Addicted to the Rebel

Chapter 7

Phoenix

The neon lights cast a seedy glow over the parking lot as the bass from inside the club thumps like a heartbeat. I watch the dancers arrive, their heels clicking against the pavement.

A petite blonde catches my eye, and I recall the threatening note left on her car windshield. My jaw clenches at the thought of someone trying to scare her.

I give each dancer a nod as they pass, my gaze lingering long enough to ensure they”re not being followed. These women are under my protection tonight.

Settling into my position as the night guard, I scan every corner of the Rebel”s Retreat as regulars and unfamiliar faces trickle in.

I adjust my leather jacket, the familiar weight of it a comforting reminder of who I am and what I stand for.

The bass thrums through my body. Sweat, booze, and cheap perfume hang heavy in the air, but I”ve grown accustomed to the stench.

It”s another night on the job, watching over the club and the working girls who call it home.

As the night wears on, I watch the dancers out of duty, not desire. They twist and grind under the neon lights, their sequined G-strings catching the strobe lights.

Their laughter rings hollow, their smiles too practiced. The dancers might not do it for me, but I”ll ensure nothing happens to them on my watch.

Call it a sixth sense, but my instincts tell me that trouble is brewing in the shadows. Someone out there has it in for our girls, and they won”t back down easily. But neither will I.

This is my territory, and I”ll protect it with everything I”ve got.

As the girls work the room, my mind wanders to the woman who has me wrapped around her finger without even trying. Nova is unapologetically herself—authentic in a world made of smoke and mirrors.

Over the past week, we”ve fallen into an easy rhythm—dinners together after I get off work, me playing trucks with Maya before bedtime—the three of us, like some makeshift little family.

Nova”s smile lights up the room whenever I walk through her apartment door. Her gentle teasing and warmth remind me of how we were as kids. Except now there”s an undercurrent, a spark.

I look for excuses to linger after Maya”s asleep. We stay up late swapping stories over beers, our knees brushing as we laugh at some dumb joke from childhood.

We act like we always did as friends, but with a newfound heat simmering between us.

Does she feel it, too? The craving for something deeper? Or am I alone in wanting to pull her against me and kiss her again until neither of us can breathe?

I shake my head and focus on the job. But as I scan the crowd for any sign of trouble, my thoughts circle back to Nova.

The way her eyes sparkle when she teases me, the soft curve of her smile when she thinks I”m not looking.

I want to be the reason for that smile. But I”m terrified of crossing that line, of risking our friendship.

“You good out here?” Jagger”s gruff voice breaks through my thoughts.

I give a curt nod, shoving away thoughts of Nova”s lips or her soft curves pressed against my body. “Still keeping an eye on things.”

A rowdy group of men barges in, shoving past the other patrons and eyeing up the dancers like they own the place.

Their loud voices and brash laughter immediately put me on edge. From their disheveled appearance, it”s clear they”re looking for trouble.

I shift my stance, my hand instinctively patting the gun holstered at my hip. These guys look like trouble, and I”ll be damned if they start any shit in my club.

As they make their way to the stage, one of them reaches out and grabs a dancer”s ass. She flinches but quickly covers it with a practiced smile. My blood boils at the sight.

As they spread out and stake their claim at the bar, leering at the dancers, I move closer, positioning myself within earshot.

“We should pay a visit to their little clubhouse,” one of them sneers, throwing back a shot of whiskey. “Teach those Rebels a thing or two about respect.”

His buddy lets out a raucous laugh. “Those dumb fucks have no idea who they”re messing with. The Vasquez cartel runs this city.”

Fuck. The pieces click into place. These assholes are part of the club that Jagger and I worked over a few weeks back for harassing our women. Looks like they didn”t learn their lesson the first time.

I adjust my cut, ensuring my patch is visible. They need to know precisely who they”re fucking with. The Rebel Hearts won”t tolerate this disrespect on our turf.

My eyes narrow as I watch them, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. One wrong move, one step out of line, and I”ll show them exactly what happens when you mess with what”s mine.

I keep my eyes on the cartel members as they spread out through the club, watching their every move, every word from the shadows. They”re cocky, arrogant, and don”t know when to back down.

That”s not how you treat a woman in our club. They think they own this city but are about to learn a hard lesson.

“Hey, baby, why don”t you come over here and give me a private dance?” one of them slurs, grabbing a passing dancer”s ass.

Another grabs the dancer”s arm, tightening his grip when she pulls away.

With a terse growl, I shove the ringleader back, my fist clenched around his shirt collar. “Hey, asshole. Keep your hands to yourself.”

He sneers, his breath reeking. “Or what, tough guy? You gonna make me?”

