Page 49 of Rebels & Rejects
I scrutinize him closely, taking in the tight lines of his face that give away whatever strain he’s been under recently. “What the fuck crawled up your ass and died?” I snark with a raised brow, not appreciating his attitude. “Itold you I couldn’t reschedule. Besides, you were clearly able to make it just fine.”
I can see the muscle in his jaw working and his nostrils flaring before he lets out a long exhale. “Fine. Here’s your cash, now give me my info.” He holds his hand out with my envelope in it. Another red flag. He’s never gotten straight down to business.
I glance from his outstretched hand up to his face. “What, no drink and you asking me inappropriate questions first?”
He grinds his teeth, getting more and more frustrated with me with each passing second. My snark has always grated on his nerves. I think he’s the kind of guy who likes to think of himself as a straight shooter, and my constant deflections piss him off. But the thing is, he’s as tight-lipped as they come. I don’t know a goddamn thing about him. Not that I’ve let myself ask him any personal questions. Our relationship is strictly business. I don’t need to know every little thing about him to work with him. And honestly, I get the impression if I go digging too deep into his life, I won’t like what I find, and I do like the money he gives me every month, so I choose not to go snooping.
“I’ve got other shit to do today,” he snaps irritably. His gaze bounces around the room like he’s expecting something to happen, and I focus my attention on his pupils, trying to work out if he’s on drugs or something. It would definitely explain his weird behavior.
Nope, his pupils are a normal size.
“Shame.” I pout and slip past him, sliding onto an empty barstool. “I’m in the mood to talk and drink today.”
“Not here, you’re not.” He grabs hold of my upper arm, and as I go to yank my arm out of his grip, everything goes sideways. The blistering heat of a blast knocks me backward as a whooshing sound threatens to burst my eardrums, and I hit the ground with a painful thud that vibrates through my bones. My head smacks against the floor with what I imagine is a deafening crack, seconds before a heavy weight lands on top of me, knocking the last of the air out of my lungs.
My ears ring, and time loses all meaning as I lie there, struggling to breathe. I choke on nothing as I try to force air into my lungs for a terrifyingly long moment before the weight lifts off my chest, and I finally manage to suck down some oxygen.
I’m faintly aware of someone rolling me onto my back and shaking my shoulders, but my eyes feel too heavy to open. My whole body feels numb. Is that a good thing? I feel like that can’t be good. Some asshole pulls back my eyelid, and I jerk away from the harsh glare of light with a groan. Whoever is harassing me continues, and I eventually find the strength to peel open my eyes, finding Enzo’s face hovering above mine.
His lips are moving, but I can’t make out the words. Blood drips from a cut along his brow, and a layer of dust coats his face. I focus on the movement of his lips, not in any attempt to understand what he’s saying, since they just look so... pink. Have they always been that pink?
The ringing in my ears dulls, the odd word making it through the buzzing. “Red. Red!”
I close my eyes, focusing on the noises around me. People screaming. Tires spinning against asphalt. Gunfire. Something is burning. The acrid, pungent smell singes my nostrils, the scent of burning flesh making my stomach revolt.
“Sawyer!”
My eyes snap open, once again finding Enzo hovering over me with a look of concern instead of his usual expression of stoicism. The left side of my head is still throbbing from where I hit it off the ground, and when I lift my hand to my temple, my fingers come away coated in blood. I stare at the bright red substance for an inordinately long time until Enzo’s voice penetrates through my psyche. “Come on, we have to get out of here.”
I barely register his words before he’s lifting me off the ground. The sudden movement has me gritting my teeth against the sharp pain in my side, and I stand on shaky legs while he supports most of my weight until I gain my bearings. Once I’m confident I’m not going to collapse to the floor, I pull out of his hold and pat myself down, checking everything is intact.All good—well, as good as can be expected.The whole left side of my body, where I hit the floor, hurts, but I don’t think anything is broken.
“What happened?” I croak, looking at the carnage surrounding me. The explosion upturned tables and windows were blown in, littering the ground with tiny shards of glass. The shelves of booze behind the bar have smashed, coating the floor in sticky liquid, and amongst the rubble, bodies are strewn everywhere. Some are groaning and struggling to move, while others are clearly dead.Jesus.Except for the front exterior wall, the rest of G&T is nothing more than a bombed ruin. There’s hardly anything left of it. All around me, people are screaming, crying, running away, and I can hear the loud echo of gunshots from somewhere outside.
