Rebellious (12 page)

A
UGUST 6

This waiting shit wasn't for the faint of heart.

Three hours ago Reb had left Emily at his house, and since then had been crouched behind a cluster of pine trees until he thought his knees might buckle. He didn't remember keeping watch being so fucking painful in his twenties. Or thirties. Old joints plus late night hours meant discomfort to the nth degree. Maybe it was getting old that wasn't for the faint of heart.

A twig snapped behind Reb and his heart jump-started. He strained to detect anything out of the ordinary, but only heard the typical wind whooshing through the branches. Fuck, of course the Tramps would put their stash house on a remote hillside in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. He'd rather be tipping a few beers back in the True Brothers watering hole or cuddled up close in bed with Emily. And it was his right as president to dictate the job from somewhere safe, but this one with the Tramps was personal. They'd fucked up his house. His fucking sanctuary. He was gonna put the hurt back on them, and losing thousands of dollars in inventory of whatever the fuck the Tramps were running now was really gonna fucking hurt.

Finally he heard the fake owl hoot from Bumper, declaring all was clear.

Reb slowly stood from his crouched position and stretched his aching legs. Yeah, this stakeout shit wasn't for the over-forty set. Damn, that hurt. Once he had his legs under him, Reb rendezvoused with the guys at the designated spot.

He heard Bumper's harsh whisper before he made out his shape in the darkness.

“Christ, old man, I can hear you creaking from here.”

Reb would've flipped him off in reply but didn't think the message would come across, since it was still so dark. “Fuck off. Everything in place?”

There was laughter in Bump's voice as he answered—the guy never took anything too serious. “Their shipment from two days ago is still inside. And our guys are in place down the road. No one can get in or out without us knowing.”

Reb nodded. “You got eyes on the shipment? Know what it is?”

Bump shrugged his large shoulders. “Either drugs or ammo. They've got it covered up pretty good, but the boxes take up most of the cabin. I'm guessing ammo.”

So their intel was right. The Tramps were either back in the drug mule business for a cartel, or they were running guns for the Cali branch of
La famigghia.
Reb really hoped it was ammo. He'd love nothing better than to fuck the Tramps' deal with the Sicilian mob. Blood would rain down on those bastards from every corner of the world.

“How many inside?” Reb whispered harshly.

“Just one. They're either getting lazy or arrogant. But judging how high the bastard is, I'd say lazy.”

“Who is it?” Reb needed to know before they lit up the cabin. He had to know the name of the bastard they were gonna kill tonight.

“Scag.”

“Damn, they must really think they've got nothing to worry about if they've put that sick fuck on guard duty.” Reb shuddered. Scag was the kinda crazy son of a bitch who gave bikers everywhere a bad name. If Scag wasn't snorting or smoking something, he was finding a way to fuel his fix or terrorizing women. He'd done at least one stretch for rape, and a leopard like Scag didn't change his spots. Reb really doubted anyone would shed a tear when that fucker disappeared tonight. “When do we move in?”

Bumper pulled out his burner cell and checked the time. “In…two minutes. Here's your ammo.”

Reb flexed his gloved fingers before accepting the Molotov cocktail from Bump. He couldn't read the bottle label because of the lack of light. “And everything's untraceable?”

“Yeah. Bottles came from a recycling Dumpster on Fourth Street, rags are from the Eighth Street Mission, and the fuel's from a gas can Axle had in his shed. I think we're ready to dance.”

“Fuck yeah. Let's go light those motherfuckers up.”

Reb and Bumper crept their way down the hill, sticking to the shadows. At the base of the hill, they paused and waited for the signal. Blood sang through Reb's veins. No drug could replicate that high feeling right before they pulled off a job. The anxiety, the anticipation, and the knowledge they were going to fuck someone up melded into a euphoria second only to amazing sex. Or amazing sex
after
a job. Oh hell yeah. Reb couldn't wait to blow this shit up and get home to Emily.

A few moments later eight men fanned out from the tree line. Each held a bottle in one hand. Reb was the first to move. He pulled a lighter from his vest pocket, lit the rag dangling from the mouth of the bottle, then threw the Molotov cocktail in a wide arc toward the cabin. The bottle smashed against the roof, raining liquid fire down from the shingles.

