Page 19 of Wrecked

It didn’t work out that way.

Rebel took the hit and the syringe and then plunged it into Crow’s thigh.

“There you go, motherfucker,” Rebel spat, rolled away, and tossed the syringe across the room.

Crow fell back onto the bed.

His chest heaved. He could just hear the guys back at the ranch laughing their asses off when he got back.

A former military assassin was taken down by a teenager.

The room whirled and Crow closed his eyes.

Rebel took his time going through the guy’s wallet and backpack. He found some candy bars in there and took them. There wasn’tany cash because people didn’t use cash anymore, they’d rather use apps and shit to get what they needed.

What he also took from Crow’s pack was his fucking knife because that was his. He’d earned that!

He glanced at Crow on the bed and then at the keys on the coffee counter.

No, he wouldn’t take the guy’s vehicle because it more than likely had a locator on it. Rebel was tempted to take the man’s weapon, but didn’t have anywhere to carry it.

“See?” Rebel told the passed-out man as he tucked his knife away. “I do know my stuff.”

Walking over, he lifted Crow’s legs from hanging off the bed and placed them on the mattress.

Finding a pen and paper in the drawer, he left a note.

Shoving hard, he pushed the desk away from the door and gazed back at the man on the bed. In a way, he was sorry to go, the guy was oh so sexy. On the other hand, Rebel was glad to get the fuck out of there.

Nobody, but nobody would ever again make him do something he didn’t want to do.

Ever.

The door closed quietly when Rebel walked out.

The following morning…

Crow woke up alone with his mouth tasting like shit.

When he rolled from the bed, he landed on the floor and it took him several minutes to get his bearings. The fog left by the drug sent him to the bathroom to stand beneath a cold shower.

Returning to the bedroom Crow searched and found the only thing missing were a few candy bars.

Who the fuck does that? Of all the things Rebel could have taken, like his wallet, keys, and gun, it had only been a few bars of chocolate.

For a moment, Crow felt regret. He should have picked up some cash to carry, but shoved the idea away. It wasn’t his problem if Rebel didn’t have enough money.

Crow made a sound in his throat and spun toward his pack when a piece of paper caught his attention.

The handwritten note lay on the desk that had been shoved away from the door, Crow stalked over and lifted it.

*I’ll pay you back for the candy.

Don’t follow me.

—Rebel

Crow grimaced, crinkled the paper into a ball with one fist, and threw it across the room.

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