Page 68 of Rebel
His expression softened almost imperceptibly.To anyone else, he would have looked the same -- cocky, slightly amused, untouchable.But I could see the shift, the acknowledgment of what I’d just done and why.
“Finish up whatever you’re doing,” he said, straightening up.“Then we’re going home.”
The promise in his voice sent heat curling through me, a different kind of fire than the anger that had driven me minutes before.
“Could leave now,” I suggested.
Rebel’s smile turned wicked.“Nah.Let ‘em all sit here thinking about what I’m gonna do to you later.Build the anticipation.”
He walked away before I could respond, returning to his spot against the wall.But something had changed.Clarity was looking at me differently -- with newfound respect.The club girls kept their distance from both me and Rebel.And the patch members nodded to me as they approached the bar, acknowledgment in their eyes that hadn’t been there before.
I’d crossed a line tonight, made a public declaration of territory and relationship.In the strange, tribal world of the MC, I’d staked my claim and backed it with violence.It wasn’t how normal relationships worked.But then again, nothing about life with the Devil’s Boneyard was normal.
As I poured shots and opened beers, I felt a new kind of power thrumming under my skin.I belonged here.I’d earned my place.And everyone in this room now knew exactly where I stood.
With every passing minute, Rebel’s eyes grew darker, his posture more tense.Anticipation built between us like an electrical charge.By the time I was ready to leave, the air between us was practically crackling with it.
I didn’t say goodbye to anyone as I walked toward him.I didn’t need to.He pushed off the wall as I approached, and without a word, we headed for the exit together, his hand possessive on the small of my back.
Behind us, someone whistled.I didn’t turn around.Let them talk.Let them wonder.I’d made my position crystal clear tonight, and that was all that mattered.
Chapter Sixteen
Rebel
The doors slammed open with abangthat echoed through the compound.Samurai and Ripper burst in, their faces streaked with sweat and grime, carrying Java between them on what looked like a piece of corrugated metal torn from a shed wall.Blood dripped steadily onto the concrete floor, marking their path with crimson droplets.I froze, my breath catching as I took in Java’s mangled body, barely recognizable beneath the layers of dried blood and fresh wounds.
“Doc!”Samurai’s voice cut through the sudden silence.“We need you now!”
I stepped closer, drawn by some morbid need to see, to understand what had been done to one of our own.Java’s chest rose and fell in shallow, irregular movements.His shirt hung in tatters, revealing deep lacerations that crisscrossed his torso like a grotesque roadmap.
“Get him on the bar,” Doc ordered, already pulling on latex gloves with practiced efficiency.
They laid Java down, and the metal stretcher scraped against the wood surface.The sound made my teeth ache.Java’s body jerked, and a low moan escaped his split lips.He was conscious.Christ.After everything they’d done to him, he was still conscious.
“What happened?”I asked, my voice sounding strangely distant to my own ears.
Samurai’s eyes met mine briefly.“Vata’s crew tried to get information from him on our club.He held out.”
I counted the visible injuries -- fingers bent at unnatural angles, burns that peeled back skin to reveal raw flesh beneath, what looked like drill holes in his right arm.Days of that.My stomach twisted.
Doc moved methodically, cutting away what remained of Java’s clothes.Each new inch of exposed skin revealed another horror.Cigarette burns dotted his chest, and purple bruises bloomed across his ribs.Someone had carved something into his thigh -- letters that spelled out a message I couldn’t read through the dried blood.
“Is he going to make it?”The question came from somewhere behind me -- one of the Prospects, his voice cracking.
Doc didn’t look up from his work.His hands moved with practiced precision as he cleaned a particularly nasty wound near Java’s collarbone.“If his will is strong enough, he can pull through.”
Java’s eye -- the one that could still open -- focused suddenly, finding mine.Recognition flashed there, followed by something else.Pride, maybe.Or relief.His lips moved, trying to form words.
I leaned closer.
“Didn’t… tell them… shit.”The words were barely audible, each one clearly causing pain.
“Save your strength,” I told him, my throat tight.“You’re home now.”
Around us, the compound had erupted into controlled chaos.Prospects ran for supplies, fetching clean water and more bandages.The air filled with the sharp tang of antiseptic as Doc cleaned wound after wound.The rustling of fabric and the shifting weight of club members as they steadied themselves heightened my own unsettled energy.
“Rebel.”Samurai’s hand landed on my shoulder, solid and warm.“We need to talk.”
