Mustang Sassy
Authors: Daire St. Denis
M
USTANG
S
ASSY
D
AIRE
S
T.
D
ENIS
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Daire St. Denis. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at
www.entangledpublishing.com
.
Edited by Liz Pelletier and Candace Havens
Cover design by Curtis Svehlak
ISBN 978-1-62266-112-1
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition February 2014
To Gerry, Janet, Cindy, Vicky and Julie. Mark’s Mustang helped inspire this story.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
That good-for-nothing cheat!
Sass Hogan reeled between the cars of the packed parking lot of the Snake Pit Saloon, her head buzzing with a swarm of angry bees, stabs of heat stinging her chest. All she’d wanted was a beer and a game of pool, was that too much to ask? It was Saturday night after all, and sort of her birthday—not that she’d told anyone.
But, the minute she’d walked into the saloon, what did she find? Not a surprise party, oh no. She’d been slapped in the face by Carlos, her supposed boyfriend, dancing with Tori Double-D-Cup-Hunter, his hands on her ass, his tongue sucked halfway down her throat.
Oh God. She needed some toilet paper to wipe that barfy image from her brain. Stumbling, she leaned against the nearest car, using her sleeve to swipe the tears from her cheeks. How could this be happening…again?
Her knees gave out, and she slid down to sit on the bumper, her head hanging between her knees. She’d trusted Carlos. He was her friend. They worked together. They’d collaborated on cars together. The other stuff—the make-out sessions and wild sex—had all come later. How could he betray her?
Sass pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. Had she missed something? Were there signs that she’d been oblivious to? Rubbing slow circles against her eyes, she recalled one time in particular when she’d caught him texting at the shop and he said he wasn’t. She shuddered. Had he been
sexting
Tori?
No! Just when she was starting to care, starting to trust, she was kicked in the gut by some lying, cheating scumbag-of-a-man-whore. Again.
What was that saying? The one about fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on you? No, wait. That wasn’t right. It was, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on
me
.
So, what was that supposed to mean? That this was her fault? That
she
attracted cheating men?
Uh-uh.
No way in hell!
She pushed herself to her feet and kicked the tire of the car.
Nothing. No relief.
With a grunt, she body-checked the side, but it barely rocked on its axles. With a frustrated sniff, she wiped her eyes with the back of her arm until her blurry vision regained some clarity.
What the…?
The car she’d been sitting on—a beautifully rebuilt ’67 Mustang Fastback—came into focus. Out of all the cars in the lot, what were the chances that she’d stumble blindly into Carlos’s Mustang, the one she’d helped him restore at her father’s auto-body shop? She slid her hand along the glossy paint, vaguely aware of the sound of her breath, ragged and harsh. A strange sense of déjà vu settled over her as she circled the Mustang, like she’d been here before, not just emotionally, but really here, standing in the dark parking lot, touching this car, on the precipice of something that was as of yet unnamed.
Do it
.
Sass shook her head, the bees still swarming chaotically between her ears.
You know you want to. He deserves it.
She rubbed her palms over her eyes and tried to take a deep breath. She had to get out of there before she did something she’d regret. Like a pinball bouncing between cars, Sass lurched toward the back of the lot. Once she located the Corvette, she collapsed against the hood, hanging her head and doing her best to calm down.
No good.
She needed something. Something to make the pain stop.
Her hands shook as she fit the key into the lock and turned.
She fully intended to get into the car and drive off. She really, really did. But then she saw the tire iron. It sat in the cargo space behind her driver seat, sparkling like a magic wand, calling her name.
Sa-ass. Pick me up. Come on, Sass. You know you want to.
She reached for it, dragging the iron slowly and carefully out of the car. She held it up, testing its weight like it was a baseball bat and she was a ball player intent on hitting a home run. Sass looked around. Her vision cleared. The bees still hummed, but not so much with anger as with anticipation.
There was no one around.
No one.
Slowly, Sass edged back to the car three rows over. What she was about to do was wrong. Some part of her knew that. But there was another part—one she’d only met a few times, one that was even now clawing at her innards to get out—that insisted what she was about to do would feel right. Oh, so right.
No one saw you in the bar.
The tire iron vibrated in her fierce grip.
No one knows about you and Carlos anyway. Come on. Do it for all the women who’ve been cheated on.
