Page 7 of Wrecked

That right there made up Rebel’s mind and he melted farther into the darkness before making his way upward into the vacant apartment he’d taken over. He’d been there for the past couple of weeks and nobody had even noticed. It wasn’t like the slumlord could even rent the fucking dump to anyone.

Pulling up a piece of the floorboard in the small living room near the broken heater, Rebel pulled out a worn leather case and unfolded it.

Several different blades and knives gleamed beneath his dollar store flashlight. He slid a fat one out of its spot. When he was sixteen, Rebel had taken the knife from a man assaulting an older woman in an alley.

Vera Myers had been seventy-two years old and walking down the street to catch the bus when a man in his thirties had dragged her into an alley. Rebel heard her feeble cries on his way past in search of food. Something inside of him wanted to help her so badly and even though he was much smaller than the big guy fucking with Mrs. Myers, Rebel had launched himself at the bigger guy.

His advantage was that he was fast. And that quickness had paid off. He hit the man’s arm in the right spot, knowing that it would go numb, and the fucker dropped the knife. Rebel took it and sliced open the man’s throat.

Blood covered his face and hair and he stepped lightly away when the guy toppled into the alley. He took the cash in the man’s back pocket and then held out a hand to Mrs. Myers.

She looked at him for one moment and then let him help her to her feet. He found her cane and walked with her to the end of the alley.

“I’m Vera Myers, what’s your name?”

“Rebel.”

“Well, Rebel, thank you for today. God will bless you.” She patted his arm and made her way toward the bus bench.

Rebel watched her go before he turned and ran down the street.

He wasn’t going to be the one to tell Mrs. Myers that there wasn’t any God and if there was, the guy had probably forgotten about him a long time ago.

Rescuing her and that kill was one of Rebel’s most enjoyable memories.

The only memories Rebel had were from after the age of seven. Before seven, he didn’t remember much at all. His memories were spotty, but Savage had said that was because most people couldn’t recall earlier than three or four.

So why was it seven for him?

“Because you’re fucking special,” Rebel snickered to himself.

When he’d gotten away from Tanis and back with his mother for a short time, he had relied on her to fill him in and remind him of the things he’d done as a kid. None of it sounded familiar. It all sounded like it was someone else’s life.

Why the memory loss, he hadn’t a clue. Savage had said that could be from the trauma of being taken.

And while Rebel couldn’t recall any major events from earlier in his life, he did remember the day Solomon had kidnapped him from the streets.

And the day Solomon then sold him to Tanis several months later.

All those memories were there and had stayed with him, molding him into the man he was becoming. Because at eighteen, he was smart enough to know he was still figuring shit out.

Sliding the knife inside a sheath he kept hidden beneath his threadbare black jacket, he replaced his tools under the floorboards and left by way of the back stairs that led to the alley.

Rebel tried not to think about his past with Solomon or Tanis. But as much as he didn’t want to remember, it was part of him. As a child, he had been easy pickings for Solomon.

One reason was because he had been smaller back then and couldn’t put up a fight, but the other was because he and his mother had always lived in this rundown neighborhood.

Rebel glanced around at the slums.

This was the place where demons preyed on the weak.

He may not have figured all of life out yet, but he was no longer a child.

Nor was he weak. Nobody would ever take advantage of him again.

Now he was legal. He could make his own decisions. Just last month, his mother had bought a cupcake and placed a candle on it for his birthday.

Rebel had quickly devoured the sugary treat… and it had been a treat.

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