Page 20 of Rebels & Rejects
She’s shaking all over, and her pupils are blown, leaving a thin line of the strangest color of blue ringing them. She’s most likely in shock. What I don’t understand, though, is why the Reaper would leave behind a witness. That makes no sense at all.
I watch her closely, noticing the way her gaze bounces over me, taking in my six-foot-five frame, broad shoulders, narrow waist, the minuscule bits of ink on display along the back of my hands. Slowly, her eyes travel up to my face, skipping over the neck warmer covering the bottom half. It doesn’t seem to bother her, the half-skeleton look. Rather she takes in my dark wavy hair, straight, thick eyebrows, and what she can see of my broad nose before she finally meets my gaze.
Behind the fear and panic in her eyes, there’s something else, but I can’t put my finger on it, and she averts her gaze before I can figure it out.
“You saw the Reaper?” I bark. She might be a scared girl, but I need to be the leader of the Rejects right now.
She jumps at my harsh tone, but when her eyes flick up to meet mine, there’s a defiance in them that surprises me.
“N-no.”
My eyes narrow, not believing her. I take a giant step toward her, the heavy sole of my boot echoing around the otherwise silent hall as my close proximity forces her to tilt her head back to look up at me. “It’s in your best interest not to lie to me.”
It’s a small, barely perceptible movement, but her lips flatten in annoyance. As I open my mouth to ask her again, my phone goes off in my pocket. I fish it out, intending to cancel it, but when I see Oliver’s name, I know it’s him checking in, and I need to answer.
Huffing out a sigh, I look up at Razor. “Take her downstairs. She’s not to leave until I talk to her.”
Razor gives a sharp nod of his head in understanding before he wraps his meaty hand around the girl’s thin upper arm, escorting her along the hall and down the stairs.
I never expected to nearly cross paths with the Reaper tonight. Hell, for all I know, he could have slipped right past me earlier, blending in with the other party-goers as they fled the house. He’s barely more than a myth whispered in quiet tones on street corners. If it weren’t for his signature kills, I’d think he didn’t exist. But now that someone might have seen him, I need to find out more. I honestly don’t give a shit who he is. If he has a vendetta against gangs, then perhaps he’ll be willing to help me take out the most corrupt one of them all. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to figure out an alternative way of taking down the Antonellis, and it almost seems like fate that the Reaper—the very man who hates us all—may have left behind an unknown witness for me to stumble across.Thiscould be what I’ve been waiting for.
As the blonde-haired girl drops out of view, I can’t help but wonder if she could be the key to everything.
Chapter 8
I let the brute of a man—Razor—lead me down the stairs and into the kitchen, where a bunch of other men wearing the same creepy skeleton face coverings are dragging dead bodies out the back door. They are leaving behind a red trail of blood which, unsurprisingly, looks like it belongs on the once white, but now gray with grime, linoleum floor.
He grabs a wooden chair from the scuffed up table in the corner of the room, pulling it out and gesturing for me to sit down. I do. I need to get out of here, but I can’t just make a run for it—I’ll never stand a chance if I do. I have to bide my time, and hope the opportunity presents itself before the sinfully gorgeous man comes back to question me. I could hardly get a word out past my dry throat when I looked at him. It’s ridiculous because I couldn’t even make out half of his face, but I didn’t need to, to picture his curved lips.
There was an air to him that is common in men from Black Creek. That cocky attitude that many unrightfully walk around with, but on him, it seemed fitting. Like he’d earned the right to be that arrogant. Not that that makes any sense. I know absolutely nothing about him. Reaper Rejects is a name that’s only started to make waves in the last year, but with each passing week—as they seize more and more territory for themselves—those whispers have gotten louder. Beyond being aware of their existence, I don’t care to take the time to learn about each individual member. Although Razor—who is currently filling a chipped mug with tap water for me—called him boss. Which can only mean one thing—he’s the king of the Rejects. That would definitely explain his authoritative attitude and the cocky swagger. It also means he’s trouble.
As I glance down at the bloodstains trailing out the back door, it’s painfully obvious that the Rejects have murdered all of Python's men, which means they officially own our little strip of Black Creek. Even more reason for me to stay away from them and their unjustly rugged leader. God knows it’s only a matter of time before I end up killing one of his men for abusing his wife or beating up his kid. I’m actually surprised I haven’t already. I’ve crossed paths with most of the gangs in Black Creek... when one of their members met their deaths at my hands.
“Drink this, girl.” Razor sets the mug down on the table in front of me, but I make no move to lift it. He eyes me up before chuckling under his breath. “I ain’t poisoned it or nothin’.”
Still.
Another moment passes where he continues to watch me closely before asking, “What’s your name?”
I know I have to give him something, but I make a show of chewing on my lower lip, acting as though I’m weighing up the pros and cons of divulging that piece of information before I hush out, “Jessica.”
He leans across the table. “Jessica, you ain’t done nothing wrong. Cain just needs to know what you saw tonight, okay?”
Cain. That must be his name. I have a sudden urge to say it aloud, wondering how it sounds on my tongue, but I bite down against that instinct and instead I slowly nod my head as I mentally piece together a plausible story. Razor watches me carefully, taking in every twitch of my lips and wrinkle of my forehead.Fuck. Dammit. I’m not going to get out of this without telling them something.
Fate must be on my side tonight, as the screen door behind him squeaks open and a young guy—what the hell is with all the kids?—pops his head in. “Razor, I need your help for a sec.”
Frowning, Razor nods his head, and the guy ducks out of the kitchen again. Razor returns his focus to me, tapping his finger against the wooden table top. “I’ll be back in a sec. Sit tight.” He goes to stand, but before he pushes open the screen door, he turns his head to spear me with a harsh look. “I’m serious. Don’t fucking move from that chair.”
His boots stomp against the flimsy wooden decking as he heads outside, and I sit quietly, listening until his footsteps fade away. The kitchen is empty now, all the men probably hard at work burying bodies in the backyard.
Seeing my opportunity, I listen out for the noise of approaching footsteps as I carefully pick my way across the kitchen, walking on my toes so no one can hear the tap of my heels against the floor.
As I approach the hall, I hear the sound of a voice coming from upstairs. Cain’s distinctive, deep rumble as he talks to someone, followed by the sound of heavy boots against the floorboards. I don’t waste any time, slipping out the front door and into the night, sticking to the shadows as I rush down the sidewalk toward my bike at the far end of the street.
I can hear men shouting to one another from within passing houses, voices that can only belong to Rejects. If there are any Satans still alive, they’ll be hiding in the cover of darkness, just like me.
Once I reach my bike, I quietly unzip my duffel bag and switch the short skirt and heels out for leather pants, boots, and a matching jacket. As I’m yanking the trousers over my hips, I hear a commotion behind me. Raised voices followed by the banging of a screen door against the wood as someone steps out of a house.
