Page 36 of Rebel
I’ve spent the last three days throwing myself into chasing down leads, riding around the city, meeting up with my watchers and other contacts. And keeping on top of business. It can’t stop because of all this. We have a run coming up the next few weeks that we need to get ready for.
Storm is taking up too much of all our time. I’ve spent time with Blaze surveilling Kivisto. Finding out how low-level he is, and why he might have thought linking up with Storm would do him some good.
The fucking idiot has walked himself right into a whole heap more trouble than he realizes.
Anything to stop me thinking about her. Now here she is, watching every step I take as I draw closer to her. She smells like rain and fire, which confuses me until I notice the black, chalky stains on her fingertips. Charcoal from her art.
I caught a glimpse of the easels in a room off the living area the other night, but hadn’t been able to see what she was drawing.
It looks like fingerprint ink, working its way into the tiny grooves on the surface of her skin.
The front of her hair is wet, and now that I’m near her, there is a tremor in her shoulders, a slight tremble of her chin. She’s cold. I shouldn’t care, but I turn to a prospect.
“Get her a sweatshirt,” I order. He hurries away to do as I ask. “Take off that coat.” Her brow pinches. “Don’t argue with me, Kinsley.”
She sucks in her lower lip and looks like she is about to do that, but her discomfort gets the better of her. Flash returns with a sweatshirt from who knows where, and for a moment it bothers me she is about to pull on some other man’s clothes, but I brush it aside.
Kinsley tosses her wet coat over the back of a chair and pulls on the hoodie. It swamps her, and there is a Battlefield logo on the breast area, it’s one of Stryker’s. I curse under my breath but beckon her to follow me with a crook of my finger.
Surprisingly, she does. We walk to a table near the kitchen, and I wave for her to sit, she cocks a brow at me and remains standing.
“This won’t take long. I saw something outside. Someone,” she corrects.
A sick twist churns in my gut. If Storm was out there… he could have fucking hurt her.
“I thought he was one of your men, he was sitting on the wall by the church, hiding in the shadows watching this place.”
“What makes you think it wasn’t one of our men?”
“The logo on the back of his vest.”
That gets my full attention. She is no longer the woman from across the street who gets my blood pumping. It takes everything in me not to grab her arm and shake the information out of her.
There are no other MCs in Baltimore. Crash made sure of that a long time ago. This city is ours, and if another MC rolls through, they make contact first. Anyone who comes here without requesting permission is an enemy.
“Tell me about the patch,” I say, keeping my voice steady.
“Get me a piece of paper and I can draw it.”
I click my fingers at Flash to get what she needs. He steps away again as I crowd closer to Kinsley. She gives me an impatient side-eye until Flash returns, then she gets to work drawing the patch. I don’t recognize it when she’s done.
“I couldn’t see the writing because it was too dark, but I made out one word. Sinners. What’s going on, Rebel?”
I don't answer.
“He was hanging outside my cousin’s church. It’s clearly got you rattled.”
“I don’t get rattled. How long ago did you see him?”
“Less than five minutes. I came straight over here.”
“Grab some men, spread out in the area, look for this,” I hold up the drawing. “If you find him, bring him here.”
The men go to do as I ask. Kinsley watches me, then her attention is taken by someone else. Nero comes to a stop next to me, I hand him the drawing. He doesn’t speak, just looks at Kinsley.
“You need to go home,” I tell her.
“Because it’s not safe?” She lifts that irritating brow again.
