Page 35 of Rebels & Rejects

There’s a dusting of dark stubble along his jawline, similar to the last time we met, and I wonder if he always keeps it like that or if he shaves in between. He pushes his thigh in between mine, using his strong hold on my hips to move them in time to the music, matching my movements with smooth ones of his own. The crowd around us falls away. The entire world does. Whatisit about him that makes me lose all common sense? That makes me forget about everything around me? I could get lost in him, drown in the pools of his eyes, suffocate in his fresh, alluring scent.

He ducks his head, his lips brushing over mine enticingly. His hand moves to cup the side of my head, and his fingers slide into my hair as his lips sweep across mine again, adding a flick of his tongue to the mix this time. His taste is intoxicating, like cinnamon and dark chocolate—sweet and sinful.

I fall into him, my arms winding around his neck as I pull him closer and deepen our kiss. I still don’t even know his name or anything about him. But that’s the thing about reveling in your sins—the who, or what, or why don’t matter. It’s all about the moment. About the way his fingers dig into my hip, the sweep of his tongue across mine, his hungry groan, my breathy moan. The other details don’t matter—at least, not right now.

I’m not sure how long we stand there, tasting one another, ignorant to the world around us, but eventually, his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he breaks off our kiss with a wry look. He fishes it out, glancing at the screen before saying, “Give me a sec.” He moves to walk away, but at the last second, he snatches my wrist, searing me with a pensive look. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Before I can respond, he walks off, quickly swallowed up by the crowd. I’m not left alone on the dance floor for long before Jon reappears, tapping me on the shoulder and pulling my attention away from my mystery man’s retreating back.

“Sorry, wanted to watch my buddy in the ring.” He gestures with his thumb toward the cage, where a guy who looks to be of similar age to Jon is easily demolishing a guy twice his age and double his size.What the hell?“Cain’s this way.” He jerks his head for me to follow him, and I glance briefly over my shoulder, looking at the spot my mystery guy disappeared. As nice as it was to lose myself in him, a distraction like that is the last thing I really need right now. So, with a heavy sigh, I follow Jon, leaving all thoughts of cinnamon and chocolate behind on the dance floor.

Jon leads me over to the far side of the room, by the stairs, where there’s an expansive seating area overflowing with Rejects. Don’t ask me how I know they’re all Rejects members. Some of them have their tattoos clearly on display, but for the most part, I can just tell by the way they luxuriate in their seats, the subtle way their eyes roam around the room as if surveying their territory. They’re at ease here.

Jon claps hands with a few of them, nodding his head at others as he passes. I get my fair share of questioning stares, but I ignore all of them, keeping my head held high as I stride past them.

Like the king he is, Cain is lounging in the middle of his men, occupying a whole booth for just himself. A scantily clad woman is brushing herself up against him while he watches her tits bounce, and I have to grit my teeth as a flash of annoyance surges through me. Is that jealousy? Fuck, it better not be. He must sense us approaching as he lifts his head, the cocky grin from a moment ago morphing into a stern frown when his gaze meets mine.

He murmurs something I can’t hear, and the woman stops rubbing herself all over him, getting to her feet and disappearing into the crowd. As we approach, he leans back in his booth, draping his arms over the back of the seat, smirking smugly like he thinks he’s already won this round.

“I thought for sure you were going to make me send one of my men to get you.”

Isn’t that what he did with Jon anyway?

I don’t react to his barb. “I came to tell you to stop having me followed.”

That annoying fucking smirk doesn’t falter as he slowly leans forward, placing his forearms on his knees. “Does that mean you’re going to tell me the truth?”

I grit my teeth, forcing my expression to remain blank as I hiss out, “I am telling you the truth.”

“Then no,” he states casually, resuming his original position. His eyes move briefly to Jon. “Looks like you and Bones are getting along. Maybe I’ll sic him on you permanently.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” I snap, and I instantly know I’ve crossed a line. But of course, even as his face hardens and his eyes narrow on me in warning, I continue to run my stupid mouth. “I was just some girl in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Stop fucking harassing me!”

Fuck. That is not at all what I came here to say. Well, that’s nothowI meant to say it. I thought by showing up here instead of hiding from him and reiterating for the millionth time that I didn’t see the Reaper, that he’d finally believe me. Although the second the heated words leave my mouth, I can see I’ve crossed a line. He just makes me so angry when I’m around him. The second I look at his stupidly handsome face, that itch of annoyance flares to life inside me, making me do and say reckless things.

He’s on his feet so quickly, I barely register the movement until his hand wraps around my upper arm and pulls me into him. I’m so close, I can see the anger burning in his emerald irises, feel it radiating off of him, and searing my skin where he’s touching it.

“Listen here,” he snarls. The deep timbre of his voice is dark and threatening. “I’ve given you plenty of leeway, but I won’t tolerate you disrespectin’ me in front of my men.” His face is so close to mine, I can feel the waft of his breath against my cheek. He glares at me for a long moment, rendering me speechless in the face of his wrath. His grip on my upper arm is bruising, and I know I should be scared right now. I should be absolutely shitting myself, but I’m not. I’m angry, no, I’m fucking furious. But what’s most disturbing is that I think I’m a little turned on. Okay, like a lot turned on. Which only pisses me off further. Men like him infuriate me. They’re domineering, entitled assholes who think they can control everyone around them and get anything they want without putting in the work themselves. Men like him are the reason I am who I am, why Black Creek is falling apart and heading toward wreck and ruin, why people run scared when they enter a room. Men like him are the Devil.

“What’s going on here?”

That voice behind me has my muscles tensing. Why is he here? Why is he inserting himself into the middle of this hostile situation? Because of me?

I try to turn to look at him, to tell him to leave, but Cain’s tight grip on my arm holds me hostage, and his next words blow my freaking mind.

“Oliver,” he snarls, looking over my head, to my mystery man standing behind me. I swear I can feel the heat from his body burning into my back. “Gether”—he spits out the word, his lip curling in disdain—“out of here before I do something she regrets.”

Despite his threat being delivered in a glacial tone that is intended to have me pissing myself, it instead sends a shiver of desire down my spine, making me glower defiantly back at him. He uses his hold on my arm to shove me toward my mystery man—Oliver?—as if handing me off to him, like I’m some sort of fucking possession.

I tear my gaze away from the snarling beast of a man in front of me to look into the pale blue eyes that only moments ago I could have drowned in. Now, they’re closed off, just like the rest of his expression as he frowns down at me.

O... I remember Cain saying that on the phone. O for Oliver.

This is O.

My mystery man is a fucking Reject.

Chapter 13

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