REBEL, a New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) (9 page)

By the time my head comes up, he’s mostly out the door.
 
It’s then that I see the money folded in half in front of me.
 
I snag it, quickly counting out the collection of bills.
 
A hundred and twenty bucks?
 
Whoo hoo!
 
It’s payday, bitches!

I jump up out of my seat and run to the doorway.
 
He’s just a few steps into the warehouse.
 
“Thanks, Rebel!
 
You won’t regret it.
 
I promise.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge me; he just keeps walking over to the car that’s up on the lift.

Fuck him.
 
He gave me a job and I’m going to like him anyway, even if he is a total social bonehead. I leave the office after five, now on a mission.
 
I have one goal down and one to go; time to find an apartment.

I cruise the area around the shop, finding three possible candidates.
 
They’re all run down pieces of total crap, but to me that means cheap and it means close.
 
Maybe I’ll be able to put enough into savings to make my last semester of college not totally horrible.
 
Thank God I already paid for my classes.

The first place outright rejects me since I have no job history.
 
I look at the wasted bum sitting just outside the office of the landlord who’s obviously been hitting the pipe himself, and I get pissed.
 
I’m being judged as not worthy by junkies.
 
“Yeah, well, this place sucks anyway.”

The guy just sneers at me.

The next place is worse, with people actually hanging around in small groups, some of them with beer cans in paper bags, but they don’t care that I don’t have paystubs, just that I have a job and a deposit.

“I can get you the rest tomorrow,” I say, signing my name on the contract.
 
I haven’t even seen the inside of my new studio apartment, but I don’t care.
 
It’ll have a door that I can lock, a toilet, and a bed.
 
Oh, how far I’ve fallen that this is my new definition of home, but whatever.
 
I’m all about survival at this point.
 
This landlord didn’t even ask me for ID.

“Just make sure you pay your rent on time,” says the heavyweight older lady on the other side of the scratched and dented desk.
 
She has exactly seven very long beard hairs growing from her chin and four from her upper lip.
 
I’m thinking she uses them to floss after lunch.
 
“I don’t allow no freeloaders on my property.
 
This is my legacy, and I don’t take charity cases.”

The crowd outside and the fact that she gave me a room without me even showing ID says differently, but no way in hell am I going to argue the obvious points with her.
 
Besides, a rat trap motel is more of a legacy than I currently have, so who am I to judge?

“I can get the key tomorrow?”

“Yeah.
 
I gotta put off a bug bomb in there first.”
 
She throws a cigarette into her mouth and lights up, completely disregarding the anti-indoor-smoking law.

I cough loudly, but she doesn’t give a shit.
 
She just blows the smoke over the desk and peers at me through the fumes.
 
“You party?” she asks.

“Uhhhh … no?”

“You sure?”

I’m wondering right now if she’s about to offer me a spliff or maybe even some heroin, and while I have been known to toke with the blokes every now and then, it’s not like I’m a drug addict or anything.
 
Maybe it’s a test.
 
“No.
 
I mean, yes.
 
I’m sure.
 
I don’t party.”
 
At least, not until I have a signed lease and some furniture.

“Good.
 
I don’t permit parties here on the property.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to challenge her ability to restrict the freedom of her tenants like that, but I bite my tongue and keep the real world to myself.
 
This woman functions in a whole other dimension than I do, and I’m pretty sure I’m better off just going with the flow.
 
“Okay.
 
No parties.
 
Noted.”

“You givin’ me sass?”
 
She squints as she sucks in hard on her cigarette.

I worry that she has a hole in her lung, the way she keeps inhaling and inhaling with no end in sight.
 
She’s probably filling her whole body cavity with that stuff, and it’s a very large cavity.
 
I slowly push my wheelie chair back, because when she finally does blow those toxic fumes out, there’s going to be enough to give a camel cancer in one go.
 
“Nope, no sass at all.
 
I’m not a sassy person, generally speaking.”

“I’ll be goddamned … I think you just sassed me again.”
 
Giant puffs of smoke come out with every word she says.
 
By the end of her sentence I can’t really see her face anymore.

Her tone tells me she’s getting cranky, so I stand and get ready to make my exit.
 
“Well, I have to go now.
 
I really appreciate you renting the room to me.
 
Don’t worry.
 
I won’t have any parties or sass anyone.”

“Best not.
 
People around here don’t go in much for sassin’.”

I beat feet out of there, leaving her to her lung cancer and her legacy.

Driving away in search of dinner, I consider my new life.
 
I may have just signed up to be the newest tenant of the Roach Motel, but I don’t care.
 
I have a job, a car with a newly-affixed rearview mirror, and an apartment.
 
I am the shit.
 
I am a superhero of awesome.
 
I am …

Busted
. The flashing red and blue lights in my newly-affixed rearview mirror tell me that my happy is about to become my sad.
 
I completely forgot to put my ID back in my wallet.
 
I can still see it sitting there on top of my desk back at Rebel Wheels.
 
Why didn’t I put it in my wallet?
 
Why am I such an asshole?

The officer walks up and taps on my window.
 
“Driver’s license and registration.”

He doesn’t even look at me, which pisses me off for some reason.
 
I guess when I’m about to be shafted, I want to be looked in the eye as it’s happening.
 
I obviously am not in a good place right now.

“I left it at work.”

“You know you’re required to carry your driver license on you when you’re driving, right?”

“Yes, and I also know that if you give me a ticket right now, I’m never going to be able to afford it without turning tricks.
 
