Page 16 of Tempted to Rebel

He throws his head back and laughs. “No, baby, not this time.” Squeezing my hip, he spins me around and gently pushes me down the sidewalk. “It’s just over here. It’ll be a quick detour, and then we’ll get you back to your cage, I promise.” Although he winks like he’s joking, I know that it’s only a matter of time before I’m locked away again.

“Fine,” I agree, walking into the unknown with Rebel at my heels. “One detour.” He whoops loudly, making me laugh right along with him.

Figuring things out between us might take time, but for tonight, I’m okay just going along for the ride.

Chapter 5

Celia

As we walka few blocks down the sidewalk, I’m grateful for Rebel’s leather jacket. The winter chill has set in for the season, which would normally bring a new wave of products into my boutique. Pashmina scarves, knit hats, and woolen gloves, either displayed to match or paired in various color-combinations, all designed to entice the eye in addition to keeping its owner warm. My soul mourns the fact that I’m wearing my worn leather boots and Rebel’s baggy sweatpants instead of a soft cashmere ensemble, awash with gentle cremes and beiges that provide a delicate, fresh look for any woman—and for me especially. White is my signature color, and I always look forward to the first winter frost to show off my latest look.

Rebel’s clothes, consisting of a smattering of dark grays and blacks, faded band logos and soft beanies, is the opposite of everything I stand for. But matching outfits with him as we wander the late night streets in the hazy glow of cold moonlight makes me feel more at ease by his side. We blend in with the night—and with each other.

A few minutes after leaving the diner, we approach a gated lot filled with cars of all shapes and sizes, nearly all of them gleaming to perfection. Sports cars catch my eye first, each oneof them beckoning me closer. My ex-husband used to own a sleek black convertible, and when we were at our happiest, he would take me for joyrides all over the city just to see me smile.

I’m sure he took his secretary too.

Thinking of Ted’s affair sours the memories of zipping past streetlights with the wind roaring in my ears, but only for a moment. Rebel works as an easy distraction as he approaches the guard shack at the front of the lot and greets the two security officers with a friendly smile and smack to their shoulders. While he makes small talk, I check out our location. The lot is well-maintained like the rest of the street, the four-story parking garage pristine and damn near shining, even in the middle of a misty night. Not only is every square inch of the property well-lit and covered in cameras, but each parking space is numbered with bright white paint and every car hosts a valet ticket on its dashboard.

When I start to wander too far, Rebel beckons me back to him and immediately drapes his arm over my shoulder. “Boys, meet Celia Monrovia. She’s priority number one, got it? If the lot’s on fire and you can only save one thing, you save her, got it?”

That’s ridiculous. We’re standing next to a Ferrari. A very expensive, twin-engine Ferrari that likely carries more horsepower than I’ll ever experience in my life. If that beauty goes down in a fire, its owner is going to be furious that I was spared in place of their precious baby.

But maybe to Rebel, I’m just as important as that Ferrari is to its owner.

Rebel presses a kiss to the top of my head and leads us inside the guard shack. It’s simply-decorated but oozing money, with plush leather couches, an expensive espresso machine, and a state of the art security system with twelve monitors that seem to cover the entire lot. Rebel gestures to the key rack along thefar wall, dozens of key rings and car fobs hanging before our eyes. “Pick a ride, baby. Anything you like.” He kisses my cheek. “But if you choose a four-seater, I’m overruling you. Gotta pick something withstyle.”

Adrenaline rushes through my veins as I stare at the endless rows of keys, each one sporting a numbered tag. I know exactly which car I want without having to browse the rest of the lot. The chance to test drive a dream car makes me giddy with excitement, and I bounce over to the wall to make my selection. Rebel smiles as he watches me scan the numbers for the one I want. It doesn’t take long until I’ve found it.

Number twelve: the cherry red Ferrari I spotted just outside.

“Good choice,” Rebel muses, watching me snatch the keys as quickly as I can. I’m vibrating as I lead the way to spot twelve. Sliding into the front seat feels smooth as silk, the interior polished to perfection and wicked soft. Once I push to start, I run my hands over the steering wheel as I listen to her purr.

“Never took you for a car girl.” Rebel props his foot on the dashboard as soon as he’s seated, his lips curving into a smirk. He watches me fondle the stitched leather seat. “It’s hot.”

I don’t advertise my affection for fast cars. It’s not a dainty little hobby for bratva girls to love. “My ex-husband drove a fast car,” I explain, biting my bottom lip. “He’s the one who introduced me to them.”

And took them away when we were trying to conceive. All for the safety of the baby he gave his secretary instead of me.

My heart pangs in my chest, but I beat back the pain with a grin that’s real enough. A silver fox pendant glints beneath the rearview mirror, the only personal item in the cab. “Whose car is this?”

Rebel shrugs. “Don’t know, don’t care. Push the gas, baby; let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

As soon as we pass the gate and hit the street, I slam down the gas and we go flying. Rebel holds onto the roof of the car and grins, his bright smile warming my heart. “Turn here, baby,” he directs, taking us down a long stretch of road, “and floor it!”

The car punches forward, both of us cackling as we zip across double lines and ignore every local traffic law. We weave in and out of cars, ignore speed limits, and can’t keep our eyes off of each other for a damn minute.

It’s dangerous. It’s reckless. Butholy shit, is it fun.

“Damn, girl.” Rebel flicks his gaze from the streetlights back to me, his eyes sparkling with every neon light we fly past. “Who knew you coulddrive.” He licks his lips and unabashedly palms his crotch, the thick outline of his dick making me do a double-take. “You’re hot as hell, baby.”

I shake my head with a tiny laugh. “Who knew you could get me into a car likethis.” I spread my palm across the dash, appreciating her beauty. “I might’ve sucked your dick for a ride like this.” My face flushes bright crimson at the confession, and although I’m not sure if I really mean it, Rebel latches onto my words in an heartbeat.

“Yeah?” He bites his lip, sucking his snakebite into his mouth. “We’ve still got time, if you’re interested.” Flexing his hips, he stretches out as much as possible, giving me a generous eyeful of his abs and the tuft of hair disappearing behind the waistband of his skinny jeans.

It takes effort,so much effort, to keep us from swerving. Giggling and feeling ridiculous about it, I turn on a familiar road that leads up to a hilltop overlooking this part of the city. It’s known as North Side’s Makeout Point, and although I’ve lived in Harlin Heights my entire life, I’ve never actually brought anyone up here—or been invited. Courtesy of being a mafia daughter with a protective twin brother—the boys stayed away all through high school, and I never went to college. The most I’ve learnedabout running a business came from online courses on Youtube and whatever snippets I’ve gleaned from conversation with my brother. Not foolproof, but good enough with the right amount of money to throw at things.

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