Page 38 of Rebels & Rejects

“You know I can’t do that.” My voice is even, neutral, so she has no idea of the double meaning to my words. No doubt, even if I weren’t here to press her for information, I would still be sitting in this exact spot. This pull I feel toward her is magnetic. It makes me wonder how I walked around this city for so many years and never found myself in this part of town, in this club, watching her from afar.

I shuffle across the booth toward her, hating how she tenses at my close proximity. I know it’s not out of fear. She’s never once demonstrated that emotion, and I’m sure it would take a hell of a lot more to actually scare her.

“I just wanted to talk.”

“Well, I’m working.” Her words are sharp, dismissive, but she’s not getting rid of me that easily.

“I’m more than happy to wait until you're done.” I lean in closer toward her, and despite her rigid posture, she swallows roughly, and I don’t miss the hitch in her breath. “We can go grab a drink when you’re finished. Maybe even finish up that dance.” My leg brushes against hers, and I can feel the heat of her skin, even through the fabric of my jeans. The second our bodies connect, she jerks away, breaking the contact.

“No,” she grits out. “We can’t.”

I’ve gotten a little off track here, I know that. How the fuck can I not, when all I want is to have more time with her, to see the sparkle in her eye that I saw the other night when she turned around and realized it was me standing behind her on the dance floor. Is it really asking too much to want to see that again, knowing I was the cause of that moment of happiness?

“Why not?” I snap, the words coming like a whip in my irritation. “Because of Cain?” I let out a long exhale, trying to calm myself down. We’re not going to get anywhere if we both let our tempers get the better of us. “He—we—” I trail off on a sigh, struggling to find my words. “We just want to talk to him... If you know who he is, we just want to talk.”

She scrutinizes me with such a sharp look. It’s like she’s slicing me open with her eyes, digging into my soul, and rummaging around until she finds whatever she’s looking for. She doesn’t find it because her expression shutters, falling into this blank mask that gives me zero insight into what she’s thinking. I don’t fucking like it.

“Why? What do you want with him?” Even her voice sounds more monotone than it did before, lacking the raw, husky tone that I love hearing.

“I can’t tell you.” It’s the truth. We can’t have word getting out that we’re gunning for the Antonellis. It would be suicide. Even if we do manage to find this Reaper guy and decide to use him—assuming, of course, that he even agrees to help us, which is a bigif—we will be taking a considerable risk.

She doesn’t like that response, and I don’t blame her. Sliding out of her seat, she gets to her feet. “Then I can’t help you.”

Fuck sake. My lips flatten as I bite my tongue, and with a final dismissive glance, she turns and walks away, getting back to work.

I sit back, flagging down a waitress and ordering a whiskey neat, all without ever taking my eyes off of Red. She works the room, dropping off drinks and collecting orders, laughing flirtily with customers, and pausing every now and again for lap dances.

She purposely avoids looking my way, but I know she can feel my eyes on her. It’s in the tense way she holds her shoulders, in the way she deliberately angles herself so I’m never directly in her line of sight. She did give me one piece of critical information, though—she knows more than she’s letting on, and if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say Cain’s right. She does know who the Reaper is. But she’s not going to say anything more without good reason. Cain can harass and threaten her all he wants, but I can already tell... she’s a vault. I don’t think anything he could do to her would be enough to make her crack. Which only leaves one option... we tell her our plans.

The question is, can she be trusted?

Chapter 14

Unknown:2 pm, Radiant Park. O.

What the fuck is this shit? I grit my teeth in frustration as I glare at my phone. I’d ask how the fuck this asshole got my phone number, but of course, he either asked Drew for it, or he helped himself to the employee files.

I’m about to reply with a middle finger emoji when another message comes through.

Unknown:Please.

Just that one word. I still want to tell him where he can shove it, but curiosity makes me hesitate over the send button, and after a moment’s debate, I backspace, deleting the emoji.

God, Sawyer, didn’t you ever hear curiosity killed the cat.

The last thing I need to do is be walking onto Reject property. And yet, that’s exactly what I’m thinking of doing. I mean, if they start badgering me about the Reaper, I can just walk out... unless they’re planning on holding me hostage and torturing me for information. No, they wouldn’t do that, right? Ha, what the fuck am I saying? They’re gang members, of course, they’d fucking do that if it got them what they wanted.

I glance back down at my phone, re-reading the wordplease. My teeth sink into my lower lip, chewing on it as I try to decide what to do. I might be annoyed that Oliver is a Reject—it’s so fucking typical, but not altogether surprising given where we live—but I don’t fuck gang members. A principle I live by.

The problem is, I can’t stop thinking about the way he tasted on my lips, of whiskey and wicked intentions. Or the way it felt to be cradled in his arms, pushed up against that wall. He was passionate, with an edge of danger that spoke to the wildness inside me, but there’s also a stability about him that I find myself drawn to. It makes no sense because I don’t even know the guy. He could be as flighty as they come, yet I get the impression he’s someone who stays—who fights through the crappy times, who stands up to challenges, and doesn’t shy away from conflict.

I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t go, but I’m already talking myself into it. They want the Reaper, and they think I know who he is. They’re also going to be wary of him—because any gang member with half a brain cell would be. So they’re not going to do anything to me and risk potentially pissing him off. The last thing they’ll want is him coming after them. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to find out what they want with the Reaper. What could they be after so badly that they’re willing to negotiate with someone who is basically their enemy? It definitely has me curious.

Ah fuck it, I’m going.

Checking the time, I have an hour before I have to be there. I pull up my maps on the phone, realizing it will take at least that long to get across town on public transport. I guess I’ll be taking Raven. Could be for the best. With assholes like this, it’s always good to make a strong impression. I’m not some weak woman they can manipulate into doing what they want. I’m the fuckingReaperof all things wicked and evil. I dare them to mess with me. I’d relish in carving my name into their bodies.

Donning my leather pants, a tight black corset top that curves along the top of my wide hips and pushes the girls together—sexy, but not slutty—I lace up my chunky heeled boots and snatch up my leather jacket on my way out of the bedroom. I scrawl a quick note for Luc, letting him know there’s left-over lasagna in the fridge for dinner before I grab my keys off the kitchen counter and head out the door. It’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to get Raven out on the road—I couldn’t risk going anywhere near her when that asshole,Cain, was having me followed. Bringing her to the meeting today will most definitely raise some questions, but fuck it. They’re already suspicious.

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