I just started my new job today, and I just got an apartment at that soul-sucking rat trap over there, and my life is total shit.
 
My dad died last week leaving me with nothing, and all my friends have left for the summer.
 
Can you please, for the love of all that is holy, not give me a ticket?”

“You know you’re required to carry your driver license on you when you’re driving, right?”

I almost blow a gasket when he repeats himself like that.
 
My hands squeeze the steering wheel over and over as I consider my options.

One: I can open my door really fast, catching him in the leg temporarily stunning him, giving me time to jump out, grab his gun, and show him who’s boss.
 
Two: I can cry until I vomit.
 
Three: I can call Mick and see if he’ll bring me my license.
 
I’m only five blocks away.

As attractive as option One is to me right now, and as easy as option Two will be to execute, I decide I’ll go with door number Three.

“Just give me one second, and I’ll have that driver’s license for ya.”
 
I grab my cell phone and call Rebel Wheels.
 
I didn’t remember to take my ID this afternoon, but I did remember to take about ten business cards from the desk drawer that I promptly wrote my name on.
 
At this point I’m just really glad my head is permanently attached to my shoulders or who the hell knows what might happen.

“Come on, come on … pick up, asshole.”

And then he does.
 
“Rebel Wheels.
 
This is Rebel.”

“Uh, hi, Rebel … can I speak to Mick, please?”

“He’s gone for the day.
 
Who’s this?”

“It’s me.
 
Teagan.”

Of course he says nothing.

“Rebel, I’m really sorry to bother you, but I need your help.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

I almost feel like cheering.
 
He actually spoke to me.
 
“I’ve been pulled over by a … very nice officer of the law, and he says I have to have my driver’s license on me.
 
But I left it at work.”

When I’m greeted with nothing but air as a response, I continue.

“Is there any way you could bring it to me?
 
I’m just down the street.
 
Five blocks.”
 
I cringe as the words leave my mouth.
 
I’ve just asked my new boss who doesn’t even want to be my new boss to quit work to run an errand for me.
 
A fool’s errand … or maybe it’s an errand for a fool.
 
Regardless, I’m once again the asshole in the room.

I rush to apologize. “I know I’m a dumbass and this is really stupid to ask you this since you just hired me under duress, but I’m desperate.
 
I cannot afford a ticket and this one will be expensive.”
 
I look up at the cop and he nods to confirm.
 
“I’m just five blocks north, just down the street, outside The Golden Legacy apartments.”

“You low on crack?”

“What?”

“Why are you over there?”

“I was … never mind, I’ll tell you later.
 
Can you bring the license to me or not?”

“See you in a few,” he says, before disconnecting the call.

I try to smile big at the officer, but it feels more like a grimace.
 
It’s the best I can do.
 
“My boss is bringing me my license.”
 
I think.
 
“If you want, while we wait, I could sing you a song.
 
I’m pretty good at karaoke.”
 
Where did that come from?
 
I don’t know.
 
Let’s just write it off to stress-induced survival mechanisms and leave it at that.

He frowns at me, studying my face.
 
“Are you under the influence too?
 
Step out of the car.”

It’s really unfortunate that life doesn’t have a rewind button.
 
I seriously hate myself right now.
 
The only silver lining I can come up with is that hopefully this will make Quin laugh when I tell her all about it later.
 
Hopefully, I’ll be doing that from the Roach Motel and not prison.

Getting out of the car, I try to smile again.
 
This time it’s worse; I have a full-on scowl going.
 
Maybe I’m a little pissed that he turned down my song, and it’s affecting my facial muscles.
 
It’s true; I can usually get a whole room going with one karaoke selection.

He moves away from me.
 
“Put your hands out to your sides and your feet together.”

I sigh heavily, but follow his instructions.
 
The people with the paper-bagged party materials are moving out towards the sidewalk to watch.
 
I can see them, even though they’re over a block away.
 
I pray that the smoking slug in the office, owner of the Golden Legacy, doesn’t come out and see me too.
 
She’ll never believe my non-partying stance if she sees me doing a sobriety test on the side of the road right outside her door.

“Walk towards me toe to heel, toe to heel.”

“Isn’t it heel-toe-heel-toe?
 
Toe to heel is walking backwards.”

He puts his hands on his hips and acts like I didn’t just talk total sense.

I’m too afraid to move.
 
If I follow his instruction, I’ll have to either walk backwards or do some kind of hip-hop move I’m woefully under-qualified to do.
 
There’s a reason Grace is my middle name; it’s the only grace I’ve got.
 
If I follow what I think his instructions are supposed to be, I could fail this test of following instructions to the letter.
 
I’m so fucked right now, it’s not even funny.

The relief that washes through me when I hear the deep rumble of a muscle car pulling up behind the officer and see Rebel getting out is palpable.

The officer notices I’m looking over his shoulder and turns.
 
His hand moves to his belt and then falls down to his leg.

“Rebel! What are you doing out here, man?” the cop asks.
 
He goes from a-hole law enforcing hip-hop instructor to good old buddy in half a second.

“Rescue party,” he says, holding up my ID.

“She works for you?
 
Why didn’t she say so?”
 
He turns around and has the balls to frown at me.

I drop my arms and walk over.

“She’s new.
 
Talk to you later?”
 
Rebel holds up a fist and they bump knuckles.

“Yeah, sure.
 
I’ll drop by, tomorrow maybe.
 
Got anything good you’re working on?”

“Cherry GTO.
 
All original.”