Page 50 of Rebels & Rejects

His lips pinch and his eyes narrow, but after a second, he says, “I work for the Antonellis.”

I blink owlishly at him, almost certain I’ve heard him wrong. The Antonellis? Are you kidding me with this shit? It’s entirely possible I hit my head harder than I realized and I misheard him... right?Goddammit, somehow, I don’t think I did. His expression certainly doesn't look like he’s joking. The question is, what the fuck has he wanted from me all these years? My stomach churns precariously as I think about all the information I handed over to him.

Before I can fully process what he’s said, never mind form any sort of response, he barks out in an authoritative demand, “No more questions. Get the fuck out of here.”

Realizing I’m not going to get any more answers from him—at least, not today—I take one last look at the man I know nothing about and take off down the alley.

Chapter 18

I stumble down the alley and practically run with blinders on until I reach the garage where I park my bike. My hands are shaking as I search my pockets for the key to the roller door and pull it open just enough to slip inside.

Finally safe and alone, I sag to the ground, unable to believe today’s turn of events. They play repeatedly in my head, and I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that Enzo works for the Antonellis. I don’t understand what he’s wanted from me all these years. Surely the intel I handed over could easily have been obtained elsewhere? Do the Antonellis even care about the mundane on-goings of street gangs?

More importantly, how had I never connected those dots before? It never even crossed my mind that he could be in the Antonellis’ pocket. The small behaviors that never quite made sense to me, slot into place like the final pieces of a jigsaw. The way his face scrunched at cheap whiskey; how he was always more smartly dressed than most people that live in Black Creek; the fact he never seemed to quite fit in here like the rest of us do. They were all little tells, pointing to his true identity, and like a fucking idiot, I ignored every single one, not wanting anything beyond the cash in his hands.

Putting two and two together then, that only leaves one possible explanation for today... the Antonellis attacked G&T. The only question is why? What issue could they possibly have with a small, barely afloat bar in the middle of Black Creek?

The nameless faces of the dead flash across my brain like a bad memory, and I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. My head swims, and anger sparks to life in my veins as I think about all those innocent people caught in the crosshairs of their attack today. People like me who just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever their gripe was with G&T, there was no need for such a senseless loss of life today; absolutely no fucking need to blow a building to smithereens with people inside it.

My anger only grows, providing me with a much-needed surge of adrenaline that enables me to push to my knees. Rage clouds my thoughts, most likely affecting my judgment as I rummage in my pocket for my keys and find my helmet, and before I can second guess my decision, I’m racing my bike out onto the street, heading in the direction of Radiant Park.

I’m all fire and pent-up rage as I pull up at the curb outside the Reject’s clubhouse. I run my eyes over the darkened exterior while I pull off my helmet, wincing as the interior rubs against the gash on my temple. The sound of loud music from across the street draws my attention. Several people, clearly drunk, are loitering outside the old gym where Luc was playing ball just yesterday... fucking hell was that only twenty-four hours ago?!

Flashing colored lights shine through the windows, and it looks like there’s some sort of party underway. I swing my leg over the bike and place the helmet on the seat before crossing the street, hazarding a guess that this is where the Rejects usually hang out.

Reaching the entrance, I ignore the flashing strobe lights as I stomp through the gathered crowd. I’m still wearing my outfit from earlier, covered in dust, blood, and god only knows what else. I probably look like death right now, but thankfully, none of those details are discernable in the darkened club.

I barge past people until they learn to get out of my way, opening a path before me that leads straight to a three-person-deep throng that I have to elbow and snarl my way through until I’m balanced precariously on the edge of an empty swimming pool.

I stutter to a stop, staring in surprise at the two men battling it out amongst the ceramic tiles. There is a splattering of smeared, bright-red blood on the floor beneath their feet, intermixed with an older, rusted color that is reminiscent of fights long forgotten. As I watch, more blood joins it when Cain’s fist slams into his opponent's face with such force, it must send his brain rattling around inside his head. The crowd screams its satisfaction as he goes in for another punishing blow, and I swear I see one of his opponent’s teeth fly loose.

