supposed to go to sleep when you have a concussion.”

But Kian shook his head. “Nah. I didn’t smack him in the head too much. If anything, I’d be more worried about broken ribs. Your boy doesn’t protect himself real well. I swear, I wouldn’t have gone up against him if I’d known he wasn’t a fighter.”

I sighed. “He is. He let you win.”

Kian frowned. “Why?”

“Because he’s too damn sweet for his own good.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is. It’s how you get your heart broken.”

Kian patted me on the back, like maybe he understood a little about what that felt like. “I’m going to bed. If he’s too out to take care of any needs you might have…that promise I made you downstairs is always available. Night or day. On tap…twenty-four seven.”

I shoved him, and he laughed.

“Night, little demon. I’m real glad you’re here. It’s been too fucking quiet around this place.”

I watched him walk away, through the bathroom that connected our bedrooms. “Me too,” I whispered to the quiet room. “Me too.”

17

VAUGHN

The morgue had left a message on my phone, politely requesting I come down and collect my father’s belongings that had been on his person when he’d died.

I hadn’t felt up to it for a few days, preferring to drink until I forgot about it, but each day when I woke up hungover, it weighed heavily on my mind. I couldn’t keep drinking, or it would become a serious problem. So the next morning, I left before I could get drunk and drove to a cold-looking building in the industrial part of Saint View. Glancing around warily at the graffiti on the walls of the run-down buildings, I locked my father’s car, hoping it would still be there when I returned.

The entire place gave me the heebie-jeebies, just knowing inside lay dozens and dozens of dead bodies, all chilling in a freezer.

What a fucking job.

The woman who greeted me when I opened the door though was anything but gloomy. Her dress was bright yellow, her arms covered by a pink cardigan, and she had her hair braided into two strands that hung over her shoulders pigtail-style, held in place with rainbow hair ties. “Good morning!” she announced so brightly I jumped at the sudden, unexpected tone. “What can we do for you today?”

“I need to pick up my father’s belongings. Someone called me.”

“Last name?”

“Weston. Vaughn…I mean, I’m Vaughn. He’s Bart. The dead person in question is Bart. I’m not dead. Clearly. Shit.”

She smiled tolerantly, like she put up with rambling idiots like myself on the regular and tapped her lime-green-painted fingernails across the keyboard. “Right! Here you are. ID 7876.” She repeated the numbers beneath her breath as she turned to a row of large cabinets behind her and rummaged through one of them. “Here you go, honey. There’s a note that the clothes he was brought in wearing were destroyed due to the possibility of contamination with a poisonous substance. But the items in his pockets and his jewelry were checked over by the police then deemed unrequired for their investigations. So, they’re all yours, if you want them.” She pushed across a small plastic bag with only a couple of things inside. His wallet and phone. A gold wedding band and a folded piece of paper.

My hand shook as I took them from her, and she gave me a sympathetic smile.

“I really am very sorry for your loss.”

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