Page 90 of Ruthless Rebel

“This isn’t your war,” I tell him, when I bring my stare back to him, and he laughs.

“And it wasn’t yours, when my sister came back to town to bring it to its knees, yet still you fell in line like a loyal soldier. You walked into the Donovan mansion and brought home her little girl,” he snaps, and I see the rage curling beneath his skin, ready to be unleashed. “My brother is dead, Lincoln, and I know you feel the pain I feel, the wrath, so don’t tell me this isn’t my fucking war.”

I don’t let his words in, I can’t, because right now I can’t be the Lincoln that his brother fell in love with. The one who took stupid pictures in matching pajamas, and clung to him like a lifeline. Being that Lincoln got him killed, now I am the monster my father made, yet still I nod as if in understanding, placing the phone on the island for them to see, and taking a step back.

“I’ll be ready in thirty minutes,” I tell them, before walking out without another word.

Heading straight up to my room, I rush inside and lock the door, moving to my desk and quickly pulling up the letters for each of my family members that I keep there. There are six in total, though now one is useless, but I print the ones meant for Jace, Marcus, Elle, and Cassie, and slip them into envelopes, writing their names on the front, and leaving them on my desk in case they need to find them easily.

Then I get changed, taking one of the outfits I usually reserve for hunting, and putting it on, before sliding my feet into a pair of black boots, and glancing around my room one last time. This place is the only home I have ever truly loved, and it’s filled with memories of all of them, and despite everything, I hope Elle King knows how much she changed my life.

When I reach the basement, I find mostly everyone who was in the kitchen, already there and suiting up, but Asher is nowhere to be seen. All the guys are in their usual attire, and Jace silently hands me a vest, one I know I won’t need, yet still I take it, tucking a couple of weapons in my jeans, before leaning against the wall and waiting.

Just like I expected, Zack steps in the middle of everyone. “The location is in the middle of nowhere, which means it’s open on all sides, so prepare for anything,” he tells them all, handing out sheets of paper to everyone, and I reluctantly take one. “Do not go anywhere alone, and kill any threat on sight, we are not taking any more risks and losing anyone else.”

He reels off more commands, pairing people together as we all start heading up the stairs to the garage. I use the distraction to slip off to the back of the house, to the track where Marcus keeps his bike, and when the rumble of engines begins, I slip off into the trees and follow behind them until we reach the gate.

Then I watch, as they all turn left towards the location she gave them, but I turn right, to the place I know she truly is.

Sorry, Rebels, but this war ends with me, and me alone.

46

LINCOLN

Pulling up to my childhood home, on the distant outskirts of town, should probably evoke some feeling within me, but it doesn’t. The truth is, I’m not sure I will ever feel anything again, but whatever happens, I will try to avenge Logan’s death, even if it kills me. Climbing off the bike, I don’t bother checking my surroundings, because I know what I will find. There isn’t anyone else here, no, this isn’t like all her other games, this is the final showdown, and it’s only between her and I.

I push open the door, ignoring the assault of memories that flood my mind. I haven’t been back here since the morning after my mother’s death. The police kept me up in my bedroom all night, until a social worker turned up and told me to pack a bag, and that I wouldn’t be coming back. I don’t know what I expect when I walk inside, but it isn’t to find the place almost untouched. Sure, it’s obvious the police tore through here, but the furniture is all the same, and there are still pictures on the wall. It’s like time stopped in the worst moment of my childhood.

As I walk through, I don’t look at the bay window where my mom and I used to decorate the Christmas tree together every year, nor do I see the doorframe, where she would mark my height every few months. Instead, my focus moves straight to the doorway at the very end of the hall, the one I used to avoid entering at all costs, yet right now, it’s my final destination.

My heartbeat is steady as I slowly make my way down the stairs, not bothering to draw any of my weapons, not when I know all too well the kind of game she is looking for. I think of Logan one last time, letting the sight of him bleeding out on the driveway fuel my rage, then I walk into the room where my father killed my mother, just before I killed him.

Vivian is sitting on my father’s table, kicking her legs with a smile on her face, and her gun aimed at my chest. “Well look who was a good boy and didn’t follow the rules for once,” she muses excitedly, sliding off the table and moving straight towards me. “I knew you’d find me, baby,” she purrs, pressing her body flush against mine, and holding the gun to my head. “Well, don’t just stand there, come play with me.” Her hand slides up my chest, gripping the bulletproof vest I’m wearing, and dragging me towards the table.

It’s only now, here, this close, that the memory of her from that night comes back to me. She was so young, barely even eighteen, if I had to guess. Perfect for my father’s preferences, and I still don’t understand why she is doing all of this.

“I see you came alone. I guess you sent the others on my little wild goose chase,” she praises, keeping the gun to my head as she searches my body for weapons, her hands dragging against my groin as she goes. “You know, me and that little queen of yours could be good friends, I’m a big fan of her work,” she winks, pulling out my gun and knife and tossing them aside. “I thought about taking her, you know? I know how much she means to you, but then I saw how you looked at them,” she grins, her eyes glossed and full of crazy, as she pushes me against thetable.

“She would have killed you on sight,” I reply without emotion, but her grin only widens.

“At first I thought it was just Logan,” she pushes on, dragging the gun up and down my face. “But then I was at your office, and I saw the way you looked at the Donovan boy, the way he looked at you, and I knew I had uncovered your secret, your weakness.”

My face remains impassive, and when I don’t respond, her eyes harden. She’s annoyed I’m not playing along with the little fantasy in her head.

“He screamed, you know?” She pushes on, backing away a little to grab her phone from a nearby table, her aim on me not faltering for a second. “He wasn’t as prepared as the other one,” she brags, moving back over to me, and hitting play on a video on her phone.

The sound of Logan’s cries of pain fill the room around us, and I flick my eyes to the screen, watching hit after hit, as I grind my teeth, forcing myself not to react. Her eyes dance in delight as I watch her men beat him like a dog, noting that they are the ones I killed at the Donovan estate. They died far too quickly, but she won’t. When I meet her stare again, I remain impassive, not giving her the reaction I know she craves, yet cataloging every injury they inflicted upon him. She presses the gun back into my head firmly, her temper slipping, but then she takes a deep, slow breath.

“You know, I remember your mom begging for you to run that night, but like a naughty boy you didn’t listen, did you?” She preens, changing direction, and I fight against the memories of that night threatening to take over my mind, but still she pushes on. “Do you remember how scared she was? How beautifully she screamed out for you?”

“I remember how you screamed,” I reply calmly, following her lead, and ignoring the bite of metal in the side of my skull.

“She looked so pretty as she bled for him,” she whispers against my lips, and it takes everything in me not to move or shy away from her.

“I saved your life, you should be thanking me.” I taunt, and the gleam in her eyes disappears.

“Oh, Lincoln, I thought you were smarter than this,” she sighs, shaking her head in disappointment, as she nods for me to get on the table. With the gun still on my head, I have no choice but to oblige. She waits until I am laying back, just like she was that night, before she leans down and grits, “You didn’t save me, you ruined me.” She slides the knife, the one I saw her pull out a moment ago, down my arm, digging it into my skin, and I do my best not to react, which only pisses her off more. “She was your father’s downfall you know, he hated her, hated this fucking moronic life she made for you all,” she drowns on, as if her words are going to tear apart my idea of a perfect childhood. “But your father loved me, we were going to run away together.”

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