The others threw their ammo, and in a matter of seconds the cabin was engulfed.

Reb watched the flames lick at the dry wooden exterior. There was no movement from inside. Either Scag had passed out or he was too high to figure out how to escape. Or didn't know he needed to. Reb didn't give a shit. It just meant one less Tramp to worry about.

The sight of the burning building and the knowledge that whatever inventory inside would be lost to those fuckers gave Reb a kernel of peace deep in his chest. It was a small strike back at the Tramps for all the shit they'd done to his club and his house, and for the two Brothers his club had lost in the turf war. But right now, it was enough.

“We better make tracks, Prez. We're practically standing in kindling here.” Bumper clapped Reb on his shoulder. “I think it's safe to say that the fire won't leave any witnesses, and it's burning too fucking close to the propane tank for my piece of mind. I don't wanna be around when that baby blows. Someone somewhere is sure as shit gonna notice
that.
”

“There's plenty of dead space around the cabin. And you guys need to pay more attention to your physics classes. We've got a good five, ten minutes before that tank goes.”

“Yeah, well, you don't exactly look like Bill Nye and I'm no science guy. I wanna get as far from that shit as possible.”

Reb laughed. “Give me one more minute to enjoy the show.”

Bumper twitched next to him, practically vibrating with his nerves. Reb took a deep breath of the hot August night air. The acrid smell of fire overrode the mellow scent of pine. Still no one emerged from the cabin. Soon muffled pops sounded, almost like popcorn popping but louder. The Tramps
were
moving ammo for the Mafia. Reb knew better than to worry about the bullets coming anywhere near them—without a gun barrel to direct the bullets, they couldn't build enough speed to do any damage. He waited another beat, then a few more. It was tempting to linger until the relief valve for the propane tank blew and really fucked with Bumper's head, but Reb decided to play nice. Plus if he played his cards right he'd have the euphoria from the job
and
make-up sex with Emily.

“All right, Bump. Let's go.”

Reb didn't have to tell him twice.

Bumper shot off from their position toward the tree line. As they made their way to the rendezvous point where Zag was waiting with his pickup, Reb heard the telltale
whoosh
of the release valve letting go. Flames shot twenty or thirty feet above the cabin, easily seen from their position deep in the woods.

Bumper jumped a foot. “What the fuck? You said we had five minutes!”

“We do.” Reb had a hard time holding back his laughter. Fuck, he felt good. Revenge was fucking sweet. “It'll do that a few more times before it really blows up. Like a fucking mushroom cloud.” Reb heaved a sigh of regret as the flames disappeared. He would've loved to see the sucker blow. It would be an amazing sight.

“Shit, I had no idea you were such a pyro. Watch some videos online or something. It's safer that way. No flying shrapnel to pierce your ass.”

“But then you miss the taste of it on the air. Trust me, Bump, this is better.”

Whatever Bumper grumbled was lost as they beat their way through the underbrush. Reb didn't care. He was high on revenge. Revenge and the knowledge that he had the best woman waiting for him at home. And regardless of how pissed off she'd been when he left—which he was pretty sure he could talk her out of—he knew she'd be there when he got home.

Everything in his life was finally coming together. He had Emily. In a few short weeks he'd have custody of Tucker, and the bitch would finally be out of his life. And he just got some sweet revenge on those goddamn Tramps. Life was fucking fantastic.

His high lasted through the short hike to the pickup point, over the long drive back to the clubhouse, and during the bike ride home. All the way through his front door.

Until he found Emily passed out asleep on his couch.

She hadn't waited up for him like she promised. And the real kick in the nuts was the sight of tear tracks still wet on her cheeks.

Every ounce of euphoria drained from his body. His unlit cigar fell from his numb fingers. While he'd been busy blowing up the Tramps' stash house, Emily had cried herself to sleep. He didn't know what to do with that. Was she afraid for his safety? Hers? Worried about the consequences if he got caught? Or did their small disagreement mean so much more to her? Or was it all of it? Did she finally realize what a life with him meant?

Reb wasn't sure he wanted to know which scenario was true. He'd never really had someone who worried about him. His parents never gave a shit, and Lord knew Rhonda didn't care about anyone other than herself. And like he'd said earlier, there really was no room for discussion when it came to club business. This was who he was. She'd have to accept it.

