Vicious Rebel (82 Street Vandals #2) - Heather Long Page 0,47
kneecaps and make sure you have to have your jaw wired shut if you don’t dial down the discussion about her perfect pussy.” While I hadn’t stared at it like some kind of creeper, I had no doubt about its beauty. Not when she was so fucking perfect.
Hot.
Tempestuous.
Wild like a controlled fire.
“Someone’s got blue balls,” Freddie said without an ounce of remorse. “You should be more laid back like our buddy Vaughn here. I know he got some pussy recently. It always gives him that kind of growl to his glow.”
“He needs rehab,” Doc cut in before either Vaughn or I could respond. “Serious rehab this time, Freddie. You can’t keep doing this crap to you or to anyone else.”
“Look, Doc, I know I slipped…”
“Save it,” Doc said with a wave of his hand. “You’re good at telling everyone sorry, and I think you even mean it. But you have a problem and you have the tools to at least even out your life. This time, you came out of it with a concussion and some cracked ribs. You’re lucky they didn’t amputate a body part, considering Jasper’s recent actions.”
I scoffed, but Doc wasn’t wrong. The sun had come out earlier in the day, but it had vanished behind another wall of clouds. Winter in the Harbor meant stormy skies and cold wind and oftentimes more rain than any of us ever needed. “Is he good to go or not, Doc? I’ll keep someone on him for the next few days.”
While I didn’t want to agree with him, Doc wasn’t wrong—Freddie needed handling. We’d taken all the time at the clinic we could, but I couldn’t run the Vandals from here, and so far, Kestrel hadn’t brought Emersyn around.
Then again, she didn’t need to deal with Freddie high or detoxing, no matter how kind she’d been to him that first night. The compassion and kindness she’d shown him were rare in our world. A flash of the haughtiness in her eyes from the first night we’d met flashed through my mind.
It would be easy to dismiss her as a stuck-up princess, but she was nothing like that at all. Fuck, I’d missed her the last few days. Having her so close at the clubhouse all the while keeping my distance had been a kind of hellish salvation. She was there. Safe. No one could touch her there.
The bruises on her body healed. The shadows beneath her eyes faded. The hollowness of her body filled in. What seemed at times the near translucence of her grew more solid and stable. The steady burn of her resentment had also eased.
Killing Eric had helped.
Giving her the studio helped more.
The taste of her lingered on my lips, even as I took a last drag on the cigarette. Even the long days and nights since hadn’t chased that memory away. First, I’d had to deal with the 19 Diamonds, then Freddie’s disappearance, and finally, his detox.
All I wanted to do was go back to that fucking kiss and pin her back to that wall where we could take our time. I wanted to find all the different ways she liked being kissed, and I wanted to feel the drag of her fingers against my skin.
Dragging my mind back to the present with a vicious grip, I glared at Freddie. I didn’t need to be sporting a semi of any kind around any of these assholes. “We’ll talk about rehab,” I said, breaking through Freddie’s tirade before he could get wound up.
He shot me a wounded look as he raked a hand through his hair and shoved the locks away from his face. He could use a damn haircut while he was at it, but one battle a time.
Pinning Freddie in place, I raised my eyebrows. “We will talk about rehab. There are places we can send you.” Before he could object, I continued, “I get it. The last thing you want to do is be sent away. Not particularly a fan of the idea, but this shit has to stop, Freddie. There’s only so many holes we can drag you out of. This time…this time cut it awfully close. If they hadn’t been so intent on making you suffer, they could have slit your throat before we even knew you were gone.”
The rebellion in Freddie’s expression fled. The words gutted him. Or maybe it was my tone. At the moment, I didn’t care what worked, only that it worked.