Page 40 of Rebels & Rejects
Even seated behind a desk, he looks fucking ruthless. It’s written in the tight lines of his face, in the narrowing of his eyes and his sharp jaw, which is hidden beneath a thick layer of dark stubble. His bulging biceps and broad shoulders make it clear he takes pride in his appearance. In his line of work, your body says a hell of a lot about you. Cain’s body says he could tear you limb from limb and not even break a sweat. He’s pure muscle, every inch of him built to destroy whoever crosses him.
He doesn’t move from behind his desk as he silently observes me. I watch him right back, trying to get a read on him after our last interaction, but it’s impossible. His face is a blank slate. Only the weariness in his eyes gives away his uneasy feelings regarding this meeting.Interesting.So this wasn’t his idea then. Guess I have Oliver to thank for whatever the fuck this is about.
“Red,” he eventually acknowledges, sounding more like he’s going to the execution block than greeting someone in his home. “Have a seat.” He nods his head toward one of the two chairs sitting opposite his desk.
I’m hyper-aware of the door clicking closed behind me and Oliver moving to lean against the room’s back wall. At the same time, I make myself comfortable in front of Cain’s desk, crossing my legs and quirking a brow in expectation. He’s the one who called me here, so he’s damn well going to be the one to get the ball rolling.
His lips flatten, and he glances behind me to Oliver before returning his intense gaze to mine again. He takes a long moment to look me over, noting my leather gear. I felt comfortable leaving my helmet on my bike. No one would be stupid enough to try and steal from right outside Reject property, and if one of the Reject assholes themselves dares to touch my bike, well then, I won’t have any qualms about chopping off their hands.
I’ve unzipped my leather jacket, and I notice his perusal falter on the swell of my tits before he returns his wandering gaze to my face. My skin burns everywhere his eyes roam. It’s like his intense green irises are lasers. He grits his teeth, and I can tell, whatever he’s going to say, he doesn’t like it. Not one fucking bit. Cain might be the leader of the Rejects, but right now, he’s doing as Oliver has advised him, not what he himself wants to do.
“We want to negotiate a deal with the Reaper.”
Silence sits heavy in the air at his statement, and I can feel the tension radiating off the two of them as they wait to hear my response.
“What sort of deal?” I counter in a flat tone, giving nothing away of my feelings. They are no longer asking me if I know him or saw him that night. TheyknowI have some sort of relationship with him—I’m just betting it’s not what they think—so there’s no point in pretending any longer. Besides, I can’t deny I’m curious.
Cain shakes his head. “That’s between us and him.”
“Why?” I ask instead. “Why do you need the Reaper? Surely, whatever problem you have, the mighty Rejects can handle it themselves.”
My voice drips with sarcasm, which doesn’t go unnoticed—or appreciated—as Cain’s eyes narrow on me in warning. One I disregard. I can see the muscle at the back of his jaw tick, and I have to bite back my snort. This guy has got the shortest fucking fuse I’ve ever seen.
It’s Oliver who speaks up, directing my attention his way. “We’re having difficulties achieving this particular job on our own. It’s really best if we just talk directly to the Reaper. For all we know, he won’t even be able to help us.”
What he’s saying makes sense, and I tap my fingernails against the wooden arm of my chair as I mull it over. I choose each word carefully before I say, “I need to tell him something about the job you want him to do. He’s not going to agree to a meeting otherwise.”
“Not happening.” Cain’s sharp voice isn’t altogether unexpected. Given how cryptic they’ve been, I didn’t think they’d just volunteer the information. But just like they don’t trust me, I don’t trust them. Without knowing what they want, I’m unwilling to reveal my own cards.
I get to my feet, pinning Cain in place with a pointed look. “Then I think we’re done here.” This isn’t a ploy or a tactic. I’m serious.
I move toward the office door, sparing Oliver a passing glance and ignoring his stern frown as I pull open the door and step out into the hall. I’ve made it back to the main bar area, where guys are still tearing down wallpaper and setting up various tables by the time Oliver catches up to me. His hand reaches out to touch my wrist, and I jolt, breaking his contact with my skin as I spin to face him. He’s still wearing that same frown, and he glances nervously around the room, obviously not wanting to be overheard.
He’s careful not to touch me when he leans in, but he may as well be rubbing himself all over me for the way his titillating scent invades my space, sending my brain on the fritz and rendering me speechless.
I feel the soft puff of his warm breath against my ear, and it makes me shiver. I swallow roughly, painfully aware of the damp patch forming in my panties. He’s got a five o’clock shadow that I desperately want to run my fingers along as I wonder what it would feel like grazing against my inner thigh. I’m losing all common sense, quickly melting into a puddle of sex-addled hormones when his next words penetrate through the fog, registering with me.
“We’re going after the Antonellis.”
They’re what?!It takes a second for me to wrap my head around what he’s saying, and not only because my mind already drifted to far dirtier thoughts. What he’s suggesting is complete fucking suicide. The Rejects might be formidable and ruthless, and yeah, they’ve proven themselves to be calculating and determined, but they are no match for the Antonellis. They’re in a league all on their own. One of those long-established families who can be traced back to the dawn of the goddamn country. They have more money than any of us will see in a lifetime, and that money can buy them whatever the fuck they want. It would certainly be enough to squash this little rebellion without even putting a fucking dent in their overall financial worth.
“Are you insane?!” I hiss. “You’re going to get yourselves fucking killed.”
I can see it in his eyes. It only lasts a second, but it’s there, shining clearly for me to see. He doesn’t care. Going after the Antonellis is something he’s prepared to die for. What in the ever-loving fuck could they have done to brew such loathing?
I slowly take a step back, and when he doesn’t try to stop me, I take another, shaking my head. “I can tell you now, what you’re doing is suicide, and the Reaper will want no part in it.”
Oliver’s face pinches, resulting in this aching sort of pain that sends a spike of sorrow through my chest. When he next speaks, his words sound broken, voice low and deflated. “Ask him anyway. He might be our only option.”
Fuck. Me.
With a final nod, I turn on my heel, striding past the other members and out the door, squinting in the bright light of the afternoon sun. My bike and helmet are exactly where I left them and I hastily shove the helmet over my head, revving the engine so loud there’s no doubt in my mind every person residing in Radiant Park heard it before taking off down the street.
Chapter 15
I’ve got two glasses of whiskey sitting on the desk by the time Oliver returns, his withdrawn expression telling me all I need to know about how his conversation with Red went.
“Told you it wouldn’t work.”
