Page 45 of Rebel

Rebel’s smile turned predatory as he looked down at the man beneath his boot.“Well, looks like the lady settled it.”He increased the pressure, and Denton’s face contorted in agony.“Want me to finish them off?”

I considered it for a moment.The rage inside me demanded their blood, but something else -- something colder and clearer -- held me back.“No.I want them to remember this.Remember that I found them.”I knelt beside Denton, forcing him to look at me.“And I can find you again.Next time, I won’t stop.I’d suggest you turn yourselves in.”

Fear flashed in his eyes.Good.That’s what I wanted -- them looking over their shoulders, wondering when I might appear.A fate worse than death for men like these.I didn’t know how they’d escaped before, but maybe Shade could find the connection so we could sever it.If they went back to prison, maybe they’d stay there this time.As much as I wanted to end their lives, another part of me knew I wasn’t a killer.Not when it came to this.If the military told me to point and shoot, I’d do it.I’d been following orders.This was different.

“Charming’s calling a retreat,” Rebel said, his hand resting casually on my shoulder.“Cops are inbound.”

I nodded, stepping back from my attackers.They wouldn’t be causing trouble anytime soon, and the Moretti hideout was thoroughly destroyed.Mission accomplished, even if the satisfaction I’d hoped for remained elusive.

As we headed back through the chaos of the main floor, I cast one last glance at the two men.They’d underestimated me not once but twice.They wouldn’t make that mistake again.

If they came for me again, if they didn’t turn themselves in and pay for their crimes, then I’d have to rethink things.I wouldn’t play by the rules next time.Now that I was part of the Devil’s Boneyard, it might be time to stop thinking like a law-abiding citizen.It hadn’t done shit for me so far.

* * *

The Devil’s Boneyard compound lay in darkness as we returned, the rumble of motorcycles cutting through the night before dying to silence in the lot.I slid off Rebel’s bike, my body screaming in protest at every movement.He’d insisted I ride with him tonight instead of using the bike he’d given me.

Blood had dried in crusty patches along my forearms, and each breath sent sharp pains through my ribs where Ellis had landed a solid hit.The adrenaline that had carried me through the fight was fading fast, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and the dull throb of emerging bruises.But we’d won.I’d won.And that knowledge numbed the pain better than any painkiller.

The compound was eerily quiet after the chaos of the Moretti hideout.Most of the men had returned before us, having taken different routes to avoid drawing attention.A few members stood smoking near the entrance, nodding silently as we approached.Their faces showed the marks of battle -- split lips, swollen eyes, bloodied knuckles -- badges of honor in this world I was still learning to navigate.

Rebel’s hand pressed lightly against my lower back as we entered, a small gesture of support that I was too tired to resist.“Medical supplies are at home, or there’s some in a back room here at the clubhouse,” he said, his voice gravelly from shouting during the fight.“Wouldn’t hurt to patch up the worst of the spots now.Unless you want Doc to look at you.”

I shook my head.“I can handle it.”The club’s medic would be busy with more serious injuries.Besides, I preferred to lick my wounds in private.Although, the small rooms down the clubhouse hallwayweretechnically private.Or as close as anyone could get with so many people nearby.

The interior of the clubhouse smelled of leather, cigarettes, and now the metallic tang of blood.A few Prospects scurried about, distributing beer and bandages to the wounded men sprawled on couches and chairs.Chaos sat at the bar, animatedly recounting some moment from the fight to an attentive audience, his hands gesturing wildly despite the makeshift bandage wrapped around his left palm.His voice carried across the room, punctuated by bursts of laughter.

“-- swear the motherfucker pissed himself when I came through that door!”

I didn’t break stride as I passed them, following Rebel down a dimly lit hallway.My left ankle protested with each step, a subtle limp I tried to disguise.Show no weakness.That was a lesson I’d learned long before meeting the Devil’s Boneyard.

Rebel led me into what looked like a bedroom.Except it had two sets of bunk beds on either wall.I wasn’t sure what it was used for since all the men seemed to have their own houses.

“Bathroom’s through there.”Rebel nodded toward a door on the right.“Towels in the cabinet.Use whatever you need.”

I stepped into the small bathroom, flipping on the light and immediately wincing at my reflection.A bruise was forming along my right temple, spreading into a purple stain beneath my eye.Dried blood crusted around a cut on my forehead.My bottom lip was split, and dirt smudged across my cheek like war paint.I looked like hell.

I turned on the tap and waited for the water to warm, propping myself against the sink as fatigue threatened to buckle my knees.The events of the night played through my mind like a fragmented movie.The initial assault.The sound of breaking glass and screams.The satisfaction of finding those Army bastards.The look in their eyes when they realized who I was.

Fear.They’d been afraid of me.Maybe that’s why they’d drugged me before they’d raped me.They’d known I’d fight back, and the fuckers hadn’t been sure they’d win.

Water steamed in the sink, and I plunged my hands into it, watching as blood and grime swirled into pink eddies.I’d fought before but never like tonight.Never with such calculated violence.Never with the backing of men who treated brutality as just another Tuesday.In the Army, any battles had been more… methodical.Well, as much as they could be.This had felt wilder.

And I’d liked it.That was the truth I couldn’t escape as I cleaned each scrape and cut.The power, the respect in Rebel’s eyes when he’d found me standing over my attackers -- it had filled something empty inside me.

I soaked a washcloth and pressed it gently to my split lip, hissing at the sting.Over the last week, I’d gradually, inevitably, been pulled into his world.Into this world.

A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

“You alive in there?”Rebel’s voice carried through the wood.

“Still breathing,” I called back, wincing as the movement reopened my lip.

“Need help?”

I considered saying no.Independence was my default, a shield I’d carried for years.But tonight had shifted something fundamental between us.“Yeah,” I admitted.“Could use an extra hand.”

The door opened, and Rebel leaned against the frame, assessing me with those intense eyes of his.He’d removed his cut and T-shirt, revealing a torso marked with old scars and fresh bruises.A particularly nasty gash ran along his right bicep, hastily cleaned but still angry looking.

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