Page 15 of Rebel
“I could,” I admit. “But I’d be lying if I said it impressed me.”
“Typical man.”
“Typical Harlot.”
That gets to her, causing her to narrow her eyes. “How do you know?”
“Royal Harlots, right? All-female MC. You wear the name like a crown.” I nod toward the cut she’s half-hiding under her jacket. “Your patch gave it away.”
She straightens a little, defiant even while behind cover. “You got a problem with that?”
I shake my head. “No. I just didn’t think Alex’s sister would join an outlaw club to balance ledgers.”
“Then you don’t know me.”
“Maybe not.”
Silence hums for a moment, broken only by the crackle of static from my radio. My team’s gone dark. They’re either hit or hiding. Whoever set this up knew exactly where to strike.
Rebel breaks the silence first. “You think someone followed me?”
“Could’ve been you,” I mutter. “Could’ve been me. Could’ve been the wing-and-gear crowd with a sense of humor.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence.”
“Good. That makes two of us.” I peek around the crate’s corner. No movement. The wind picks up, carrying the distant sound of sirens. We’ve got minutes before thisplace is swarming with uniforms, and I can’t have my name anywhere near this job.
I grab her arm again, firm but not rough. “We’re leaving.”
She jerks back. “You don’t tell me what to do.”
“Fine. Stay here and explain to the cops why your fingerprints are all over cartel cargo.”
Her glare could melt steel, but she moves. I guide her along the dock, staying low, until we reach the motorcycles parked under the far floodlight.
Her bike’s black and sleek, with a skull-and-crown decal I recognize as her club’s symbol. Mine’s matte silver, no logo, no flair.
Before I can argue, Rebel is already on her bike, the engine roaring to life. The sound drowns out everything, including the part of my brain screaming that I should tell her the rest, the whole truth. But I don't.
She looks back once, her eyes meeting mine across the distance. "You said Alex saved your life."
"He did."
"Then you owe him. That means you owe me." She revs the engine. "I'm going to find out who's using his name. You can help or you can get in my way. Either way, I'm not stopping."
"I wouldn't expect you to."
Something flickers in her expression. Not quite trust. Not quite forgiveness for showing up in her life like a ghost she didn't ask for. But maybe… maybe curiosity. Maybe the beginning of an alliance, or maybe the moment she finds out the truth and destroys me for it.
"There's more," I hear myself say. The words escape before I can stop them. "About that night. About why Alex was there. About..." Sirens wail, growing closer, cutting me off.
"Later," she says. "If you're not lying, you'll still be here tomorrow. If you are..." She leaves the threat hanging unfinished.
We roll out together, two streaks of chrome and rage slicing through the night. In my mirror, the manifest curls in the heat on the dock, that wing-and-gear watermark blackening at the edges. Silver Talon invoices will vanish in the fire, but the Vultures won’t. They never do.
Behind us, the warehouse burns. Slow at first, then fast. Someone wanted every trace of that shipment erased, maybe us along with it.
As the wind tears across my face, I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She rides like she fights, with her head high, shoulders back, reckless enough to make the road shiver.
