Tyra and Tabby shared a lot.
It went without saying that meant Rebel was in with them too.
“It’s not just a Club,” she continued. “It’s not even just a family. It’s a huge business that’s got a crazy-good reputation that’s getting bigger, spreading wider. But it’s fascinating. How you guys came together. How much history you share. How well you fit. How well you work together. How you look out for each other. I could hang, fly on the wall, film. Put something together. Even if it’s just for you and your brothers when it gets done, I’m doing what I love to do. I’m on sacred ground, having a chance to get to know your brothers better, meet the old ladies. And it’d be cool to give that to you all in the end. Kind of like a professional home movie.”
“I’m not sure all the guys would be down with you filming.”
His words shared he was thinking about it and her face brightened.
Fuck.
“If they’re not, I won’t,” she said fast, then got up on her knees excitedly. “But Rush, this way, I wouldn’t tax your energy. No one would have to look out for me. And you’ll be around, so you probably wouldn’t even have to come and get me after your day. I’ll be where you are. Or where you’d eventually be. And I could have some fun.”
“Babe, don’t get excited about this,” he advised gently. “Even if I’m down, I’d have to bring it to the brothers and they might not be.”
“I’ll be cool whatever, Rush. Even if I’m just filing for Tyra, I’ll be cool.”
He stared into her face and he saw it.
She wanted to do this.
She wanted to be close to him, and she wanted to get back into what she did when it wasn’t about filming two people fucking.
Jesus, shit.
He was fucked.
Because seeing that in her face, he could not say no.
“I’ll talk to the brothers,” he muttered.
Her slice flew back into the box and then she was all over him, kissing his face, his neck, his mouth.
He put his hands to her waist and said, “Babe.”
She planted her hands in his chest and beamed into his face. “This is so awesome!”
“You’re gonna have to get it past D and Maddox too,” he warned. “There’s still danger and they’re not gonna like that.”
“They dig you. You won them over with pancakes and not shouting down their middle-of-the-night fucking. If they know I’m on Chaos, and when I’m not I’m with you, they’ll be totally cool.”
“We’ll see.”
She smiled at him, came in for a lip touch, pulled away and dropped back to her ass on the floor, reclaiming her slice of pizza.
“This is fantastic,” she declared as she munched. “We can have Amy over for dinner and check her pulse. I can teach you how to meditate. I can finally cook for you. Wind-down-after-a-day-of-trying-to-find-bad-guy blowjobs whenever you need them. Awesome.”
The only one of those he was down for was the blowjobs.
And depending on her skill level, the cooking.
Rush didn’t say that.
He reached for a slice.
“Rush,” she said before he sat back in his seat.
He turned his head and caught the look on her face.
And suddenly he was down for everything she said.
She liked him. They were starting something.
And it was wired in her to take care of the people who meant something to her.
It’d kill her to be in Phoenix when he was up here not getting enough sleep and coming home to an empty house and an empty bed.
She needed to be right there, by his side.
And having that from her did not suck.
“Thank you, baby,” she whispered.
He grinned at her, sat back, and tore off a bite of pizza with his teeth, hoping he wouldn’t regret this.
But his father thought they were in the home stretch and that Chew had retreated to prepare for his final attack.
Tack was rarely wrong.
And whatever it would be, they knew it was coming.
So maybe he wouldn’t regret this.
Regardless, he’d just made Rebel really fucking happy.
And he knew already he’d never regret that.
Proper Procedure
Rush
Seven forty, Monday morning . . .
“Jesus, sis, chill.”
Diesel’s voice rumbling through the wall, Rush opened his eyes.
He was in Rebel’s bed, which was essentially a cave tucked under an arch in a room painted yellow and the same lime green that was in the bookshelves in the living room.
Like everything else Rebel, her bedroom coincided with her name.
There were no normal pillows, just a stupid amount of toss pillows of varying sizes in patterns of pinks, blues and purples. No comforter, but fluffy blankets and embroidered quilts. The mattress was shoved in, butting against three walls, windows at the head, foot and side. And the arch was decorated in a leafy, flowery garland with some wavy stars and what looked like pink and purple Christmas balls hanging down.
He didn’t even want to get into the garnet-colored chandelier hanging so low in the tiny open area of the room, he ran into it when he’d first entered.
Antique chests set at slants, closing the arch in even further.
Flowered chairs stuffed in.
He had no idea how she made that bed seeing as she could only get to one side of it. But when they’d hit it last night, it had been made.
All this bizarre, he still had to admit that warm, dark cocoon, filtered with moonlight coming in from all around with its comfortable bouncy mattress was a great place to fuck.
And obviously sleep.
He felt like he’d slept for a year. Refreshed, his brain settled.
He heard some murmuring coming through the wall, female, Rebel, and then from Diesel . . .
“Just make them for him tomorrow. We brought donuts. We didn’t commit murder.”
Rush grinned and swung out of the bed.
Avoiding the chandelier, he yanked on his clothes, including his boots.
He left the tiny room to go into the tiny bathroom, which looked like it was paneled in barn wood that had been painted cream a hundred years ago. A short claw footed tub with a distressed gray side. Pedestal sink. Big window at the foot of the tub he thanked fuck was obscured by Essence’s jungle because it looked right into the bath. Shelf under it on which she had an antique oval standing mirror and a bunch of bottles with some conch shells. Tall wicker basket beside it stuffed with an enormous amount of dried wildflowers.
There was a wall partitioning the toilet, which weirdly was at the front of the room. That wall, as well as the walls in the bath area, had some stenciling in the upper corners.
He would have thought the room was a total wash. That small room that gave a feel of a funky outhouse with that little tub you couldn’t even stretch out in (even if he took baths, which he didn’t) if there wasn’t a shower room tucked off to the other side of the toilet. It had obviously been added on because it made the shape of the room wonky and it explained a weird wall in the living room.
That was all of Rebel’s cottage. A decent-sized living room, big kitchen, small foyer, tiny bedroom, diminutive bathroom. All of it surrounded by greenery, stuffed full of personality and mystifying style.
And Rush had to admit he liked it. He’d felt last night like they were alone in more ways than simply being alone. They had privacy. They were on their own little island, tucked in a forest away from people and traffic and the shit of life.
It was what he wanted in his mountain house when he got to that point.
It was another thing Rebel offered him now.
And having it, he decided, with Valenzuela out of the picture and half the threat gone, this was where they’d hang until it was all over.
He used the toilet, washed his hands, splashed water on his face and found some mouthwash to rinse.
Then he walked out, going into her headache of a kitchen she’d told him last night Essence had decided the paint job.
At least there was that.
The minute he walked in, he saw Rebel wearing a strapless cream, what looked like a bikini, top that had a tie in the middle of her tits that was cinched to show even more skin, low-slung, wide-leg pajama pants in a muted pastel paisley and a see-through cream—he didn’t know what the fuck it was—but it was a robe-like thing with little balls on the ends.