Page 17 of Rebels & Rejects

They see Python first, and I note the surprise on their faces as they share a glance with one another before the older one notices me, jutting his chin in my direction. Their guns are still raised as they round on me, but instead of the tense lines around their eyes, there’s a confusing wariness.

The younger guy moves to turn off the shitty music, and even though the heavy bass of the music from downstairs still vibrates through the floorboards, it’s not loud enough to cover up the broken sob that escapes my lips as I let my chin wobble.Damn, maybe I do have transferable skills after all.

“What the fuck happened in ‘er’?” the older guy asks, his gaze bouncing back and forth between me and the dead Satan’s leader.

“I... he... ” My voice cracks and I bury my head in my hands, sobbing. Well, pretending to.

“Razor,” one of them says. “Look.”

Lifting my head slightly, I peer through the slits between my fingers as the two of them lean closer to the dead body, inspecting it.

“Jesus, fuck,” the older guy—Razor—exclaims. “How the hell did this even happen?”

They both stare at the body for a second longer before I feel their gazes on me, and I let out another shoulder-trembling sob.

As the older one makes a move toward me, I snap my head up, setting my features into one of fear as I try to back away from him, pressing my back flush against the wall. I don’t even have to try that hard to be afraid. I am. I might be able to seduce men and lower their defenses, but I know the extent of my skills, and there’s no way I could take on two large men like this and expect to get away unscathed. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll put up one hell of a fight if they touch me. I’m just not confident it’s a fight that I’ll win—my defensive skills are mediocre at best.

Seeing my terrified expression, Razor stalls, slowly putting his gun away and lifting his hands, palms forward in a gesture that he means me no harm. I watch him closely as he crouches down in front of me. His arm flexes, drawing my attention to the tattoo there, and I can just make out the Reaper Rejects insignia.What the fuck? Why are the Rejects here?

“We’re not going to hurt you,” he says, and I know he’s trying to put me at ease, but I don’t buy his bullshit. My blades are in my boots, but I can have them buried in his throat in a split second if he so much as looks at me wrong. It’s his little buddy behind him that I’ll have a more challenging time taking down without the element of surprise on my side. “We just want to know what happened.”

I begin to blubber, mumbling nonsense because, well, I have no idea how to explain my way out of this one. “B-bathroom... dead... b-blood everywhere.” I heave out another sob, glancing up between wet eyelashes to see the deep lines of confusion carved into his forehead as he studies me.

“Ehh, okay, let’s get ya out of here, yeah? Get some whiskey in ye.”

He doesn’t move, continuing to look at me until I give a shaky jerk of my head.

“Alright, love, put your top on, and I’ll get ya out of here.”

I’m honestly a little confused by his behavior, but it’s about to get me out of this room, so I don’t overthink it and instead pull my top on, ignoring the icky feel of the dried blood crusting on my skin. I get to my feet, making them appear weak and shaky, and without sparing him a glance, I let the two Rejects escort me past Python and out of the room.

Chapter 7

The bouncer on the door nods his head when I pass, and as I step into the large, open room, the noise of the crowd ricochets off the tiled walls. Men and women scream encouragement at whichever fighter they have their bets on tonight, drowning out the sound ofMonstersby Shinedown blaring across the room from the overhead speakers.

As I glance around, I notice the place is packed tonight, and I have to push through the crowd as I cross the room. They hardly notice, though, since everyone is too focused on shoving each other as they jostle for a better view of the fight taking place in the middle of the room.

I started the underground fights when the Reaper Rejects only consisted of myself and a handful of others who had suffered at the hands of the Antonellis. Back then, it was nothing more than guys from the neighborhood meeting up once a week in an empty lot to try and prove themselves. But they’ve grown exponentially since then. When I took over old Beast territory a year ago, I made the fights a regular thing that drew a small but reliable crowd. Things really amped up when I helped my old friend, Beck, rescue his girlfriend from a compound where they were teaching kids how to become killers for hire. We ended up rescuing a bunch of those kids. I managed to find homes for many of the younger ones, but most of those who were older didn’t have anywhere to go. When they asked if they could stay here, I had to tell them about my plans. I had to explain to them that if they did choose to stay, they would be putting themselves in danger once again. I honestly expected most of them to leave—and I wouldn’t have thought any less of them if they had. Even though every one of them was a trained soldier, they’d already lived a life that wasn’t theirs, and I assumed they would just want to enjoy their newfound freedom. I was wrong. Every single one of them agreed to help me, and by the end of that day, they all wore the Reaper Rejects tattoo with pride.

I suddenly had more members than I knew what to do with and finding somewhere large enough to house us all became my number one focus. When I came across the dilapidated apartment complex, I knew it would be perfect for our needs. Over the last few months, I’ve watched as my men have accepted the new kids into the crew, and we’ve slowly learned to get along—like one giant, dysfunctional family. The kids I rescued have grown the most. When they first arrived here, they were constantly on edge, jumping at every sound and resorting to violence to solve every problem. I can’t even begin to imagine the hell they were put through in that compound.

As I watched them struggling to cope with this new life they’d found themselves in, I knew they needed an outlet for all the confusion and anger they were feeling. I might not know what they had to endure, but I do know what it feels like to be an angry, confused, lost teenager, to feel that simmering rage pulsing beneath your skin with no constructive outlet. It can lead to dangerous things. So as soon as we moved into the apartment complex, I instructed the guys to gut the sports center opposite it and turn it into a suitable fighting ring.

We operate pit fights out of the swimming pool, and we knocked down the wall into the gym area, opening the floor space so we could put a bar along the far wall and squeeze in as many customers as possible.

I encouraged the kids to satiate their need for violence in the ring, giving them an outlet for everything they were feeling but didn’t know how to process. I don’t think I’d fully appreciated just how deadly these kids were until the first time I watched one of them in the pit. He was like an oncoming storm. His opponent never stood a chance against his precise strikes and forceful blows, and the fight was over in mere seconds. Although, it drew one hell of a crowd. After that, the whispers began about the unbeatable Rejects, and since then, our numbers have grown by the week, everyone coming to watch—or try their hand—against the deadly force of the Reaper Rejects.

A roar goes up from the crowd as the fight comes to an end, and people move to collect their winnings as the fighters are helped out of the pool. Bypassing the jostling audience as they move to refill their drinks before the next fight, I climb up the steps to the low platform I had built along one side of the room, intended for me and my officers and providing an uninterrupted view into the fighting pit, and around the rest of the room.

A woman dressed in booty shorts, with her tits hanging out and a tray of drinks in her hand, meets me at the top of the stairs.

“Evening, Cain,” she purrs, smiling seductively.

I let my gaze run over her subtle curves and perky breasts, winking as I take a glass of whiskey from her and move to join Oliver on one of the lounge seats. He’s been checking out the Satan's territory all week and I haven’t had a chance to catch up with him.

He raises his chin in greeting as I approach before his gaze roams over the adrenaline-pumped crowd on the floor below. “Hey, man.”

“How’s things?”

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