Page 3 of Claimed By the Rebel

I shrug and walk out of the kitchen, not wanting to continue this conversation. When I run smack into Viper, however, I second-guess my decision to leave.

“What the fuck happened to you?” my brother growls, his gaze focused on my elbow.

“Nothing,” I say, repeating the same answer I gave Daniella.

“It better be nothing,” Viper spits out as he steps around me. “Big news tonight. I’ll be calling church later, and I need you to handle food, drinks, and cleanup.”

“Like every other night,” I mutter to myself.

“You got something to say?” Viper snaps, his eyes latching onto mine. Dark, soulless orbs stare back at me, making my skin crawl. I’m not sure if his dead stare is from a mix of drugs he’s coming off of or if he’s completely gone, but this isn’t my brother. Not anymore.

When did he become so cruel? So uncaring? The boy I knew growing up, my big brother, Chad, protected me from the worst of our parents’ criminal activities. He held my hand and distracted me by playing card games and telling me stories. And then one day… he joined them. It was no longer me and my brother against the world. It was the world and my family against me. Chad became Viper and he never looked back.

“I’m talkin’ to you, bitch,” Viper growls, stepping into my personal space.

“No,” I automatically answer. “Nothing. I’ll be there tonight, Chad.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?!” he growls, bending down so he’s nearly eye-level with me.

“V-Viper,” I correct myself, scrunching my shoulders up as I take a step back. “Sorry. I meant Viper.”

A low snarl rises up from his throat, then he nods and straightens up. “That’s right. I’m Viper. The fucking Vice President of the fucking Serpents. Don’t you forget it.”

I nod and watch my brother walk down the hall and out into the bar area. Only when I’m convinced he’s gone do I let out the breath I was holding. It takes a few more moments before I stop trembling, but as soon as I do, I beeline to the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face.

Looking at my red-rimmed, wide hazel eyes, I have to swallow back tears. How did I get here? And more importantly, how do I get out?

3

RAZOR

Islug back the rest of my energy drink before grabbing the binoculars sitting in the passenger's seat. Lifting them to my face, I peer out and survey the decrepit farmhouse and even shittier barns located around the property. Last time, I thought this was simply a meeting place. Now I know it's the Serpents' compound.

It’s only two in the afternoon, so I’m not sure that I’m going to see much action. Still, I have to check on things. To make sure there aren’t any other secrets we don’t know. It has nothing to do with wanting another look at the mysterious blonde woman.

My mind wanders to the photos I took of her that first night. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t looked at them a few times. Just three or four times. Maybe five. Nothing obsessive or anything. It’s just that she might be involved and I need to know what she looks like. For club reasons.

I may have made a pit stop here yesterday, just to see how things were progressing with the cartel. Did I happen to see the curvy, breathtaking woman with silky blonde hair? Yeah, sure. No big deal.

And so what, I watched her for a bit, mostly to see what, if anything, she knows. I’m not quite sure what role she plays in the MC, but as far as I can tell, she’s not anyone’s old lady. She’s sure as shit not a club bunny. In fact, when I’ve seen her interact with other club members, she’s always stiff and stilted, keeping a solid three feet of distance between herself and whomever she’s speaking to.

A surge of jealousy pushes its way into my system, ramping up my heartbeat and sending adrenaline pulsing through my veins. It’s as shocking as it is all-consuming. The thought of her with another man… Fuck. I don’t even know this woman’s name. I shouldn’t be jealous of a hypothetical man, or jealous of anything about her at all. This mission must be taking its toll on me. That’s it. I’m not stalking Blondie, I’m simply doing a thorough job investigating–

The back door of the large farmhouse swings open and I watch with rapt attention as the object of my not-obsession walks out into the sunlight. All other thoughts vanish from my mind as I focus on the lovely, mysterious creature leaning against the side of the old house. She sighs heavily and tilts her head back until it’s resting against the siding as well. Her shoulders drop and she closes her eyes, taking another deep breath.

She looks weary. Bone-tired. But there’s something else there. Something I can relate to on a fucking visceral level. My girl feels trapped.

Shit. Not my girl. Just a girl. A woman. But not mine in any way, shape, or form.

Still, the longer I look at her, the heavier my non-existent heart grows. She looks so fragile in this moment, unbearably vulnerable with her defenses down. The gorgeous woman usually keeps a smile on her face, despite her environment and the assholes she has to deal with every day. Her bright, bubbly demeanor is visible even from fifty feet away. But today? She's broken. Defeated. She's letting it all show, though there's no one to see. No one except for me.

A moment later, she pushes off the side of the house and walks across the gravel lot, heading to a corner on the far southern end of the property. I follow her with my eyes, adjusting the settings on the binoculars to focus in on her movements.

The woman stumbles a bit, though I don’t see anything for her to trip on. She wobbles, throwing her arms out to try and maintain her balance. It’s too late. She falls, her knees hitting the ground first. She catches herself on the palms of her hands, then hops up again, as if nothing happened.

My heart lurches in my chest, everything in me screaming to jump out of the car and see if she’s okay. I mean, what the fuck? She just tripped. It’s not a big deal. I shouldn’t care at all, let alone this much. At least she’s okay.

I continue spying on her through the binoculars, observing as she wipes her hands on her shorts and then brushes the gravel from her knees. The woman starts walking forward again, still picking pieces of loose gravel off of her shirt when she stubs her toe on the corner of a raised garden bed I’ve been curious about since I first scoped out the compound.

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