“Let’s go.”
“What?” I dig my heels in. “I'm not leaving.”
“We’re going to my place. I’ll bring you back tomorrow. He’s in expert hands and…” he looks at the priests again. “Words.”
I snort a laugh. I can’t help it, I’m so tired.
After a quick word with the nurse and making sure they have my contact details, I agree to leave with Rebel. It’s a good job he has a car because I’m too tired to hold on to him on a bike.
The exhaustion is already pulling me under as he drives us away. Guilt gnaws at me, but Colton would agree. I’m no good to anyone if I make myself sick.
I walk into Rebel’s loft, awed at the place. It never crossed my mind how much money the members of the MC make, because I don’t want to know how they make it. His place is beautiful, an industrial look to it, very manly, with exposed brick and steel beams.
The furniture is simple, just enough for what you would need, a couch, coffee table, dining table, and a desk under the large windowsin the ceiling. I can see the stars up there. A staircase leads up to a half-floor above, where I presume the bedrooms and bathroom are. There are no other rooms down here, just a wide open space, split only by a kitchen island at the far end of the room.
I follow Rebel inside, he locks the door and re-sets the alarm. We head to the kitchen, and he grabs two bottles of water, then points at a bag beside the island.
“Patrick brought some things from your place. The cops won’t let you in there for a few days.”
“Thanks. Do you know what happened with Marisol?”
I know she’s dead. I didn’t want to think about her until after Colt was out of surgery, and then it was too difficult, so I shut it out of my head.
Rebel watches me closely for any sign I can’t handle what he is going to say.
“Patrick talked to her family. They don’t want to talk to us.”
“That’s understandable,” I swallow some of the water and watch him leaning against the counter. I’ve never met them before but Patrick will know how I can make contact. Even if its only on Colt's behalf while he is unable to do it himself. He would want that.
Rebel looks tired but somehow that makes him more attractive. Not that I intend on jumping him, we have a lot to talk about before we goback to that.
No matter how tired, or pissed, or wanting to boss me around he is, there is something undeniably attractive about Rebel, not just his body and face.
Raven is right, he is possessive but protective. He cares. And so do I.
He’s guarded, unsure which way I’m taking this whole situation and his involvement in what happened. What he doesn’t realize is, I don't blame him. He wasn’t the one firing the gun. I should be concerned it isn’t getting to me but I know what goes on in the world isn’t always roses and fucking rainbows.
“Have you found them?” I ask.
“We have.”
“Are they dead?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you going to kill them?”
He pauses, studying my face. There is nothing but determination and anger. I’ve had a long time to think about it. If they could drive by and shoot an innocent woman and a priest, they deserve what’s coming to them. You walk into that life, you accept you may go out according to that life.
“You need to shower and eat, then get some sleep.”
“We’ve talked about your issues with killing people.”
“You’ve had a rough couple of days-”
“If it helps you answer the damn question, Iwantyou to fucking kill them. My cousin is in a coma, a good woman lost her life, they deserve to die.”
He doesn’t speak, just pushes off the counter and walks toward me. I’m not backing down on this. Marisol didn’t deserve that. In time, I’ll cry for her, the anger is too close to the surface. I haven’t cried since they drove Colt away, not knowing if he would make it.
