Kristen Ashley - Rock Chick Revolution

And dangerous.

Both things I liked.

Too much.

Crap.

“I know where it’s gonna lead,” I retorted.

Suddenly I felt my stomach drop, my lungs evacuate all oxygen and my heart skip a beat.

This was because I also felt his lips smile against mine right before he said, with great authority, “So do I.”

My inner thighs quivered and my happy place got really happy.

Then Ren quit messing around and kissed me.

After that, he really quit messing around and did a lot of other things to me.

And I was right.

It was all kinds of fun.

It was also dangerous.

And I loved every fucking second.

Rock Chick Rewind

Christmas Eve …

Ren’s voice came in my ear me. “Jesus, you’re shitfaced at your brother’s wedding.”

I turned my eyes to see him close. So close, as I turned, he had to pull slightly away.

But he pulled away only slightly.

We were at Roxie and Hank’s wedding. Do not ask me why Roxie invited Ren to her wedding. Though, truth be told, even though it seemed to go against all the laws of the universe (or at least my universe, save, of course, being fuck buddies with Ren), somehow along the way the Rock Chick tribe had gotten tight with all the Zanos. But I didn’t think they were that tight.

All I knew was that Tod said any wedding needed all the hot guys it could get because love was in the air during a wedding and the girl who caught the bouquet needed something to dream about. And Ren was undeniably a hot guy you could dream about.

By the way, when Roxie tossed her bouquet, I was doing tequila shooters at the bar.

Therefore I was feeling very happy and this didn’t only have to do with the tequila shooters. It had to do with the fact that my big brother and my good friend were all kinds of happy.

What I was not was shitfaced.

And I decided to inform Ren of this fact.

“I’m far from shitfaced, Zano.”

“You’re hammered,” he returned

Hammered was not shitfaced. I was a bartender and lived the life of a rock star, I would know. I had studied the levels of insobriety both practically and observationally. Hammered was three steps down from shitfaced. There was smashed, blotto, and wasted to get through. I had at least six tequila shooters to go before I got even close to shitfaced.

I did not take the time to educate Ren about this.

Instead, I decided to get annoyed (as was my wont around Ren) and narrowed my eyes at him.

As was his wont, that was to say totally oblivious to my dangerous eye narrowing, he stated, “We have to talk.”

We “had to talk” a lot. Ren’s Talks were becoming part of our everyday repertoire. Though it should be noted that talking with Ren and talking with Ren were two different things.

We talked when we ate together at his place, or takeout at mine, before we fucked each other’s brains out. We also talked while I ate the breakfasts Ren cooked for me (his place) or he ate the toast I toasted for him (my place) before we both tackled our days.

We talked when Ren got whiff of some case I was on and didn’t like it. These Talks occurred after a fight about the same thing which led to no-holds-barred sex, sleeping tangled up in each other and after we woke up and were in bed.

But I could tell by the tone of his voice this was not a talk but a Talk.

I knew from details received from the Rock Chicks that they, too, had Talks with their badasses. Jet called them Eddie Chats. Roxie called the ones she had with Hank Conversations.

These talks always centered around the respective badass wanting his Rock Chick to bend to his will in some way. And they were usually successful in getting what they wanted though it wasn’t always the talking that got them what they wanted. They tended to shift tactics and the way they did got them what they wanted. It also gave the Rock Chick what she wanted so although she bitched, she didn’t quibble.

Ren’s Talks were different. He shifted tactics during the preceding fight to end it by initiating mind-blowing sex and could shift tactics during the Talk but only when the Talk degenerated into a Fight. And although Ren’s Talks happened frequently, they always happened at the same time in the same place and he never got what he wanted.

Partly because I was stubborn.

Okay, that was mostly why.

I was lucky Ren’s Talks were different. Jet’s Chats and Roxie’s Conversations could happen any time, willy-nilly, so they could be unprepared.

I always knew when it was coming.

So this suggested Talk was outside the norm and at my brother’s wedding. Therefore, in my opinion, I considered it a highly inappropriate sneak attack.

“We’re not talking now,” I denied.

He, as usual, ignored me.

“You’ve been hanging with Kevin James.”

This was true. I had.

Kevin “The Kevster” James was a pothead. He was hilarious. He was clueless. His favorite movie was The Big Lebowski which said it all about him and all that said was good. And he was a friend.

However, lately I had not been hanging with The Kevster as a friend, sitting around with bowls of munchies while The Kevster smoked a doobie and we watched Jeff Bridges floating over Los Angeles.

We were hanging with a purpose.

“The Kevster’s a friend,” I shared with Ren.

At my words, Ren’s brows shot together and he asked, “The Kevster?”

“His preferred handle,” I explained.

Ren looked to the ceiling. I figured he did this because Ren might be a member of a crime family but he reeked class. He likely had no friends with “handles.” Or that smoked doobies. And I didn’t ask because I was scared of the answer, but there was a high probability Ren would not like The Big Lebowski and that might mean I’d have to question his taste. Since he very much liked the taste of me, I didn’t want to do that.

“We’ve been friends ages,” I went on and Ren looked back to me, now with brows raised.

“So he’s not helping you find the grow house that friend of your other friend’s sister thinks her son has set up in Littleton?”

Jeez, how did he find out all this crap?

