REBEL, a New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) by Elle Casey

Disgusting.   Toxic.   Worse than a murder scene.”
    She looks at me with pity in her eyes.   “Not worse than a murder scene.   Right?”
    I grimace as I look back at the room that is coated in bug killing powder residue.   Taking in the rest of its ambiance, my heart sinks lower and lower until I’m pretty sure I feel it in my ankles.
    The wall has a hole punched in it, right in the center.   There’s a brown shag carpet that may actually be from the seventies but has since played host to about ten gallons of I-don’t-want-to-know-what that has been ground into its fibers.   A single cabinet and hand sink makes up the corner kitchenette, and a window so grimy and opaque it’s possible it’s not even made of glass - it might be just a hunk of wood in a window shape - sits in the middle of the far wall.   There’s one other mini-window with bent mini-blinds over it that looks out to the front entrance area.
    “Nothing a little elbow grease won’t fix,” I say, my voice faint and weak.
    Quin puts her arm around my shoulder.   “What posters did you say you have?”
    “Rick Springfield, Donny Osmond, and Shawn Cassidy.”
    Quin nods slowly.   “I’m feeling a definite seventies vibe in here.   We could make it work.”
    I look at her sideways, not sure if she’s messing with me.   “Are you serious?”
    She grins.   “Yeah.   Perry will help, won’t you, Perry?”
    “No.   I have to go.”
    Quin glares at him.   “You’re going to leave your former girlfriend in this shithole without fixing her drywall and cabinet?   What’s wrong with you?”
    “We made out once and she yacked on me!” he yells.   “That doesn’t make her my ex-girlfriend!”
    She continues to glare at him and he buckles.   “Fine.   Get me the stuff and I’ll do it.”
    “Here.”   She hands him fifty bucks.   “Go get it and come back.   Maybe she’ll give you a blow job when you’re done.”
    I turn around in disgust, just in time to see the hopeful look on his face.   I snatch the money out of his hand and slap him.   “No, not really, pig.   Go away.   I’ll fix it myself.”
    “You want your futon?” he asks.
    “Of course.”
    “Well, come help me.   I can’t lift it myself.”
    I glare at Quin on my way out the door.   “Do not pimp me out for wall repair ever again. Especially not to asscar drivers.”
    She giggles as she walks out the door with me.   “I have a feeling BJs are the going rate around here.   I was just seeing how far you were going to assimilate into the Golden Legacy culture.”
    “Not that far,” I say.   “Definitely not that far.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

    I’M STANDING IN MY NEW living room staring at the hole in the wall as I hold a small plastic tub of spackle.   Up until thirty minutes ago, I didn’t even know a thing called spackle actually existed.   I thought it was a way to describe bad makeup application, but apparently, the whole thing started in the construction world and not with Cover Girl liquid foundation and pressed powder.
    I leave my front door open to help air out all the cleaning fluid fumes that don’t to seem want to leave the room.   It could be because I poured them liberally onto the carpet, or it could be because I used about ten gallons of industrial strength stuff, but whatever; if the bugs don’t get me while I sleep, it’s very possible the chemicals will, but I’ve decided I’d rather go that way, so here I am.
    “What happened in here?   Crime scene cleanup?”
    I look over at the teenager standing in my doorway.   His pants are belted at his upper thighs and his baseball hat is on crooked.   He looks like someone I should probably avoid, but his tone is nice enough.
    “No. Not as far as I know, anyway.”   I stare at the hole in my wall.   “You know how to do drywall repair, by any chance?”
    “Yeah.”   He walks inside the room and stops about five feet away, inspecting my problem.   “That’s an easy