With one more glance around the parking lot, Sass raised the iron above her head, took a deep breath, and swung it for all she was worth.
The windshield cracked under the force of her blow.
Oh God! The flame licks tattooed on the small of her back came to life, radiating heat and sparks to her extremities until the iron felt weightless in her grasp. The driver’s side window and door caved with no effort.
Sass strode to the front of the car, glanced around and then, while the Carrie Underwood song, “Before He Cheats,” ran on repeat through her brain, she swung like she held a Louisville Slugger, taking out both headlights…
pop
,
pop
! They burst in delightful mini-explosions.
Her body vibrated with pure adrenaline as she dragged the rough end of her weapon along the passenger side, making a deep gouge in the shiny blue paint all along the car’s length to the rear fender, denting the chrome hubcaps as she went. Years of pent-up emotions surged through her as she shattered both taillights, the glass tinkling as it fell to the ground.
Leaning her frame on the iron, Sass panted heavily and surveyed the damage: the dented hubcaps, scratched doors, and gouged side panels. She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut as some weird choking sensation threatened to take over. But with her eyes closed all she could see was Carlos and Tori, swaying to the music.
Would he take her home or go back to her place? Maybe they’d sneak off to the Greenwood Inn.
Together.
Out of nowhere, an image of a shirtless Dex Whelan, her first love—the rat!—popped into her head. The door to his room at the Greenwood Inn was open wide enough to reveal a redhead lounging on the bed inside, smoking a cigarette. Just the thought of Dex had the power to throw Sass into a vortex of hurt and shame and she held the sides of her head, swallowing the fire of
his
betrayal mingled with this latest one.
First Dex, now Carlos. With a shake of her head and a grunt of anger, Sass glanced around the empty parking lot. She climbed up on the hood and started to dance, a stomping, boot-grinding jig, making sure to dig the heels of her cowboy boots into the shiny paint and white stripes. Then she lifted the iron above her head and brought it down butt first, denting the roof of the vehicle again and again and again.
“Never—”
Crash!
“Ever—”
Smash!
“Again!”
…
What had she done? Sass Hogan sat in her car in the parking lot of Hogan’s Restoration & Body Shop Sunday morning unable to move. She checked herself in the rearview mirror and tucked a stray piece of hair beneath her headband. She blinked her mascaraed lashes and rubbed her glossy lips together. She never wore makeup and now she had some of the black gunk in her eyes. That must have been why they were stinging. That and the fact she’d gotten very little sleep.
Oh God! What had she done?
It was wrong. It was
so
wrong.
No, not just wrong, criminal. She was a criminal and would end up in jail. Maybe they’d make her take some of those stupid anger-management classes…not that it wasn’t probably a good idea, because holy hell, she could still feel the anger bubbling inside of her, even after all she’d done to release it. It was like last night’s escapade had only spun her tires and her anger was ready to blast out onto an open stretch of road. Seriously. She had to get a grip. What on earth had possessed her?
But Sass knew what had possessed her. She hadn’t planned on going to the Pit, but she’d been working in the shop late and suddenly realized it was her birthday. Not that she wanted anyone to know. Sass hated them, always had. Still, considering what day it was left her restless. Edgy. And, one of the few things that relieved her when she was feeling tense these days was a little one-on-one time with Carlos.
So she went to the Pit because that’s where Carlos went every Saturday night. Now she knew why. Maybe she’d always known why.
The bastard!
Sass tugged up her tank top and adjusted the microscopic skirt—all stuff her friend Libby had talked her into buying a few months ago. It was a far cry from what she normally wore to the shop, but it was the kind of outfit Tori would wear, apparently the kind of outfit Carlos liked on a woman.
Ah shit. Dressing like this had seemed like a good idea in the wee hours of the morning when she’d been unable to sleep and her plan had been to come into work and confess. Hoping what? If she batted her lashes and wore something revealing, Carlos would forgive her for destroying his prized possession? Stupid. Carlos cared way more about the car than he ever cared about her.
If only she could take it back, have a redo of the last twelve hours, and just break up with Carlos, cool and controlled-like.
She played the scenario over in her head, telling Carlos they were through, maybe telling him she was bored and that’s why she was ending it. She wouldn’t let on what she’d seen or how upset she was.
