Page 39 of Rebellious

She started to cry. “Diesel—”

“You’re here because of me, baby. Me. Not Jana or Tabitha. If I would’ve done what I was supposed to, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” she sobbed, grabbing his wrist and dragging his hand to her face. She leaned her delicate cheek against his rough palm. “Please, don’t do this. Please. I love you.”

He turned her head toward him and took her face between his hands. “I want you happy, sweetheart. I’m too broken to ever be the man you deserve. Fucking you when you’re older would be so fucking easy, but you’d demand my soul, when mine left me years ago. I love you too much to saddle you with me.”

“You love me?” she whispered.

“I do,” he confirmed. “As my little sister.” He’d have to rectify what he’d blurted to CJ. He’d gone temporarily insane. “I’m so sorry, Rebel. I’d prefer to rip out my own heart than break yours.” It would be so much fucking easier, especially seeing the desolation dulling her eyes. “You’ll thank me later.” He tipped her head back and kissed her forehead, released her, and backed away.

“Diesel—”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, forcing himself to ignore her tears and walk out of her room.

Diesel took Christopher and Bash for fucking stupid assfucks.

Once Nivins gave Christopher the story and showed Diesel on security footage, he’d been right not to believe in coincidences. Tabitha ‘overdosing’ on the same motherfucking day as Rebel ending up in ICU could be classified as a fucking coincidence, as he’d hoped. Again—if he didn’t know the fucking parties involved. And if Jana wasn’t in the ER as well.

Christopher suspected one cunt called the other fucking cunt for drugs. That scheming, bitter, vindictive cunt set up that drug-addicted, brainless, pathetic cunt and caught Rebel in the crosshairs. Meanwhile, Diesel, that death-wishy, sex-addicted cunt sought revenge and put that entire fucking peace agreement—and Megan’s life—in danger.

Yeah, Tabitha needed to die if she fucked over Jana and got Rebel hurt, but didn’t that motherfucker know how the fuck to get away with bullshit? He couldn’t wait until the next day to fuck her up? Two days? A goddamn week?

That shit would’ve been suspicious enough, but on the same fucking day? And in fucking Portland, where the club’s contacts in the PD depended on during whose shift the crime occurred?

Growling, Christopher kicked the podium. He’d called an emergency meeting after allowing the ME to take custody of Tabitha’s body.

Nivins sold Christopher all pertinent security footage, after wiping the material from the servers. He could only hope the man wouldn’t betray him, but Nivins was a civilian. Murder, ODs, the badges, and the possibility of prison spooked most law-abiding assfucks.

Heaving in a breath, Christopher resumed pacing. The members kept their distance and watched him warily. Mort and Val sat at the bar, nursing beers. Cash and Digger, both in their wheelchairs, waited in silence at Christopher’s table. Johnnie brooded at the opposite end of the bar. Not much conversation went on.

Maybe they knew Tabitha had ‘overdosed’ and worried about the repercussions. Or, maybe, they didn’t talk out of respect for Rebel and Jana.

Once Stretch, Diesel, and Easton walked in, Christopher surveyed the room. Most of the members were there, except for the few who were too far away to have arrived in time, so he called the meeting to order and got straight to the point.

He pinned Torrin, Seven, Huck, and Zephyr with a glare. “If I assign you motherfuckers to guard duty, you risk fuckin’ death if your charges get fucked up.”

Those four motherfuckers gulped and shifted in their seats.

“You fuckheads went to the fuckin’ food court. Rebel and Jana ain’t wanted you fuckin’ nearby?” He slammed his fist on the podium and the thud reverberated over the microphone. More than just those motherfuckers flinched and jumped. “You shoulda stepped the fuck away and covered the fuckin’ entrances or exits. An enemy coulda walked up on them in the fuckin’ store and you motherfuckers wasn’t nowhere near. Instead, they walked the fuck out of the mall and found the fuckin’ enemy ‘cuz you motherfuckers shirked your fuckin’ responsibilities.”

“That’s not true,” Torrin started.

“Where the fuck my daughter, motherfucker?” he yelled.

Hands trembling, Narci set his phone in front of him on the table. Motherfuckers shifting traveled from the direction of Christopher’s table. Murmurs joined groans and curses.

“Diesel?” Christopher barked.

A moment passed before that motherfucker said, “Sir?”

“Bring a chair, put it in front of the podium, and sit your motherfuckin’ ass down.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, immediately complying.

Storming next to him, Christopher shoved the gun against Diesel’s head. “You wanna die now or when Bash lose his shit over Tabitha?”

Diesel swallowed, his only reaction, until he shrugged and said, “Now, Uncle Christopher.”