Page 48 of Rebels & Rejects

He’s already nodding his head. “I know.”

We stand and look at each other for a moment before I let out a long exhale and close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around him. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

“Nothing happened, though. I was fine. They’re good people.”

God, I’m getting sick of everyone telling me Cain and the Rejects aregood people. They’re fucking gang members. They’re inherently designed to be gun-toting, dick-wielding assholes who can’t see past their own ego long enough to give a shit about anyone but themselves.

“They’re thugs,” I snarl more sharply than I intended. The last thing I want to do is get into another argument with Luc over them. “They might be better than the Satan’s, but that doesn’t mean they'regood.”

Luc’s lips pinch, but he thankfully doesn’t argue with me. “I still need my own friends, though. Guys to hang out with. I deliberately stay away from the kids in school ‘cause I know they’re affiliated with one crew or the other, and I don’t want to get caught up in that shit, but Sawyer, I need more than just you in my life.”

There’s no denying the sting of pain at that comment, and I have to carefully hide my hurt feelings from him. I know he doesn’t mean it that way. What bothers me the most is that he's everything to me. I don’t really have anyone else. No one I can rely on or call up to chat with after a crappy day. There’s Sheryl, sure, but she’s a mess. I can’t dump any of my shit onto her. So I guess it hurts a little that Luc needs more than just me, but that’s a seriously selfish thought. He’s a teenage boy, of course, he needs people other than his sister-mom.

I have to swallow around the lump of emotion in my throat before I can respond. “I get that. I’m just not sure that Jon and his friends are who you want to spend your time with.”

He quirks a brow, and his words are coated in sarcasm when he says, “Would you prefer I hang out in a drug den, surrounded by coke and hookers, with one of the kids from school?”

I grimace, hating the harsh reality he’s painting.

“Jon just asked me to play ball with him,” he continues. “They didn’t try to get me to go into their clubhouse, and they didn’t offer me drugs or alcohol or wave a firearm in my face. Honestly, if it weren’t for their tattoos, you wouldn’t have known they were associated with a gang at all.”

Groaning, I press the heel of my hands against my closed eyes, staving off the headache forming behind them.

“Fine,” I relent. “I get it.” Lifting my head, I pierce him with a reluctantly acquiescent look. “Just, promise me you’ll be careful.”

His shoulders drop, and he gives me a soft smile as he nods his head. “I promise.”

We chat for a bit longer before he moves to lounge on the sofa, channel surfing while I help myself to a large glass of wine and grab my bathrobe before heading into the bathroom and running the taps for the bath.

Once the water is warm enough, I sit on the edge of the tub, drop a citrusy-smelling bath bomb into the water, and wait for it to disperse while sipping on my wine. When the room smells like a vineyard, with the zesty, flowery scent, I shed my leather clothing and sink into the blissfully hot water, letting the bubbles melt away all my stress from today.

I’ve got no idea what I’m going to do about Luc. Okay, I know what I need to do, I just don’t know how I’m going to actually manage to do it. I have to stop smothering him and let him branch out on his own, but how the fuck am I meant to do that? How does any mother stand back and watch their child go out into the world, knowing they’ll make mistakes and fuck up along the way? It’s even worse when that world is Black Creek, and a simple mistake can result in your brain matter being sprayed all over the sidewalk.

Still, I risk losing Luc for good if I continue to smother him the way I have been, and that’s the absolute last thing I want. So, despite my overbearing nature, I need to find a way to take a step back and let him just be himself; to grow up, and ultimately learn to stand on his own two feet. Even though I still see him as an eight-year-old boy, he’s a teenager now; practically a man.

Regardless of my de-stressing bath, I toss and turn all night. Recurring nightmares of Luc getting shot or something terrible happening to him play on repeat in my head, driving me insane, and by the time the gray light of dawn peers through my window, I’m in a pissed-off mood and in need of a serious caffeine fix.

My day only goes from bad to worse when, once I’ve filled the coffee pot and poured myself a steaming hot mug, I pull out my burner phone—the one I use specifically for Enzo. Rather than finding the usual text confirming this afternoon's meeting, he’s demanding a last-minute time change.

Enzo:Can’t do this afternoon. Meet me at 9:30 am instead.

I see no please or thank you, and with it already being after nine o’clock, I don’t see myself making it on time. Not that I’m going to even bother trying. That’s what he gets for being so bossy and trying to mess with my schedule at the last minute. I hate when he reschedules on me. Admittedly, he rarely does. I can probably count on one hand the number of times he’s had to cancel or change our plans in the last seven years. Still, it’s as much about thewayhe said it, as it is about the actual inconvenience of messing up my plans—besides, I’m not in a mood to cater to his bullshit today, and I always feel like I need time to psych myself up for my meetings with him. Almost as though I have to put on mental armor to protect myself from him. Not that he’s ever done anything to hurt me. Hell, on paper, he’s a hell of a lot more decent than most of the people I come into contact with every day. But there’s something about him that just irks me. I can’t put my finger on it, but it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and gives me this feeling like I need to put up boundaries between us—which is why I usually spend the morning before our meetings putting on my war paint and emptying my mind of everything so I can come across as an impenetrable fortress to him. Basically, I let him see the deadly side to the Reaper while keeping the crazy part of myself that craves the bloodshed locked up tight.

I deliberately wait until after nine-thirty to message him back.No can do. Will meet you at the usual place and time.

Pressing send, I stare at the screen, expecting an immediate response. After several moments, I give up when one still hasn’t come through, assuming his silence means he’s fine with that. Just as I get up to refill my mug, the phone vibrates with an incoming message.Tomorrow then.

Frowning, I type out a quick response.Nope. Today. Usual place and time.As soon as it’s sent, I power the phone off. The screen flashes with an incoming call, Enzo’s number at the bottom, less than a second before it goes black.

I smirk at the screen, knowing I won that argument. I move to get another cup of coffee. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need it today.

***

With my long hair flowing freely down my back and a full face of makeup, including darker than usual eyes and bright red lips, I feel fucking fierce as I step into G&T in my chunky heeled boots, black skinny jeans, and a faded band t-shirt that I’ve knotted around my midriff. My leather jacket provides the finishing touches to the badass bitch persona I’m rocking.

I’m momentarily blinded as I move from the sunshine into the dark interior of the pub, and I have to blink a few times before my eyes finally adjust to the light. Before I can look around to see if Enzo is here, the man himself practically pounces on me. I hadn’t even noticed he was sitting at a table right by the door, and he must have stood up as soon as he saw me enter.

“I told you not to come,” he snaps, staring down at me with narrowed eyes. There’s a wild look in his blue-green gaze, and between his weird behavior and attempt to reschedule today’s meeting, he’s acting suspicious as fuck.

---