Page 33 of Rebels & Rejects
I see the anger melt out of him as his shoulders deflate. “I know,” he grumbles. “You’re just trying to protect me. I’m not a kid anymore, though. I don’t need you to mother me.”
I give him a ruly grin and cuff him around the chin. “I’m never going to not worry about you.”
Our argument may be sidelined for now, but I know it’s not over. He’s been pushing my boundaries more and more recently, and I know I’m going to have to start loosening the reins, butman, it’s hard. Everything I do is for him, and the thought of something happening to him... well, it’s not even worth thinking about.
He reluctantly lets me pull him in for a hug, giving me an awkward pat on the back. I don’t let just anyone see me emotional, and I rarely hug people, but my brother is the exception. When I’m outside of this apartment, I need to don my hard-ass bitch face. It’s the only way to deal with the daily shit Black Creek throws at me; to handle the shitty customers in Strip Tease; to ensure everyone I meet knows I’m not to be messed with. But when I’m in here, with Luc, I want to be as open with him as I can be. There are parts of my life he can’t know about—it’s just safer that way—but that doesn’t mean I can’t be emotionally available for him; be a sister—someone he can vent to and spend time with. I’m the only constant in his life, and I’m doing my best to wear two hats—one of a sibling and another of a mother figure.
All we have is each other, and I think it’s helped us to become as close as we have, but it is tough at times. Especially as he has grown older and he feels the need to figure out who he is and find his place in this world.
As he pulls back, he raises an eyebrow. “So, who’s Cain?”
I groan, turning away from him and grabbing the grocery bags I dropped on the floor earlier, dumping them on the kitchen counter before I start to unpack them. “He’s the leader of the Reaper Rejects,” I admit, deliberately not looking at him.
“What?!” he exclaims in shock. “What the hell does he want with you?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “He’s been stopping by the club, and Drew asked me to liaise with him, if he had any questions.”
It’s a bold-faced lie, but I’m sure as fuck not about to tell my fifteen-year-old brother that Cain’s men caught me killing Python, and now he won’t leave me the fuck alone.
“Bet you’re loving that,” he jokes. He knows how much I hate any and everyone associated with gangs. They’re a fucking stain on this town. The ordinary, everyday people of Black Creek would be better off without any of them.
“You’ve got no idea. Mac ‘n’ cheese for dinner?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Yeah, sounds good.”
As I start lifting out what I need for dinner and Luc buries his nose in a comic, I mull over Cain’s demand for me to meet him tonight. After the way our last interaction went, I’d honestly rather avoid him. I’ve never had a man turn the tables on me like that before, nor has someone I so vehemently despise managed to make my body respond the way it does around him. All I could think about was the feel of him inside me; how easily he had me coming apart beneath his touch. And the whole time he was playing my body like a fiddle, all I wanted to do was rip his head off. It’s a very conflicting set of emotions, and I’ve no idea how to deal with it, yet I can’t just keep reacting to Cain’s moves. I need to make some of my own. My guess is, despite his order, Cain isn’t expecting me to show up tonight. He’s seen enough of my defiance by now to know I’m not one to simply bend to his commands... which is exactly why I’m going to be at Toxic tonight.
I fill the next few hours with making dinner and cleaning the apartment. When the sun has long since set, and while Luc is engrossed in some end-of-the-world-type movie on the TV, I head out into the night, dressed in a skin-tight tank top and black skinny jeans with rips in the knees. I’ve paired the outfit with my trusty chunky-heeled boots so the outfit toes the line between sexy and badass and finished it off with a gun secured in my shoulder holster, hidden under my jacket, and my trusty blades in my pocket—just in case.
“Wasn’t sure you’d actually go,” a voice says from the darkness, startling me as I step onto the pavement outside my apartment building.
“Jeez,” I chastise. “Are you checking up on me?” Before he can answer, I shake my head and hold up a hand. “You know what, I don’t wanna know.”
Jon’s grin gets even wider, and as I turn and stroll down the street, he moves to my side, easily keeping pace with me.
“I like you. You’re a bit of a secret badass, aren’t you?”
I quirk a brow, refusing to tell him anything more about me.
“Your brother is pretty cool too.”
“Stay away from him,” I snap, scowling in his direction. “I mean it. I don’t want him caught up in any of this shit.”
“What shit?” It sounds like a genuine question, which confuses me.
“In anything to do with the Rejects,” I explain.
Jon shrugs his shoulders. “We’re not that bad, you know. Cain’s not the jackass you think he is.”
Of course, he thinks that. He’s a fucking teenager. His brain hasn’t fully developed yet, so he’s practically programmed to make stupid decisions and trust the wrong people.
“Have you been to one of our fight nights?” he asks after a moment of heavy silence. When I just give him a questioning look, silently saying,seriously?What do you think?he laughs. “You’ll love it.”
He talks my ear off the whole way there, and it makes me wonder how the hell he ever shut up long enough to follow me without giving himself away. He actually seems like a decent enough kid, although some of the things he says are a bit weird, making me wonder what sort of childhood he had growing up. Anyway, it’s none of my business, and the questions quickly drift from my mind as we reach the old docks and turn onto the street Toxic is on. He flashes his Reject’s tattoo to the bouncer at the door—which apparently grants us both free entry—and we walk into Toxic.
The intoxicating combination of sweat, testosterone, and adrenaline hit me as soon as we step inside. Looking around, the entire ground floor of the club has been completely revamped. Where the dance floor used to be—where I danced with my mystery man only a couple of weeks ago—there is now a sizable octagonal ring, surrounded by a metal cage. The cage runs all the way to the roof, four floors above us. A staircase at the edge of the warehouse leads up to the first floor, which runs like a landing around the outer edges of the room, enabling people on the floors above to lean over and watch the fight as well.
A smaller dance floor has been erected at the far side of the room, opposite a bar, which has been upgraded and looks like it stocks more than just the cheap stuff. It’s impressive, and it must have cost a fortune to do.
