Page 7 of Claimed By the Rebel

Aurora narrows her eyes at me, though there’s a grin curling up one corner of her lips. “That’s a very mysterious answer, mister,” she says in a little sassy voice. “What do you do for a living?”

I hesitate, not wanting to give away all of my secrets. Who knows how she’d react to learning I’m a member of a rival MC. “I’m in the protection and security business,” I finally land on. As the Enforcer for Rebel Hearts, that’s not technically a lie. It still didn’t feel great rolling off my tongue so easily. I don’t like lying to Aurora, even if it’s a lie of omission.

She nods, then takes a spoon and scoops up her whipped cream topping, licking it from the utensil. My eyes latch onto the movement as I follow her pink little tongue lapping at the cream.

I tear my eyes away from her, willing my dick to calm the fuck down. The woman isn’t even trying to drive me insane, but still, I want to taste the cream on her lips and suck her tongue into my mouth until she moans and begs for more.

“Uh, what do you do?” I ask, curious as to how she’ll answer.

Aurora pauses for a moment, considering her next words. “I’m a maid and a cook.” she finally lands on. “It’s for a… private family.”

I nod, impressed with how well she took the question. Like me, she’s not technically lying. She’s also not telling me the whole truth.

“Do you like your job?”

This causes Aurora to freeze, her drink only halfway up the straw to her lips. She blinks a few times, pulling herself out of whatever spiral she was in.

“It’s kind of my only option at this point,” she says, her words measured. “I don’t know that I’ve ever had the luxury of liking my job. It just… needs to be done.”

Now, that may be the most honest thing she's said to me all day. She feels trapped, just like I used to be. I knew I recognized a pain so deep inside of her that she doesn't know if she'll ever be rid of it.

I open my mouth to say… I don’t fuckin’ know. Something. Anything. But then her phone beeps with an incoming message.

I watch as she curls in on herself, her head dipping down while her shoulders hunch up around her ears. I don’t have to guess who the text is from. Someone from the Serpents.

“Wow, I, uh, didn’t realize how much time has passed. I really need to get back to the… to my job,” she finishes as she shoves her phone into her purse. “Sorry to cut this short. Here, you have the cinnamon roll. It’s all for you.” Aurora pushes the plate containing a giant cinnamon roll the size of her face closer to me. “I know it doesn’t come close to showing you my gratitude, I just…”

Her phone beeps again, making her jump. I hate that for her.

“Go on, I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble.”

She gives me a grateful smile, then grabs her groceries from the seat next to me and takes off. I wait exactly two minutes before walking out the door and following her back to the Serpents compound. I’m in too deep now. I know her name, I know how she smells and how she feels in my arms. It’s a terrible idea to pursue anything, and yet…

I pull up to the old farmhouse, putting my bike in neutral and walking it the last block to my well-hidden stakeout spot. As I get settled in for another night of watching over Aurora, I’m already thinking of ways to make her mine.

6

AURORA

“Yo, bar wench,” someone shouts over the music and chaotic noise inside the clubhouse. “Need ‘nother rrrround for the boyssss,” he slurs as he lifts an empty beer bottle above his head. Predictably, he proceeds to drop the bottle, letting out a whoop of drunken excitement when it shatters on the ground.

I roll my eyes, hating the nickname. That’s what most of the members call me, especially when they’re this far into a party. I sigh and pop the tops off of six beer bottles, setting them on a tray and heading toward the table.

“Watch this,” one of the guys says.

I barely register his words when he sticks his foot out right in front of where I'm walking. I don't have time to react before my shins hit his boot. I lurch forward, the tray of beer in my hand tilting to the left and then to the right as I try to regain my balance. My foot slips and I tumble over the outstretched leg, finally letting go of the drink tray so I can catch myself on my hands instead of face-planting into the concrete floor stained with god knows what.

The bottles crash around me as the tray hits me in the head and then clatters to the floor. The table of men roars with laughter, a few other members close by joining in.

I’m on my hands and knees, covered in beer and surrounded by broken glass while disgusting, inebriated men jeer at me. How did my life come to this? The worst part is, this isn’t the first time I’ve been made to look like a fool simply for entertainment.

Hot tears sting the back of my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. I won’t give them the satisfaction.

I take a moment to gather my wits about me, and then I stand, collecting the fallen tray before walking to the back and grabbing a broom. The sound of broken glass being crunched under heavy boots has me wincing. It’s going to be nearly impossible to sweep and mop that area until more people clear out.

Sighing in defeat, I take a second to lean against the back wall and give myself a pep-talk. You can do this. You don’t have another choice. What would life be like outside the compound? You have nothing. No skills. No money. Nowhere to go.

Okay, so that wasn’t so much of a pep-talk as it was a reminder of why I can’t afford to leave or yell at those bastards that I’m a person, too. I’m a human being, worthy of respect. At the very least, I don’t deserve to be treated that way.

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