I decided I didn’t want to know and I also decided not to answer.

He got closer and reminded me, “Ally, we had a deal. You do this shit for people, you stay away from the drug trade.”

We did have that deal, kind of. The “kind of” part was that during a Talk, I’d agreed to that, but I was also lying when I agreed.

“Pot isn’t drugs,” I pointed out. “It’s flora. It’s natural. And it’s now legal.”

“This grow house you’re lookin’ for isn’t legal,” he shot back.

This was true.

I again didn’t reply.

He got even closer and ordered, “Baby, drop this case.”

Uh-oh.

He was getting bossy.

I wasn’t a big fan of bossy.

“Zano, I made a deal,” I returned. “I’m not dropping this case. Especially since we’re close to ending it.”

“Drop it,” he semi-repeated.

“I’m not dropping it,” I snapped.

“This kid you’re lookin’ for, he just sat down with some serious players to supply their demand. Takes him out of having to deal with dealing. He just gets to grow and rake in the cash. This is an escalation for him that at his age with his inexperience is all kinds of dangerous. You do not wanna get involved in that shit.”

That was not good news.

But as Darius told me (more than once), that was also not my problem

“You’re right. I don’t,” I agreed (to that part). “But getting involved in that is not part of the deal I made. He’s nineteen years old and his mother wants to know if he’s growing weed. I find out, get the proof, hand it over to her, she does with it what she will and I’m out.”

“And you think, she blows the whistle on her kid to teach him a lesson, his deal goes south, those players aren’t gonna look your way for being the instrument of that loss of income?”

“Shit happens in crime, Zano, and if they’re experienced players, they know to roll with the punches.”

His face set and his jaw got hard. “I’m sure they do. It’s just that I’d rather it wasn’t you who took those punches.”

I lost more of my patience.

“I’ll be fine,” I said for the ten gazillionth time.

“Yeah, because your brothers and their boys have labeled you untouchable. But there’s gonna be a time where you piss someone off who won’t give a shit what firepower you have at your back.”

This, I knew, was true. Darius told me.

It didn’t piss me off that Lee and the Hot Bunch made it clear on the streets I had their protection. This was mostly because they were staying distant and not getting in my business. It was also because it was sweet.

But I wasn’t stupid and this constant refrain from Ren was inference I was.

“Tell me, Zano, if Lee was nosing into this for a client, would you think it was reckless for him to do so?”

“I think you’re convinced you’re bulletproof like your brother and his boys but they’re not, Stark getting a gut shot proved that. You’re definitely not because I don’t care how often you’re target shooting at Zip’s, you got no play in the field.”

I knew this was going nowhere and it was making me beyond annoyed so I also knew it was time to shut it down.

“We’re not talking about this, Zano,” I declared.

“Ally, we’re talkin’ about it until you see reason.”

“I’m not being unreasonable.” My voice was getting higher and tighter. “It’s my life and what I like to do. And it’s none of your business.”

His eyes quickly skimmed my green velvet strapless dress-clad frame (Roxie, totally stylin’ with her bridesmaid dresses; they were the shit) then came back to my face and he started the shift into Asshole Speak.

“That body’s mine and I don’t want it filled with bullets and tossed in the Platte. So, for the hundredth fuckin’ time, babe, it is my business.”

“My body isn’t yours,” I snapped.

“You could have fooled me, the way you went wild for me last night and let me do all I wanted to do to you, I got creative and the number of breathy Rens I got meant you seriously got off on it.”

Total Asshole Speak.

Nothing flipped my switch like Asshole Speak.

And having not a small amount of tequila in my system, even in my bridesmaid dress, at my brother’s wedding, I was not down with Asshole Speak and I was Ally Nightingale. So I was going to do something about it.

Therefore, I took a step back, cocked my arm and let ‘er rip, shouting, “Go to hell, Ren Zano!”

Unfortunately, Ren caught my fist, kept tight hold and twisted it behind my back. This had the further unfortunate result of my body slamming into his and Ren being close enough to put his mouth to my ear.

“Challenge accepted,” he whispered there.

Oh shit.

I struggled against his hold.

Seriously. When was I going to remember he was a macho alpha Italian hothead and I needed to be cunning, not reactive? Though, this would likely necessitate me laying off the tequila and I liked my tequila.

He moved to my side, keeping his and my arm behind my back and marched me out of the ballroom at the Denver Performing Arts Complex where Hank and Roxie’s reception was taking place.

“Let go of me, Zano,” I hissed, partly humiliated (with only myself to blame; still, I blamed Ren), mostly infuriated.

“Not a chance.”

I yanked at my arm to no avail as he pushed us outside into the cold air.

Once there and with no one around and therefore not able to make a (further) scene, I wrenched my arm to get free, shouting, “Let go!” and found myself shuffled down the wide walkway, pressed into the side of the building with Ren’s mouth on mine, his tongue in my mouth and both his hands at my ass.

Hell.

This meant Ren was done fighting and ready for other things.

And this also meant Ren could nonverbally talk me into being ready for those other things.

This, in the cold Colorado December air, he did with mouth, tongue and hands.

He spent some time doing this. I spent that time enjoying it. And when his mouth finally lifted from mine, I was enjoying it so much I went after it to keep it.