I don”t answer, staring him down before shoving him hard in the chest. He stumbles back, knocking into his buddies.

His buddies bristle, squaring up like they”re itching for a fight.

And then all hell breaks loose.

One of them reaches for a gun tucked into his waistband. I”m faster. In one swift motion, I draw my piece from the holster and level it at him.

“Don”t even think about it,” I growl.

But these fuckers have a death wish. The one I shoved lunges at me, throwing a wild punch. I dodge it easily and clock him hard across the jaw, sending him sprawling.

Shots ring out, bullets whizzing past my head. Strippers scatter in every direction, their screams mingling with the loud cracks of gunfire.

The other gang members return fire, bullets ricocheting off the bar and shattering bottles.

I drop into a crouch behind an overturned table. When I peer over the top, I spot one of the assholes from earlier, a smug grin twisting his face as he unloads another round into the crowd.

With a steadying breath, I line up my shot and return fire, my aim deadly and precise.

One, two, three shots find their marks, and three lifeless bodies hit the floor.

It”s over as quickly as it began, the once lively club now deadly silent except for the whimpers of the terrified dancers.

Shell casings litter the floor, glinting under the neon lights like macabre confetti.

I rise slowly to my feet, my gun still at the ready as I survey the damage. It”s a scene straight out of a gritty crime movie—blood, bullets, and broken glass.

Fuck. This is going to be a nightmare to clean up. But at least the girls are safe. That”s all that matters.

The lights flicker on, harsh and unforgiving, illuminating the destruction. The Rebel”s Retreat now lies empty and still, save for the whimpers of the terrified dancers huddled in the corners.

As the adrenaline fades, I survey the damage—overturned tables and chairs lay scattered, and bullet holes riddle the walls.

Shattered glass crunches beneath my boots, and the lifeless bodies of three gang members are sprawled on the floor.

This is the harsh reality I”ve become accustomed to: the price of being a member of the Rebel Hearts MC. This is the life I”ve chosen.

A life of danger, of constantly watching my back and being ready for a fight at any moment.

As the adrenaline fades, unease settles in my gut. The Vasquez cartel is a formidable enemy, and I kicked the hornet”s nest.

Gritting my teeth, I pull out my burner phone and punch in Aldis”s number. He needs to know what went down and how deep this shit with the cartel goes. He picks up on the second ring.

“We”ve got a problem,” I say, my voice tight. “The Vasquez cartel showed up at The Retreat. We”ve got a situation.”

Aldis”s gruff voice comes through the receiver. “Fuck. Any casualties on our side?”

“No, but we”ve got three dead cartel members. It”s going to be a mess to clean up.”

“I”ll send some guys over to handle it.”

“Those pricks were out for blood,” I continue, pinching the bridge of my nose. “This wasn”t some random beef. They were gunning for us. We need to prepare for retaliation.”

There”s a beat of silence before Aldis responds. “Damn it. This will cause a shitstorm. I”ll call a meeting and make sure every Rebel knows what”s coming.”

I nod, even though he can”t see it. Protecting our own is the backbone of this club, the creed we live and die by.

There”s a tense pause on the other end of the line before Aldis”s gruff voice comes through. “You did what you had to do. You kept our people safe.”

I end the call, my mind still reeling. I think of Nova and Maya, their smiling faces flashing through my mind.

They deserve better than this. Better than a man who spends his nights knee-deep in blood and bullets.

How many more times will I have to defend our territory, our way of life, against those who would seek to destroy it? And at what cost? The doubts gnaw at me, eating away at the certainty I once had.

As the night winds down, my resolve to protect Nova and Maya grows stronger. The cartel”s threat looms large, a stark reminder of the dangers that come with my lifestyle.

But I”ll be damned if I let them touch a hair on their heads. They”re my family now, and I”ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe.

The doubts still linger, though, eating at me like a cancer. I need to talk to someone and get my head straight. I spot Riggs, a trusted brother, and head over to him.

“Got a minute?” I ask, my voice low.

Riggs nods, and we step outside. The cool night air is a welcome relief from the stuffy club. I spill my guts, telling him about Nova, Maya, and the fears that keep me up at night.

“I want to build something real with them,” I confess, “but I don”t know if I can be the man they need me to be.”

Riggs claps a hand on my shoulder, his eyes understanding. “Brother, you”ve got a big heart. That”s what makes you a true Rebel. You fight for what you love, and you don”t let go. Nova and Maya, they”re lucky to have you.”

His words sink in, and a weight lifts off my chest. I can do this. I can be the protector, the father. The lover?

My loyalty to the club and my love for Nova and Maya aren”t mutually exclusive. They”re two sides of the same coin, the driving forces that make me who I am.

And it’s time to stake my claim.