His opponent falls to his knees, but Cain doesn’t stop there. His hands meet the back of the guy’s head, pushing him down as he lifts his knee, and I don’t need to hear the noise of bone shattering to know his nose is broken. The guy cries out as he collapses to the floor, and with a heaving chest and an altogether feral look in his eye, Cain lifts his hands in the air and rotates in a full circle to the sound of the crowd’s cheers and applause. Once he’s had enough, he hauls himself out of the far side of the pool, and the crowd quickly parts to let him through, closing in behind him. Only his tall frame prevents me from losing sight of him as I blatantly ignore the cussing I get every time I dig my elbow into some asshole’s side, pushing my way through the crowd, circling around the pool as I attempt to chase after him.

When I reach the far side of the pool where he climbed out, I lose sight of him for a second, turning my head left and right as I stand on my toes, attempting to pick him out of the dense crowd. In the poor lighting, it takes me a moment, but I spot him just as he disappears behind a door with a male changing room sign on it, and with renewed energy, I surge forward.

My lack of height and brick-wall exterior means I’m several minutes behind him, and by the time I push open the door, I hear the sound of a shower running. The door clicks shut behind me, and I press my back against it as I glance around the otherwise empty room, noting how dark it is. There’s a switch on the wall beside me, but when I flick it, nothing happens. The lights don’t seem to be working back here. There are windows, set high along one wall, which provide some light from a street lamp outside, bathing everything in a yellow-orange glow. There’s a row of lockers lining one wall, and a long, wooden bench in the middle of the room, containing a pile of clothing that must belong to Cain.

In the sudden quiet, as I listen to the steady stream of running water from the shower and the faint screaming of the crowd behind me, I suddenly find myself unsure as to why I’m here. Why did I come here out of all the places I could have gone after today? Why am I chasing after Cain?

The anger from earlier is still burning a path through my system, and I know my initial thinking was that I couldn’t let the Antonellis get away with what they did today. However, as I stand alone in the changing room, with adrenaline pumping through me after watching that fight, I sense the reason I’m here is about more than just that. Underneath the simmering anger, there’s a dark, heady sensation that only Cain’s close proximity can bring about. It makes me feel light-headed... or maybe that’s the head injury I sustained earlier.

I’m still trying to make sense of what I’m feeling—or whether I require medical attention—when I hear the water switch off, and a moment later, Cain’s broad-shouldered frame fills the entranceway to the showers. He’s wearing only a towel, wrapped loosely around his waist, showing off his broad chest and chiseled abs. Every single inch of skin is covered in tattoos, too many for me to focus on any individual one, not that I can make out any of the detail in the low light.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he bites out, not the slightest bit happy to see me. “I thought we were done with you.”

“Charming as ever,” I retort with a scowl, falling back on my usual defense tactics with him. “Can’t you ever just be fucking nice?” I’ve been through more than enough for one day, and my reasons for coming here are beginning to escape me. Amid my anger toward the Antonellis, I stupidly thought coming here would help. I just wanted to do something, to fight back against them in some way, and the only people I could think of to help were the Rejects. But as I look up into Cain’s shadowed face, I can’t help but wonder if offering to assist them is wise. What would happen if he actually won? I could end up trading one monster for another.

My sharp tone sparks something within him, and his already ridiculously short fuse must burn out because his features darken. As he storms my way, quickly closing the distance between us, all I can think about is that he’s wearing the same foreboding expression he wore in the ring when he was obliterating his opponent. Everything about him screams,I can destroy you with a single touch, and hot damn, does it not speak to the fucked up psycho within me.

“Nice?” Cain sneers, spitting out the word. “Why the fuck would I beniceto you?”

From his snarling tone and towering presence, my anger skyrockets to never before reached heights. How dare he try to fucking intimidate me. Does he think I’m that easily cowered? I came here to offer my fucking help to this asshole. After what he confided in me the other day and what I witnessed today, I realize what I’ve been doing—ridding the town of cheating scumbags—is nowhere near enough. I talk about wanting a better life for Luc, wanting to make Black Creek a town that he can live in safely, yet I don’t do anything to help make that a reality. If I want Luc to be able to walk the streets of Black Creek without worry, then I need to do my part to make that a reality. And that starts by getting rid of the Antonellis.

He looms over me, pressing one hand flat against the wood beside my head, and the other one wraps around my neck, pinning me firmly to the door. With his face barely an inch from my own, I can see the fire burning in his eyes, the angry set to his jaw, but simmering beneath all that hate, I spot something else... puzzlement. Uncertainty. Distrust.

Or maybe I’m just seeing everything I’m feeling reflected back at me.

“You’re trouble, and if I don’t stop you, you’ll ruin everything.”

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