Page 31 of Rebels & Rejects

When Tank has returned with the car, we don’t waste any time loading the shipment into it and getting the fuck out of there. Less than an hour later, I’m sitting on an old, worn couch beside Oliver in the middle of what used to be a reception area, but we’re in the middle of converting it into a place where we can all sit and chill when we’re not working.

The lights are turned down, and there’s a bunch of strippers dancing to some heavy tune. The guys had the party ready for us upon our return, and the alcohol has been flowing steadily since we got back. Now that I no longer have the Grim Bastards to distract me, my thoughts return to the redhead.

“The stripper isn’t going to give us the Reaper’s name,” I tell Oliver, sighing as my mood plummets. He knows all about her, of course, but I want to be the one to deal with her. The one to break her. She’s holding out on me, lying to my face, and I won’t fucking stand for it any longer.

His beer bottle is lifted halfway to his mouth, but he pauses, turning to look at me. “Is that where you were tonight?”

I give a nod of my head. “I’ve spent all week trying to get under her skin, and nothing is fucking working.”

Oliver snorts. “You mean the big, bad Cain couldn’t get a mere woman to fall at his knees and tell him whatever he wanted to know?”

I frown, because he’s right. I’ve always been able to scare or seduce information out of people, and neither has worked on this woman. Her stubbornness lights a spark of anger within me, and my hand clenches around my beer bottle. There’s always a way to get what you want, and eventually, the stripper will spill her secrets to me. I just have to try a different tactic.

Chapter 12

I sit there for a long time, trying to understand what just happened with Cain and, more importantly, what it means going forward. It’s becoming pretty damn obvious that he isn’t going to let this go. For whatever reason, he’s intent on finding the Reaper, and he’s decided I’m his best chance at getting the answers he seeks. I’d hoped if I continued to tell him I didn’t know anything that he would drop it, but somehow he knows I’m fucking lying, and like a dog with a bone, he’s going to keep hounding me until he gets answers.

A headache is forming behind my eyes as I struggle to think of a suitable solution. Unable to come up with anything, I groan in frustration as I get to my feet. By the time I’m changed and have locked up behind me, it’s nearly three a.m. As I make the familiar walk back to my apartment, I swear I can feel eyes on me, and I constantly peer into the darkness around me, trying to identify where it’s coming from. I know, whoever it is, isn’t Cain. The way this person’s eyes dig into my skin, it lacks Cain’s intensity, the heat that scalded my skin, but it’s no less distracting, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

The eyes follow me until I slip into the doorway of my apartment building, and when I’ve reached my place, I make a point of not turning on any lights so I can peer out the window to the street below. I catch a flicker of movement at the corner of the street, but when I squint in that direction, I see nothing but shadows. After a few more moments, when there’s no more movement from outside, I turn away from the window. I might not see anyone, but I know they’re out there. Watching. But, who are they? And more importantly, what do they want?

***

Someone’s following me. The eyes I felt on me last week when I left the club have tracked me every time I step foot out the door ever since. But every time I turn around and peer into the shadows and dark corners provided by buildings and alleyways, I don’t see anything.

Whoever it is must be one of Cain’s men, but considering what happened at Belle Donne and my run-in with the guy who nearly killed me eight years ago, I can’t be completely confident it’s not someone on the Antonellis’ payroll. Maybe someone followed me home that night, or they’ve tracked me down since. Just thinking about it has panic flaring to life, and a desperate need to flush them out takes over me.

I’ve spent all week trying to decide if it’s wise to confront whoever it is and working out how to actually do that, but ultimately, I’ve decided I need to know. I can’t do any of my extracurriculars if my every move is being watched, recorded, and reported back to some asshole. I haven’t even been able to check in on Sheryl and Grace in case this shithead stalking me connects the dots between us, leading him back to Python. Not being able to do what makes me feel truly alive pisses me the fuck off. I feel like a caged animal pacing her pen. If this asshole is acting under Cain’s orders, then I’m going to tear his balls off, and if it’s the Antonellis, well,fuck, I hope it’s not an Antonelli. Bad things happen to those who catch their attention.