At least, he hoped she could. He wasn't done with her yet, and he was nowhere near ready to let her go.

Reb briefly considered moving her but decided against it—mostly because he was too chickenshit in case it woke her up. He didn't deal well with tears. So instead he covered her with a blanket and settled into an easy chair across from her.

As he watched her sleep, he tried not to worry. Emily was just adjusting to what life with a biker meant. Tomorrow was another day and all that crap.

Just before dawn he fell into a restless sleep.

And when he woke up hours later, she was gone.

A
UGUST 12

A week later I was still hiding from Reb. Not in an I'm-afraid-of-him kinda way. After Michael, I was very familiar with
that
type of hiding. No, something more juvenile. I was hiding from Reb because I was scared. Scared of what I felt for him. Scared of what he felt for me. Scared of what he'd demand from me. He wanted all of me, and I wasn't sure if I was capable of what “all” entailed.

He was a biker. The kind who regularly did dangerous stuff. I caught the news reports about the cabin in the middle of nowhere that magically exploded and killed a member of the Saddletramps MC, the same night he left me with Tucker. It didn't take a genius to put that puzzle together. He could've been killed or arrested. And he left to do it without a second thought, but not before giving me the searing jab that I didn't get a vote. It was his way or no way.
That
was the man I was in…I couldn't finish the thought.

What I really needed was another conference with my best friend, Jessica. Someone who'd been here before. But between her two-month-old daughter, Harley, and her wedding only a month away, it felt too needy on my part to demand any of her time. Plus, getting advice from her would mean I'd need to do something, and I didn't feel ready to act yet.

I should've known better than to assume Jessica wasn't aware of what was going on. She called me while I was finishing up my shift at my summer job.

I'd been rocking out with one earpiece in while restocking the romance section. Turning my head away from the aisle, I answered the phone attachment on my earbud slyly. “Hey, Jess.”

“Em!” Jessica whispered. “We gotta talk, girl!”

“Why are we whispering?” I whispered back. “I mean, I know why I'm whispering—I'm at work. But why are you?”

“Because Harley is sleeping.”

“Ah. You know texting doesn't require a volume level.”

“If you hadn't been dodging my texts, I wouldn't have had to call,” Jessica retorted, louder than a whisper. In the background Harley fussed a bit, then settled.

Technically it was one text, just hours earlier. I'd been trying to figure what to say and how to ask her for help. But instead of explaining, I dodged. “I'm at work, Jess.”

“But you're off in ten minutes. Don't think that I don't know your schedule.”

I laughed as I placed a few Maya Banks novels on the shelf. “You'd be the only one. I still have to check my phone to figure out my hours.”

“You're stalling. You are meeting me and Harley at Mackay Mocha House in twenty minutes. Don't even try to duck us.”

“I would never.” I laughed weakly.

“Takes one to know one. I ducked you guys all last summer, so I think I know what I'm talking about. I'll see you in twenty.” She ended the call just as Harley started to fuss again in the background.

And without giving me the chance to come up with an excuse.

Dammit.

I spent the next ten minutes letting my OCD fly on the haphazard shelving, organizing the books so all the spines lined up. In alphabetical order. It was almost orgasmic.

Rather than drag my feet, like I really wanted to do, I reported to the coffeehouse on time as directed. But instead of Jessica, I found our other best friend, Nicole, lounging in the corner booth.

“Jess called me,” she announced when I got near. “Zag's running late, and she wants to pass the baby off to him so we can talk uninterrupted.”

“And she called you to get the party started early. Lucky me.”

Nicole blinked and widened her eyes. “Is that your smart-ass way of saying ‘Nice to see you, Nic'? ‘How was the conference, Nicole?' ‘Do you still have a job, Nicole?' ”

“Oh my God, what happened? Are you okay?” I slid into the booth next to Nic as all my irritation melted away. Nicole had been having an epic war with her boss over the last year or so, with him taking credit for her work and her taking him to Human Resources. He only got a slap on the wrist, and Nicole became the company pariah. If there was another slot machine design company in town, she would've jumped ship. But there wasn't, so she was stuck.

