Page 15 of Rebel

I swung my legs over the side of the bed.The floor was cold against my bare feet, the sensation grounding me for a moment.I grabbed my phone again, reading the message a second time, hoping I’d somehow misunderstood.

No such luck.

I needed to tell someone.The thought came with surprising clarity, cutting through the fog of panic.I couldn’t handle this alone.Not again.

I pulled on a pair of sweatpants under the oversized T-shirt I’d slept in.My hands shook so badly I could barely manage the simple task.I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser -- pale face, dark circles under my eyes, hair a tangled mess.I looked haunted.I was.

The hallway outside the guest room was dimly lit by a single bulb at the far end.I padded down the hall, my bare feet silent on the wood boards.Each step sent fragments of memory ricocheting through my mind.

The crack of my head against concrete.

Laughter, low and menacing.

I stumbled, catching myself against the wall.My breathing was too fast, too shallow.Black spots danced at the edges of my vision.I couldn’t pass out here.I forced myself to straighten, to keep moving.

The sound of male voices up ahead made me freeze.For a heart-stopping minute, I was back in that moment, surrounded and outnumbered, drugged and barely standing.My fingers dug into my palms, the sharp pain bringing me back to reality.These weren’t my attackers.These were the men of the Devil’s Boneyard, men who’d offered protection, a safe place to crash while I figured out my next move.

Not that I fully trusted them either.I wasn’t that naive.

I recognized one of the voices now -- Rebel’s distinctive cadence, cocky even at this ungodly hour.Relief washed over me, followed immediately by a fresh wave of dread.How was I supposed to explain why I looked terrified?

The metallic taste of fear coated my tongue.Another memory surfaced -- blood in my mouth from biting my cheek to try and bring clarity to my drug-addled brain.I swallowed hard, trying to force it back down where it belonged.

The living area came into view, a spacious room with mismatched furniture that somehow worked together.A couple of low lamps cast pools of yellow light, illuminating Rebel’s tall frame as he leaned against the kitchenette counter that separated the two rooms, coffee mug in hand.

He wasn’t alone.Two other club members whose names I didn’t know lounged on the threadbare couch, cleaning what looked like gun parts spread across the coffee table.They all looked up when I appeared in the doorway.

“Well, look who’s up with the birds,” Rebel said, his smile fading as he got a better look at my face.“Jesus, Rio.You look like shit.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out.Instead, a sob broke free, shocking me as much as it did them.I hadn’t cried since it happened.Not during the rape kit.Not during the interview with the MPs.Not during any of it, not even my discharge.

But now, standing in a biker compound at five in the morning, I finally broke.

“They’re out,” I managed to say between ragged breaths.“They escaped.”

The room went deadly silent.Even from across the space, I could see Rebel’s knuckles whiten around his coffee mug.The other two men exchanged glances, then quietly gathered the gun parts and quickly walked out of the front door, leaving us alone.

“How do you know?”Rebel asked, his voice low and controlled in a way that somehow scared me more than if he’d shouted.

I held out my phone, the screen still displaying the damning message.My hand was shaking so badly the words blurred.Rebel crossed the room in three long strides and took the phone from me, his eyes narrowing as he read.

Another memory hit me -- their promise that they’d find me if I talked.That I’d beg for death before they were done.

My legs gave out.I would have hit the floor if Rebel hadn’t caught me, his grip firm but not painful.He lowered me to the couch, then crouched in front of me.

“I need you to breathe, darlin’,” he said.“In and out.Nice and slow.”

I tried, but the air kept catching in my chest.Black spots expanded across my vision.

“Rio.”His voice cut through the roar in my ears.“Look at me.Right here.”

I forced my eyes to focus on his face.The lines around his eyes were tight with concern, but his expression was steady.

“They are not getting to you,” he said, each word precise and weighted with conviction.“Not while you’re under my roof.You understand me?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.Some of the tension eased from my shoulders.

“Good,” he said.“Now, I need to talk to Charming about this.You stay put.”

---