Page 31 of Rebel
“She’ll understand.”
He lifts a brow. “You sure about that?”
The doubt sits heavy, but I nod anyway.
By the time we leave Divine’s office, night has settled over the yard. The bar glows faintly, but the rest of the compound remains quiet, like a storm about to break. The air smells like leather soaked into wood and faint salt drifting inland. Floodlights buzz overhead, insects battering themselves against the glass.
I find Allura and Sloane already in the clubhouse, reviewing the new security protocols. Divine is perched at the end of the table, with her tablet glowing in her hands. Coffee steam curls up near her face, sharp and bitter.
“Talk,” Allura says when we walk in. Her tone isn’t angry, it’s cold. Controlled. That’s worse.
Carter stays silent, letting me step into the spotlight. I hate that it feels like a confession. “The Vultures’ trail leads to a textile plant in South Central. The same quadrant is tied to Alex’s last job. The ghost accountsare funding it through charity fronts. And the Syndicate’s fingerprints are all over it.”
Sloane’s jaw flexes. “You’re telling me you followed that lead without bringing it to Church?”
“I was verifying.”
“You were hiding.”
“Protecting.”
Allura’s voice slices through ours. “And what exactly were you protecting? Us or him?”
The question hits hard enough to rattle my teeth. I glance at Carter, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t defend me. Of course, he doesn’t. He’s not part of this family.
Divine snaps her tablet shut. “You brought him here. You brought the Vultures’ fire with you. And now you’re asking us to trust a man you barely know?”
“Alex knew him,” I fire back.
“That’s not the same,” Divine says flatly. Her wounded eyes lock with mine, making this feel personal. She steps close enough that I can smell coffee on her breath and a faint scent of her favorite body wash.
“You don’t shut me out,” she says quietly. “Not you.”
The room stills.
“I wasn’t shutting you out,” I answer.
“You were,” Divine responds honestly. “And it hurts.”
The tension is electric, crackling through the room like lightning bottled in bad choices. Finally, Divine straightens. “Club rules say we don’t keep secrets from each other.”
I nod once. “I know.”
Her eyes flash. “Then you also know what happens when someone breaks that rule.”
The ring.
A ripple runs through the women around us. French whistles low. Calypso exhales through her nose, muttering something about “blood before betrayal.”
Allura folds her arms. “You willing to settle it that way?”
Saying no would be easier, but easy never kept a woman alive in this family. I look at Divine longer this time. I see the nights we slept on opposite ends of the clubhouse couch when money was thin. I see her hands ink-stained from helping Calypso in the shop when we were building this place from nothing.
“I trust you enough to hit me,” I reply softly, not breaking eye contact with Divine. “That’s not hiding.”
The night air bites sharp, metallic. The ring’s floodlights carve the compound in gold and shadow. The Harlots gather in a loose half-circle, leather and steel shining under the lights.
For a moment, standing there, I see Alex in flashes. His hands taped, grin wide, telling mefamily isn’t who patches you up; it’s who drags you back to the fight.Maybe this is what he meant. Maybe this is how forgiveness bleeds.
