Page 11 of Rebel

I shrugged.“Call it professional courtesy.Or maybe I’m just tired of watching you calculate escape routes instead of enjoying your drink.”

Something like surprise flickered across her face, quickly masked.“That obvious, huh?”

“Only to someone who’s done the same.”I set my empty glass down.“No strings.You can leave whenever.But at least you’ll get some sleep without one eye open.”

She studied me for what felt like a full minute, those blue eyes seeing more than I was comfortable with.Finally, she nodded.“If I agree and you try anything, I’ll put a bullet in you before you clear your zipper.”

I grinned, strangely delighted by the threat.“Noted.Just need to make a stop first.”

I steered Rio through the thickening crowd, my hand hovering near the small of her back but never touching.The party had kicked into high gear -- shots flowing, music cranked, inhibitions dropping with every passing minute.She moved like a soldier behind enemy lines, hyperaware and tightly wound.The brothers we passed gave us space, curious eyes following but mouths staying shut.They knew better than to push when I had that look on my face.And I definitely had that look.

“Where are we going?”Rio asked, her voice just loud enough to carry over the heavy bass.

“To meet the President.”I nodded toward Charming’s corner.“Protocol.”

She stiffened slightly.“I don’t need an audience.”

“Not an audience.A courtesy.”I leaned closer, speaking near her ear to be heard.“You’re carrying in his house.He deserves to know who you are.”

The back half of the clubhouse was marginally quieter, the thrum of conversations replacing the worst of the music’s assault.The lighting was better too.

Charming watched our approach with those penetrating eyes that had assessed threats and opportunities for longer than I’d been alive.At sixty-three, he might have been going silver, but nothing about him suggested weakness or decline.Beside him, Havoc stood sentinel, the Sergeant-at-Arms’ weathered face and vigilant posture broadcasting his role without a word needed.

“Charming,” I said, stopping at a respectful distance from the table.“This is Rio.She’s passing through.”

Charming’s gaze shifted from me to her, taking in everything from her stance to the concealed weapon in one practiced sweep.“Armed visitors usually introduce themselves first.”His tone wasn’t accusatory -- more amused than anything.

“Wasn’t planning on a meet and greet,” Rio said, chin lifting slightly.“Just a drink.”

Havoc’s eyebrow ticked up at her direct response.Most people showed more deference their first time in front of the club’s leadership.

Charming’s mouth curved into a half-smile.“Yet here you are.”He extended his hand across the table.“Welcome to the Devil’s Boneyard, Rio.”

She hesitated only a moment before shaking it, her grip firm.“Thanks for the hospitality.”

“Rebel showing you around?”Charming asked, though his eyes flicked to me with the real question.

“I offered her my spare room for the night,” I said.“The Cherry Bomb Motel isn’t fit for rats, let alone guests.”

Havoc snorted.“That dump should’ve been condemned a decade ago.”

Rio glanced between the three of us, clearly assessing the dynamic.“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to impose.”

“No imposition,” I said, then added for Charming’s benefit, “She’s military.Former.”

Something in Charming’s expression shifted -- a subtle recognition.Many of our members had military backgrounds.It created an unspoken bond, regardless of which branch or when you served.

“Marines myself,” Havoc said.“Long time ago now.”

Rio nodded but didn’t elaborate on her own service.The tension in her shoulders spoke volumes though.

“How long you planning to stay in town?”Charming asked, signaling to a Prospect who materialized with fresh drinks for everyone.

“Just passing through,” Rio said, accepting the whiskey but not drinking yet.“Heading east.”

“No destination in particular?”His tone was conversational, but I knew Charming never asked casual questions.

Rio’s eyes narrowed slightly.“Does it matter?”

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