“See ya later, Kenny.” I wave at the bouncer as I exit the club, having just finished the day shift and more than ready to get home and curl up with a glass of wine and some shitty TV show for the night.

On my way down the street, I pop into the corner shop to pick up a few things, and that’s when I feel the hairs rise along the back of my neck. It’s the same instinctual response I’ve had all week when I know I’m being watched. My lips purse in annoyance. It’s always the same. Whoever it is, leaves me alone when I’m at home or in the club, but the minute I dare step foot on the streets, they find me.

I catch a flicker of movement in the periphery of my vision and snap my head toward the end of the aisle.I could have sworn I saw someone duck out of sight.Anger licks along my spine as my hand clenches the bottle of wine tightly. Working on loosening my grip, I carefully set the bottle back on the shelf before leaving the aisle. I’ve had e-fucking-nough of this shit. I refuse to be corralled and intimidated by a fucking ghost. If this is Cain’s way of thinking he can get me to confess what I know, then he’s going to be sorely disappointed. I don’t scare that easily, and he’s going to have to do a hell of a lot better if he thinks he can bully me into spilling my secrets.

I take my time, wandering up and down a few of the aisles, pretending to peruse the shelves as I make my way toward the staff-only door at the back of the shop. Once I reach it, I duck inside, taking in the storage room stocked with excess inventory until I find a fire exit door at the back of it.Perfect.I hastily cross the room and push it open, stepping out into a narrow alley that runs along the back of the buildings on the main street. There’s nothing but wheelie bins, upturned crates, and trash bags back here, and I quickly flatten myself against the wall, behind the door, ignoring the pounding of my pulse at the base of my neck as the door bursts open and a young man with a short cut, white-blond hair steps out.

He curses under his breath as he stares toward the opposite end of the alley, running a hand through his buzz cut. Not wasting any time, I jump toward him, catching him off guard as I tackle him from behind. I get him into a chokehold the way Hadley taught me, but his reflexes are quick, and he jabs me in the gut with his elbow, momentarily winding me. Distracted, my hold loosens, and he easily slips free. In a blur of movement, he spins to face me, reaching out to grab me by the neck and slam me against the wall.

The force knocks the air from my lungs as I stare at him, shocked at the sudden turn of events. As I scramble to gather my thoughts, I notice the dark shadows that crawl across his irises for a moment before they start to lift, and his eyes widen in surprise as he blinks and returns to the present.What the fuck was that?Not having the time right now to dwell on it, I slam my fist into the crook of his arm and step swiftly to the side, breaking his hold on me.

His eyes follow the fast movement, an eyebrow lifting in surprise. I raise my hands, ready to fight him off if he steps even a toe in my direction, but he doesn’t make any further attempts to try and corral me. Instead, his posture relaxes, his shoulders dropping. The subtle change only has me more on edge, and I clench my fists tighter, ignoring the sting as my nails dig into my palms as I prepare to defend myself.

He lowers his hands, letting his arms hang loosely by his side, and his gaze runs over me in an assessing manner as I stand there, confused, perching on the balls of my feet. Despite his seemingly relaxed manner, I’m half expecting him to pounce on me, but instead, he surprises me by saying, “Impressive. Not many people know how to get out of a chokehold like that.”

Ignoring that weird remark, I spit out, “Why the fuck are you following me?” I still don’t lower my fists, but I do take a second to look him over. He’s young, younger than me. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say he isn’t much older than Luc. There’s something about him, though, that I can’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it’s to do with whatever I saw in his eyes. It’s almost like there’s a dark aura around him, hinting at the terrible things he’s capable of. It seems crazy, given just how youthful he looks, but whatever it is is enough of a warning that I don’t let his young age fool me.

He ignores my question while tilting his head, and asking, “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

With my brows furrowed, I continue to assess him for a tense moment. “Listen, kid—”

“Bones.”

When I just stare at him in confusion, he explains. “My name is Bones. You know, like Jon Jones, the MMA fighter.”

I scrunch my nose up. “I’m not calling you that.”

The kid’s shoulders visibly deflate, making him look every bit of his adolescent age, andfuck me, it almost makes me feel bad.

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