Nicole nonchalantly twirled her brown wavy hair into a haphazard bun and stuck a pencil through it to keep her hair in place, then took a long drink of her coffee. After setting the cup down—and with me ready to shake her—she blinked innocently at me. “The conference was awesome. I hooked up with a programmer from Chicago who knew just how to—”

“Nic! Gross. I don't need the details.” I shuddered. Both Jessica and I were not the type to share such personal information. Nicole, on the other hand, didn't have a filter. “What about your job? Is everything okay there?”

“Yeah, why wouldn't it be? I finished the programming on the new Guppy Game two weeks early. So everything's fine.”

“Wait, so what was all that about losing your job or whatever?”

Nicole smirked. “I just wanted to distract you until Jessica showed up. Looks like it worked, too.”

I huffed as I left a cackling Nicole at our booth and ordered my regular iced caramel cappuccino. Sometimes having friends was overrated. When I returned to the table, I ignored Nicole and pretended to read something really interesting on my phone. It worked for all of thirty seconds.

“Jessica says you're dating the president of the biker gang. What the hell are you thinking, Em? The prez is always the worst one of the lot—they have zero scruples. Plus isn't he old? Like a grandpa or something?”

I looked up from my phone to glare at her. “Geez, Nic. One, he's not a grandpa. Ick. Two, he's not a bad guy, per se. And three, it's a motorcycle club, not a gang. They get really twitchy if you get the lingo wrong.”

“Sheesh, same difference in my book. You sound just like Jessica.”

“What's just like me?” Jessica asked as she swooped down and enveloped me in a hug from behind. Her blond hair brushed against my cheek in a soft caress counter to her tight grip.

“The whole club/gang thing. For a bunch of bikers, they're really sensitive about the language you use.” Nicole snapped her gum and rolled her eyes.

I ignored Nicole and looked at Jessica. “You look awesome. No one would guess you had a baby only two months ago.”

“You're sweet.” Jessica ran a hand over her slight tummy bulge. “Sweet and delusional. I'm really freaking out about fitting into my dress next month. Why did I think it was a good idea to buy the dress a whole year before the ceremony?”

“Because you got knocked up and didn't want to dress shop when you had a huge baby bump,” Nicole answered dryly.

“Nic!” I whispered harshly.

Jessica just laughed. “No, it's true. But Harley's pretty damn cute, so I think it was worth it. Despite every ugly stretch mark and sleepless night.”

“Plus she gave you an awesome set of tits.” Nicole raised her coffee cup in a toast. “I bet Zag is loving that side benefit.”

“So am I.” Jessica looked down at her impressive chest and smiled mischievously. “They are awesome. Can you two play nice while I get something to drink?”

“I'll be on my best behavior,” Nicole said solemnly.

I rolled my eyes. “Sure.”

“She does look awesome,” Nicole said after Jessica walked away.

“You should tell her that. Her hormones are all over the place from the baby and the stress of the wedding. She really needs to know it's gonna be okay.”

“I have. Which you'd know if you've been around lately. For someone so concerned about her friends, you've been suspiciously absent.”

“I-I-I…” I didn't know what to say to that. Nicole was right. I had been absent. I just didn't know how to reach out. Or if I was ready to get the advice I needed. That would put me one step closer to acting. I'd either have to accept Reb or break up with him. Each option terrified me in its own way.

But before I could come up with a comeback, Jessica returned.

She slid in next to me and forced Nicole to inch around the corner of the booth's seat to make room. “So let's talk about you.”

“Let's not.” I so wasn't ready yet. “How's the wedding planning going? Anything you need your bridesmaids to sort out?”

“Nope. So what's up with you and Reb?”

I sighed and slumped back. “What have you heard?”

Jessica traded a look with Nicole. “Enough. He likes you. We know you like him. So what's the problem?”

“
The
problem
is that everything has to be his way. He wants to strip me bare and look at every bit of my past and personal life, but the second I ask a question about his ‘business' he shuts down. He flat-out told me that what I think doesn't matter. He makes the decisions and that's it. I can't live like that.”

“Wait, so he's controlling?
And
a biker? Really?” Nicole asked sarcastically.

