Page 24 of Rebels & Rejects

I sit and wait—an incredibly dull but essential part of my job—and several hours later, looking worse for wear with the top button of his shirt undone, his tie hanging loosely from his neck, and his hair disheveled, he storms out of the building and gets into his awaiting car. Perking up, I start the engine of the bike and follow after him as he goes a couple of streets over to Belle Donne—one of the Antonellis’ sex clubs. I’m wondering if I could sneak in there. It would be dimly lit, and I’d easily blend in with the working girls??the perfect place to kill him, especially if I made it look like an accident.

Once he’s stumbled inside, clearly drunk off his ass, I scope out the exits, noting the bouncers and security cameras on the front door, as well as the bouncer and camera covering the staff entrance around back, before I head home. I need to do more research before I do anything else. At least I’ve got his routine down. I’ve been following Chad for the last few nights now, and it’s always the same—casino, sex club, home. I told his wife to make up an excuse to leave town for the next two weeks, so hopefully, she’s done that and won’t have to suffer at his hands tonight when he gets home. That gives me another week and a half to get the job done. Now I just need to figure out how to get inside that club.

***

The next night, I walk onto the stage at Strip Tease toS&Mby Rihanna and lose myself in the music as I twirl in my sky-high heels, grinding my hips, tensing my abs, and pushing out my tits.

The place is packed tonight, and I noticed several tables of Rejects members when I walked in. They’ve been stopping by the club the last few nights, all with easy-going, jovial smiles. They don’t cause too much of a ruckus, and I haven’t heard of any of them getting aggressive or physical with the girls. If anything, they seem to almost have some level of respect for us. It makes me suspicious, to say the least, and I definitely don’t trust them.

I’m halfway through my routine when I feel eyes on me, which sounds ridiculous because I probably have the eyes of at least half the men in the room right now, but this is different. Whatever this is, it burns my skin and makes my heart race. As I lift my feet, swiveling around the pole, I squint through the light, trying to pinpoint who is looking at me, but I can’t make out anyone obvious.

I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on me for the rest of my dance, and by the time my set ends, I’m trembling. My legs feel shaky and unstable as I carefully descend the steps from the stage, but before I can so much as take a breath, a heavy weight crashes into me, throwing me back against the wall with a thud that knocks the air out of my lungs.

Slowly, my eyes crawl over the broad-chested, tatted-up asshole pinning me to the wall, along the dark scruff of beard dusting his jaw, until I meet his searing green eyes, fuming with rage. I suck in a gasp, my eyes widening.Oh, fuck.Anger radiates off Cain like thermal energy, heating the air between us. His eyes hold me immobilized, and suddenly I realize it was his gaze I could feel burning into me on stage.

“You,” he snarls, his voice sounding more beast-like than human. Before I can gather my thoughts to figure a way out of this, he’s wrapped his large, inked hand around my upper arm in a firm grip, and I nearly stumble in my high-heels, struggling to keep up with his enormous strides as he storms into the back hallway, heading for Drew’s office.

He pushes open the office door and shoves me into the room, practically throwing me onto the sofa as he looms over me. I hurry to push myself upright and glower at him, biting my tongue so hard I’m surprised I don’t taste blood. See, this is why I stay as far away from gang members as I can. The malevolence pouring off him is stifling, and the tense way he’s holding himself tells me he’s trying really hard to hold himself back. Back from what? From hitting me? From hurting me? He might look like temptation with his black jeans that mold to his thighs and his t-shirt that looks like a second skin, but he’s everything that’s wrong with this world. He’s so used to people cowering beneath him, obeying his every whim, that he can’t stand the fact I’m not whimpering and begging for forgiveness at his feet.

“Why did you run away?” His words are a harsh bite, spat out through gritted teeth.

“You just murdered a whole bunch of men,” I snap. “Do you really think I was going to hang around so you could kill me too?”

The words are out of my mouth before I can rein in my temper, and there’s a dangerous flash in his eyes before they narrow on me.

“I wasn’t going to kill you.” He says it like it should be obvious—like how could I possibly think such a thing. Of course, silly me. How could death by machine gun possibly have crossed my mind when fifty-odd men, half-hidden behind gruesome, skeleton-designed neck warmers and carrying automatic rifles, are stomping around the house, killing every gang member they cross? “Tell me what you saw.”

I press my lips together, scrutinizing him, and when I don’t immediately obey his command, his anger sparks again.

“Fine,” he snaps, digging into his pocket and producing a wad of cash. He flicks through it, and he’s standing close enough that I can tell he’s holding more money in his hand than I make in a month. He peels off three one hundred dollar bills and holds them out to me expectantly.

I sneer at his outstretched hand. “I don’t want your fucking money.”

His brows lift in surprise for a split second before he masks it with a scowl, more of that perpetual anger of his simmering in his emerald irises. Without saying a word, he stuffs the money back in his pocket, and in one large stride he closes the distance between us. I press my back flat against the sofa and tilt my head back so I can maintain eye contact with him, refusing to let him intimidate me, even as my heart hammers against my chest and a little voice in the back of my head tells me to behave.

This close, his whiskey and leather scent envelopes me. It makes no sense because he’s not even wearing leather, but it’s a distinct, homely smell. Despite the glower I’m throwing his way, I can feel the smell seeping into my skin, my body reacting instinctively to it. My muscles uncoil and relax, and I find myself wondering if I could bottle that smell and spray it on my pillow at night. It would be the perfect way to fall asleep.

I shake myself out of that ludicrous thought and focus back on the brute towering over me. I’m not going to get out of here without giving him something. I don’t know why he’s so hellbent on finding the Reaper, but I highly doubt it’s even crossed his mind that he might be staring him—well, her—in the face right now.

My tongue flicks out to lick my bottom lip, and his eyes dart down to my mouth, tracking the movement. It’s the first sign of interest he’s given—if that’s even what this is. Even though I’m wearing next to nothing, he hasn’t given me more than a cursory glance. In fact, his gaze has hardly left my face at all.

Sighing, like he’s won, I say, “I didn’t see anything.”

At the sound of my voice, his eyes snap to meet mine, but he doesn’t back away, only stares at me intently until I continue talking.

“Python and I went upstairs, and I went to the bathroom before... ” I lick my lips again, putting my fantastic acting skills to use as I pretend to be shocked and horrified as I think back to that night. “When I came back to the bedroom, h-he... I found him like that.”

I drop my gaze, sniffling as I pretend to wipe my eyes. I’m just a meek girl who’s traumatized by what she witnessed in that room.

He’s silent for so long that I peer up at him through my eyelashes, needing to get a read on him. His eyes are narrowed in suspicion, and I can practically see the thoughts running around in his head as he tries to suss me out.

“Why was the door locked?”

Uhhh. “I panicked when I heard people screaming and running out of the house.” It’s a total guess. Over the cacophony of rap music, the sweet melody of Python dying, and the heady sort of concentration that comes with killing a man, I didn’t hear a damn thing that was going on outside that room. But there’s no way a whole group of Cain’s men stormed in there, looking the way they did, without causing a panic.

My words are met with another long moment of contemplative silence before his next question. “How do you explain the fact you were covered in Python's blood?” The skepticism is clear to hear in his voice, but he’s got no reason not to believe me. More importantly, he’s got no proof that I’m lying.

“I-I thought I could save him.” I let my chin wobble. “I t-tried to stop the bleeding, b-but it was too much.” My voice raises in pitch, making me sound half-hysterical. “I-I didn’t even see what was”—I scrunch my nose in disgust—“carvedinto his abdomen until I heard someone kicking down the door.”

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