Page 1 of His Rebel

Prologue

Dante

Istand in the closet watching as the man orders a package to be delivered. My stomach revolts knowing what the package will be used for, and I wonder how he’s survived this long. How no one else has come after him. Not only is his situational awareness awful, but he hasn’t even noticed I shuffled through the files on the desk. The slats of the closet obstruct my view slightly, but I’m still able to observe him writing the information down regarding his delivery. I’ll need that later.

I’m taking this fucker down before he can hurt anyone else.

The sorry son of a bitch thinks he’s safe here in Spain, away from his posh American home and family. He thinks no one knows what a perverted asshole he is because he does it in another country.

I slip from the closet as soon as he punches the disconnect button on his mobile. Just like always, my heart rate slows and the blood pumping through my veins warms in anticipation. My breathing calms. Sliding my hand along the back of my belt, I pull the blade from the scabbard. It’s like an extension of my hand. The flat black finish prevents it from shining in any light. I spin it in my hand and step behind my mark.

When he finally realizes I’m there, it’s too late for him. I thrust the knife between his ribs in the perfect spot. I give it a slight angle so it cuts through all the ventricles of his heart. He won’t be hurting thepackagebeing delivered.

I push him away as I pull the blade free. From my years of experience, I know he’s dead before he hits the floor. I lean over him and wipe the blade on his trousers before returning it to its scabbard. With sick fascination, I watch the blood seep from his body and pool onto the hardwood floor. He’s facedown, so I don’t have to look at his sightless eyes. Sometimes I like to watch as the life leaves their bodies.

I look at the desk and the notes he took. The details make me want to throw up, but I keep it down and finish what needs to be done. Returning to the closet, I retrieve my rifle and head to the front of the cottage, where I wait. The target had made sure he was far from the city and other cottages, away from any witnesses, to do as he pleased. But all it did was leave himself open for me to kill him.

Normally, I would be paid for this hit, but I decided to take care of him pro bono after watching him on the dark web for a couple of months. I want to rid this planet of these sick fuckers. It’s because of men like him that the most important person in my world was taken from me. I’m sure my baby sister was sold to a man just like him. I’ve never been able to find her or the man who purchased her, but every pervert I kill is that man in my eyes. They’ll all die by my blade for their sick ways. Nothing can save them from their fate.

A knock sounds on the door, and I glance at my watch. The package has arrived right on time. I respond in perfect Spanish to leave it on the stoop. That should be a clue I’m not the pissant American who bought it. My accent and tone make it sound like I’m a local, not a foreigner. I wait two seconds after I hear him leave the porch, counting off in my head, before I open the door with my gun raised. The bullet leaves the silenced barrel, dropping him with a single shot to the back of the neck, right in the sweet spot. All messages from the brain to the body cease, and he too is dead before he hits the ground. The driver’s eyes widen and he takes off. But he wasn’t prepared for me. I shoot out both back tires, and the paneled van skids to a stop. The driver scurries from his seat with a gun raised, but he’s dead before he can take aim at me.

I’m a monster and can kill easily.

I finally look down at the package; it’s a small boy. According to the notes, he’s eight and has no family. His eyes flare wide in fear as he takes me in. Only my dark eyes shining back at him are visible, the rest is hidden behind the balaclava.

While I don’t leave any witnesses alive, I still keep my identity secret. I can’t let it get out what I look like. My reputation is enough to elicit fear, but if people knew who I really was, then it wouldn’t just be fear but horror.

I sling my rifle over my back and press a finger to my covered lips to shush the child. Then, I hold up my palms to show him I’m not going to hurt him. Whatever they drugged him with kicks in and his eyes fall closed. Squatting down, I check his pulse to make sure he’s still alive. I’ll have to monitor him further until I get him to a safe location.

I get to work cleaning up the mess I left behind. When I pull away from the remote cottage an hour later, it’s burning and the van next to it is fully engulfed in flames. The fire will be so hot that the bodies will barely be distinguishable. The boy is in the back seat of my black rental car as I drive us to the nearby small airport I set up for my extraction. I need to get him out of Spain.

There is only one place I trust to leave him.

The plane flies us to Catania. My friends, the Morellos, are benefactors of an orphanage there, so I know it’s a safe place. He’ll be able to grow up and maybe find a family who will adopt him.

“Another one?” the caretaker says with anger in her voice after I rap on the heavy door.

“Aye. Here is some money to help.” I hand her the notes, and one of her assistants takes the boy from me. He is still unconscious even though it’s been over three hours since I’ve rescued him. “The medications should be wearing off soon.” I hand her the paper I took from the cottage with his name and information.

“Take care, young man,” the old woman says, her voice full of emotion. “May God be with you.”

“Save your prayers for him.” I nod toward the child. “God forsook me a long time ago.”

I return to my rental car, deciding to find a hotel for the night. I’m not sure where I’m going to go next. A moment later my cell goes off in my pocket. I fish it out and glance at the text.

Unknown Number: Time to come home. She’s dead.

I pull over as a jolt of adrenaline bursts through my system. I’m normally calm and don’t react to much. But this right here is the best news I’ve had in a long time. The bitch who allowed my sister to be sold, who pushed her away, is finally dead. I wish it were my hand and blade that ended her, but she was untouchable. My father had made me swear to him the day I walked away from the family I wouldn’t touch her.

ChapterOne

McKenna

Ilook at myself in the mirror and, as usual, the woman looking back at me doesn’t look like me anymore. For so long I was someone else.

I was defined by my job. Defined by what the people who raised me told me I was.

They weren’t my family. They owned me. Property is all I was to them. On my eighteenth birthday, I gained my freedom. They asked me if I wanted to stay on. They offered to pay me a meager wage and in exchange I would attend university with my ward, their daughter. I refused and instead took the clothes on my back and made my way into London, where I got a job and saved my money.

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