“That's not what I meant,” I snapped. “He doesn't like my crappy car or my apartment, but he doesn't stop me from driving or going home. He's just…” I sighed in frustration. “I'm not saying it right.”

“He's worried about your safety,” Jessica threw in.

“Right.” I answered. “But—”

Jessica cut me off and glanced at Nicole. “Because Michael's back, and stalking her again.”

“Wait. What?” The table screeched as Nicole shoved it away and stood up. “That asshat is back? And messing with you again?”

The coffee shop was mostly empty, but every customer and employee swung around to stare at our table.

“Nicole, sit down,” I hissed.

She huffed irritably but complied. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because it's not that bad. He only sent me some dead flowers and probably wrote something nasty on the card that Reb wouldn't let me read. It's fine. Reb's taken care of it. There's nothing to worry about.”

“At least your biker has done one thing right. Still, you should've told me.” Nicole sat back against the booth and crossed her arms. “I'd love to have a
conversation
with Dickwad Mike. Do you think Reb could set it up?”

“Considering the fact that I haven't talked to Reb in a week, I'm gonna go with no.”

“Okay, can we get back to the original point of today's coffee time?” Jessica took a sip of her drink. “Aside from the awesome baby-free atmosphere and the caffeinated nectar. What's the problem? Why have you set your shields to maximum with Reb?”

“What has he told you?”

“Nothing. I swear. Zag just mentioned that Reb looked kinda down, so I thought maybe you were, too.”

I sighed. The news that Reb was hurting too wasn't surprising. He'd sent me two texts that first day and one more the second. None of which I answered. I wasn't playing games—I just didn't know what to say to him. What was surprising was that he was letting me. I would've thought that he'd have confronted me by now. Come to see me. Not that I wanted him to. I still didn't know what to tell him. Hence the ignoring.

“I got a glimpse of what being with him really means and—”

“You mean his penis? Is it huge? Malformed? What's the issue?” Nicole inched closer, her eyes wide.

“What? No!” I huffed. “Be serious for a millisecond. I don't mean
with
him; I mean as a couple.”

“Ah, you mean the whole controlling biker, king-of-the-house thing? And you finally figured out that's a deal breaker?” Nicole arched her eyebrows in feigned innocence.

“Would you let me talk?” I said between gritted teeth. “You're twisting my words.”

Nicole raised her palms and sat back in the booth.

“He wanted me to stay at his house and watch Tucker while he went out to do God knows what with his club. It was dangerous, and could've impacted him getting custody of Tucker. I wanted to talk to him about it, but he refused. He said I don't get a say in his business. At all. He wants to know every detail about me, but I don't get any in return. I'm not sure that I can live like that.”

The table was silent as my words sank in. Jessica opened her mouth, then seemed to think better of it. Both took drinks from their coffee, and I finally looked away. I don't know why I expected them to have words of wisdom for me. The hiss of the milk steamer filled the empty awkwardness at our table.

And then Nicole spoke. “Run.”

I scoffed. “Nic, come on. Be serious.”

“I am. Run. Jessica got dibs on the only decent biker in the whole country. Zag is the only one I've ever met who doesn't treat his woman like trash. Reb is showing you his true colors. Hell, this is the best version of him you're gonna get. This is who he is—a controlling asshole like all the rest of the bikers I've known. Clearly it's a deal breaker for you. So run. Break it off. Now, before it gets any harder.”

I shook my head. I knew that Nicole had had a problem when Jessica was dating Zag, but she'd never been quite so eloquent in her hatred for all bikers before. I opened my mouth to ask her about it, but her mulish—and familiar—expression had me hesitating. When Nicole got all obstinate, it was best to steer clear until she calmed down.

I sighed in frustration. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is.” Nicole's brow wrinkled. “Deal breaker means it's over. Kick the dirty biker out of your life. So what's the holdup?”

“She's right.”

Jessica's softly spoken words felt like a knife to my heart.

“I don't agree with everything she said, but I tried to tell you before, these guys are hard-core. This is what life is like in the club. They do some serious shit, and the old ladies don't get a vote. We get to sit and worry, hope that they will come home. That's what I signed on for. That's what you have to come to terms with.”

“How do you live with the uncertainty?”