Page 22 of Rebels & Rejects

Shaking my head, I clean our dishes before joining him, and that’s how we spend the day, watching old movies and chatting about absolutely nothing. It’s reminiscent of when we first moved in here. It was the first apartment we’d ever lived in. The first time we’d had a place that was just ours, and we would frequently spend the whole day on the sofa, watching TV or playing games, and pretending the world outside our tiny apartment didn’t exist. We’d never had the luxury before of being able to block out the rest of the world. Usually, it was just there, staring us in the face, whether we wanted to deal with it or not. So to be able to carve out time for just ourselves... it was fucking perfect.

Unfortunately, the real world comes calling the next day, and Sheryl has obviously already heard the news when I step into the women’s shelter that evening on my way to work.

“You did it,” she exclaims in a hushed whisper. Her bony hand squeezes mine with a surprising amount of strength. It’s been nearly a week since she showed up here, and her bruises are healing well, but they're still visible without any makeup.

I glance furtively around us as I drag her into a quiet corner of the communal hall. Grace is sitting a few seats down, scribbling on a piece of paper with some broken crayons. She gives me a toothy smile and a wave, which I reciprocate before focusing back on Sheryl.

I notice a sparkle in her eyes that wasn’t there the other day, and she can barely contain herself as she wraps me in a tight hug. “I can’t believe you actually did it,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

When she leans back, I give her a soft smile. “Do you know what you’re going to do now?”

Shaking her head, she says, “Not yet, but Beatrice has offered us a room for now, in exchange for helping her out. I can look for jobs in the meantime.”

“That’s good. I can ask at the club, if you want. Some of the girls help each other out with daycare when they’re working, so it wouldn’t be a problem with Grace.”

She thinks it over for a second, but I can already tell she’s not fond of the idea.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I just... ” She swallows roughly. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that sort of attention yet.” Her hands are shaking and I quickly wrap mine around them, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey,” I say sharply, waiting until her eyes raise to meet mine. “I understand. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

She gives me a watery smile, sniffling as she leans in to give me another hug. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“You don’t have to,” I assure her. “I was only doing what needed to be done... besides, if I hadn’t, it looks like the Rejects would have.”

Her eyes are rounded in surprise when she breaks off the hug. “I’d heard rumors, but I wasn’t sure if they were true or not.”

“Well, they’re true. They raided the Satan’s clubhouse. Killed them all.”

She gasps, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “While you were there?”

“Yup.” I pop the p, ducking my gaze so I don’t have to see the concern in her eyes.

“Shit, did they see you? What are you going to do?”

“It should be fine,” I assure her, even if I’m not entirely convinced of that. “I was wearing a disguise, and I got out of there before they could ask me anything. Chances are, they’ll be too busy gaining control of their new territory to go chasing after some chick.”

She pinches her lips, and I can tell she doesn’t quite believe me, but thankfully she doesn’t argue and we move over to join Grace while she draws a picture of a knight coming to save the princess from her tower. As I listen to her tell the story that accompanies the picture, I sigh, wishing life was that easy. Part of me wants to warn her that men are not heroes. That they don’t come encased in armor and ready to dive into battle for you, but I also don’t want to tarnish her optimistic outlook on the world. God knows, life will quickly suck the hope out of her as she grows older, so why not let her hold on to a fantasy for a little bit longer.

***

The same whispers about the demise of the Satan’s are running rampant when I walk into the club later that night. It seems everyone has heard about the Rejects, and the question on everyone’s mind is... what does this mean for us?

“My sister lives in Reject territory, and she says as long as you don’t go asking for trouble, they leave you in peace,” Jezebel informs everyone while we’re sitting at our individual dressing tables, getting ready.

“I’ve heard they run these really successful fighting challenge nights, and they hire girls for the winners,” Lori adds. Lowering her voice, she whispers, “Apparently, they pay very well, too.”

I do my best to ignore them as they speculate back and forth. The way they talk reminds me of Grace and her knight. They make the Rejects sound like they’re the good guys, here to save us or some such shit. Even if only a fraction of what they’re saying is true, it doesn't make them good people. They still run a gang. They still murdered a bunch of people the other night, all for the sake of gaining more territory.

Dolled up to the nines and dressed in my best hooker heels, I leave the gossiping hens behind in the dressing room. As I’m passing the office, I can hear Drew talking to someone. That’s not unusual, but the deep cadence of the other person’s voice strikes me as familiar. I pause, lingering by the door, needing to hear his voice again. I can’t make out their words, but I can decipher Drew’s voice through the wooden door before there’s the scraping of chair legs. Realizing they’re about to exit the office, I duck into the bathroom next door just as I hear the door handle turn.

More muffled voices as the two men step into the hall, and I crack the door open a fraction to peer out as I hear the click of Drew’s office door shutting, followed by two sets of footsteps moving away from me. I can only see their backs, and ignoring Drew on the left, I focus on the guy on the right. I only catch a quick glimpse—tall, muscular, dark-haired, gorgeous ass—before they both disappear, and I’m left perplexed, trying to work out who he was and why he sounded so familiar.

The rest of my shift goes by as usual. No Rejects stop by, and I have to assume they’re all too busy to have any downtime yet, but I’d imagine in the coming days and weeks, we will start to see more of them coming in. It’s only a matter of time, and the thought makes my palms sweat. Mainly in case Razor, the young kid who was with him, or Cain, stops by. Sure I had on a wig and heavy makeup, but up close, they would probably be able to figure out the girl they’re looking for is me.

At the end of the night, after Drew locks the front door behind the last customer, he calls out, “Listen up, everyone. I know you’re all tired and want to get home, but I wanted to let you all know, a liaison for Reaper Rejects stopped by today.”

That immediately gets my attention as my thoughts drift back to the guy I saw leaving his office earlier. He must have been a Reject. Maybe one of the ones I saw the other night. It would explain why his voice seemed familiar.

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