Page 48 of Rebel
“It’s all there,” I say quietly. “Offshore accounts. Transfers through Emerge Auditing. The same network we hit. Bones isn’t clean in this. He’s knee-deep in the money.”
She shakes her head hard enough to make her hair whip. “No. He wouldn’t. He’s Royal Bastards. He’s family.”
“I’m not saying he’s running it. But he’s tied in. Maybe blackmailed, maybe coerced, maybe…”
“Stop.” Her voice snaps sharp, brittle. “You don’t know him.”
I lean forward. “You’re right. I don’t. But I know what money looks like when it’s laundered through blood. And this? This is exactly that.”
She gets up, pacing, hands twisting in her hair. “You’re wrong. You have to be.”
“Rebel.”
“I said stop!”
The words hit harder than I expect. She grabs her cut, shoves her arms through, movements jagged with fury. “I’m going to him.”
“Not like this,” I warn. “You’re angry, and that’s what they want. That’s how people get killed.” “Then I’ll die knowing the truth.” Her voice cracks on “truth.” It sounds like a promise and a goodbye.
She heads for the door, jaw tight, eyes shining with the kind of stubborn faith that gets saints crucified.
I grab my keys. “Then I’m coming with you.”
She whirls. “I don’t need protection.”
“This isn’t protection,” I say. “It’s insurance. Against stupid decisions. Yours or mine.”
For a second, something soft flickers behind her anger. Then she looks away. “Fine. But stay out of my way.” She slams the door.
The ride across the city feels like penance. The sun burns through smog, the air thick with exhaust and tension. Every red light flashes like an omen. Rebel rides ahead, hair whipping like a flag of defiance, and I can almost feel her fury burning the air between us.
She doesn’t speak, doesn’t look back. I follow her taillight through downtown until we hit the familiar sprawl of the Royal Bastards’ compound, the skull-and-engine insignia glaring off the gate.
She kills her engine hard enough to make the bike shudder. I pull up beside her and cut mine.
“Last chance to walk away,” I say.
She throws me a look that could strip paint. “Not my style.”
The gate guard knows her, waves her through. His eyes flick to me, wary. I give him a calm nod that says I’m not here to start a war. Yet.
Inside, it’s quieter than I remember. A few patched men linger near the bar. The smell of oil and smoke sits heavy in the air. Rebel strides through like she owns the floor, like she’s done this her whole damn life.
Bones is at the back, leaning over a table, head bowed. When he looks up, there’s that half-smirk he wears like armor. “Look who the wind dragged in.”
“Cut the charm,” Rebel says. “We need to talk.”
He studies her, then glances at me. “And who’s this?” I know he knows who I am, but wants to play dumb.
“Friend,” I answer.
“Doesn’t look like a Harlot.”
“Doesn’t have to,” Rebel snaps. “Dominic. Tell me you didn’t.”
Bones’ face shifts, barely, but enough. “Didn’t what?”
She shoves the tablet toward him, data glowing blue across the glass. “Your name’s on the accounts. Offshore, linked through Emerge Auditing. You were funding Vulture ops. Tell me I’m wrong.”
