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“My father overheard me talking to one of the clubwhores, or I guess I should say former clubwhores since he kicked her out and told her never to come back. He felt like we were talking behind his back and tried to hurt her, but I managed to get him to let her go. It’s like he thought it was best to hit me a few times, knock me around a bit, and shove some good ol’ fashioned fear down my throat.” Rebellion stops speaking all of a sudden, and I look over her features. She’s scared, and that’s downright sad.
“What happened to your arm?” She’s still holding it, and I know he did something to her.
“I think he broke it.”
“You think?”
“I haven’t gone to the doctor or anything yet, so I’m not sure. I’m just glad it wasn’t my drawing hand.”
“Rebellion.” Now I’m shaking my head in aggravation. The first thing she should’ve done was go to the doctor. If it’s broken, she needs to know, and she needs to get it set, a cast on it, or whatever the doctor decides is the best course of action. “After we’re done eating, I’m taking you to the doctor. You need to get that handled. The sooner, the better.”
“I don’t need your help, Leon, and I’m not asking for it. I don’t even know if I can trust you.”
“I could say the same thing about you. You might end up running and telling your father everything we discuss here tonight, even though he’s the one who hurt you.”
She doesn’t say a thing at first, and I know this must be very difficult for her. She’s going to have to choose who she gives her loyalty to tonight. Her father, who likely has beat her like this before . . . or me, the son of the enemy. I know my intentions, but Rebellion doesn’t. If I had to guess, she’s had men let her down her entire life, and at the top of that list is probably her father.
“I told you what happened to me, so why are you here? Why did you start dating me? Why are you trying so hard to get close to my father’s club?”
I don’t want to completely fuck up what I’m doing here, but I gave her my word, and if there’s one thing I don’t throw around, it’s my word. My word is everything to me. “Your father can’t seem to understand what’s his territory and what isn’t. It’s causing problems for my father and our club. We’re generally peaceful people, but if you fuck us over, we’ll rain hellfire upon you. Control knows what he should and shouldn’t be doing. He’s ignoring the unspoken rules, and by doing so, he’s making an enemy of my father.” I look right into her eyes, wanting her to understand just how serious this is. “I’m here to collect evidence, to try and see what your father is up to before he creates a domino effect where my father’s hand is forced.” The moment my father decides to take action, there is no going back. There will be a war between the two clubs, and I know who the winner will be.
“You didn’t answer my questions.”
“I used you as a way to get closer to your father’s club, yes, but I didn’t actually think I’d give a damn about you. I do care, Rebellion. I care more than I should, which is why I’m telling you any of this.” I shouldn’t have told her any of this. I did, and now all I can do is hope and pray that she won’t run and tell her father. “We can talk about this more when we get back from the doctor, but eat up. Who knows how long we’ll be there.”
“We?” Rebellion cranes her neck slightly in surprise.
“Yes, we. I’m not letting you go to the doctor alone. Maybe when we’re at the doctor’s, you can tell me what you and that clubwhore were talking about. I know your father is a hothead, but you’re not the type to talk shit about anyone.”
FOURTEEN
Rebellion
“It was more than just talking to the clubwhore,” I finally whisper, unable to hold it in any longer. “Control also did this because I told him I want to leave the club and go to art school—and I got a partial scholarship for it.”
“Rebellion . . .” Anger flickers in Leon’s eyes, but he keeps his voice low and steady. “You deserve so much more than the life he’s planning for you.”
“I know,” my voice cracks, and tears start to well up in my eyes. “But it’s not that easy.”
“Nothing worth having ever is,” he murmurs, pulling me close to him—but it hurts my arm, and I can’t help but whimper.
Leon lets go of me abruptly, and I blink back tears as I cradle my throbbing arm close to my chest. Leon is a blur of motion as he paces back and forth in front of me, his worry evident in every line of his body.
“We need to get you to a doctornow,” he insists, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m pretty sure your arm is broken.”
“I’m fine.” I try to reassure him, even though I know it’s a lie. The pain is too intense for me to keep up the façade much longer.
“You’re not fine.” He stops pacing and looks at me, his gaze full of concern. “You’re in pain, and I can’t stand to see you like this. Let me help you.”
His words are a balm soothing my battered soul. With a sigh, I nod my agreement, unable to resist his determination. “All right, let’s go. There’s an emergency room nearby.”
All the way to Emory St. Joseph’s Hospital, I think about what Leon told me.
As soon as we arrive at the ER, Leon helps me out of the car with a steadying arm around my waist. We step inside, and the antiseptic smell of the hospital hits me immediately.
“Name?” A nurse asks when we approach the admissions desk.
I tell her my legal name, wincing as a jolt of pain shoots through my arm.