With my head spinning, I step toward the front of the building, figuring that’s the quickest way out of here. God knows, what’s left of the foundations can’t be enough to prevent the roof from falling down on top of us at any second.
“No,” Enzo barks, his hand snapping out to grab a hold of my arm and tugging me backward. “They’re gunning down everyone that goes out that way.” He pulls me across the room, in the direction of the bar, and I step over dead bodies, trying not to look into their glassy, sightless eyes as I pass. It’s difficult, though, since I have to keep looking down to ensure I don’t trip over any debris. One particular man catches my attention. He’s just lying there, and at first, I think he’s dead, but after a second, he blinks, and I realize he’s in shock. I don’t fucking blame him. Blood coats the ground around him, and he’s missing half an arm. I look around his immediate vicinity, unable to locate where it was thrown in the blast.Holy fuck, what is this day?
I’m distinctly aware thatI’min shock, and I once again cast my gaze over my arms, suddenly fearful that I may not even realize I’m missing a vital organ.Nope, definitely all intact.Thank fuck.
Dust hangs heavy in the air, catching in my throat, and I stumble as a cough wracks my body. My hand goes out to lean against a dark wooden pillar for balance until my coughing fit passes, and when I push off the beam, my hand is covered in a red substance. It takes me longer than it should, to realize it’s blood, and I gape at the wooden pillar in shock. The entire thing is covered in a red, blood mist.
“Come on,” Enzo urges when I’ve been frozen in place for too long. “We need to go.”
He resumes tugging me behind what remains of the bar, and glass cracks beneath my boots as I hurry across it. A thought niggles at the back of my mind, but I push it away, focusing on following him as we reach a storage room. There’s a fire exit on the far side of the room, most likely where deliveries are made, and Enzo wastes no time moving toward it. He cracks open the door and peers out before pushing it open further, and we stumble onto a back alleyway. The sky seems darker than it did when I first arrived, and when I look upward, a thick layer of smoke is blocking my view of the sun. Despite the smoke, the air is clearer out here than it was inside, and I suck it down, bending over to place my hands on my knees. My ribs ache with every inhale, and I can feel something sticky running down the side of my face. All in all, I’m feeling like fucking shit right now.
For the first time since the explosion, I really take myself in, noticing the rips in my leather jacket and jeans. Thankfully they seem to have protected me from the worst of the blast, and I’ve only got a few superficial scrapes on my arms and legs. I lift my hand to touch the wound on my head, wincing when my fingers touch the tender skin. It’s still bleeding, although I think it’s slowed. It definitely feels like the worst injury I’ve sustained.
“You have to go,” Enzo rushes out, drawing my attention his way. As I lift my head to look at him, ignoring the continued rattle of gunfire coming from the other side of the building, a moment of clarity hits me, and I look at him—covered in dust and blood—in a new light. It dawns on me that I truly know nothing about this man, and while an hour ago I didn’t care to change that, I suddenly realize that not knowing is a weakness.
“You knew this was going to happen.” I cough, but I don’t dare look away from his face, searching it for any confirmation I’m right. He doesn’t give anything away, his expression pinched and unreadable. “How?”
For a split second, he drops his guard, and a multitude of emotions flash across his face, too quick for me to pinpoint any individual one. As promptly as his barriers fall, he reconstructs them, his expression turning to stone. It’s not one I’ve seen before, and it catches me off guard.
My eyes narrow on him, and I bark out, “Who are you?”
He doesn’t answer me, instead pointing toward the far end of the alley, away from the ongoing sounds of an attack. “Go. Now.” His words are snapped off the end of his tongue in an acerbic tone, and I don’t immediately react to them, continuing to stare at him as I wonder just who the hell he is.
“Not until you tell me who you are,” I argue, vaguely aware that the man standing in front of me isn’t the same one I normally meet once a month for our exchange. He’s currently emanating an aura of authority and danger. One he’s kept carefully under wraps in all of our previous meetings.
