Rebel’s Warriors

Chapter 1

(Rebel)

There’s something about the night that carries with it a restless prickle of electric energy, like static, shimmying along my skin, every nerve ending on fire with need and longing.

I should have been exhausted, but there was anonymity in darkness, in hoodies, in messy long hair, and in the corner spot at the end of the bar.

From my perch in front of a nearly demolished plate of wings, it was easy to read the room without being part of it.

Too bad the only thing it had to offer was mostly empty chairs and the hockey game I was currently engrossed in.

My phone blipped, and I flipped it over to reveal a dick pic from the only dick in my life who’d send me something like that on a Saturday night.

Grumbling, I text back, Not helping.

Say the word and I’ll be on the next plane, giving you all the help you need just as soon as I get there.

Motherfucker!

I did not need that offer tonight. It was too goddamn tempting. I’d have told him to get his ass here if getting him to go home wouldn’t take an act of Congress.

And my pissed-off band all fed up with his drunken shenanigans. Naa, Brandon Knightly was better off keeping his ass where he was, though I knew at some point, the tour would take us close enough to his lair that he’d pay me a visit.

I both dreaded it and burned with need.

I’ll work it out, I text back, without having a single goddamned clue how to go about it.

What else was new? When it came to everything else in my life besides the music, shit quickly got complicated.

“Shocked you’re not asleep after that performance you guys put on tonight.”

The voice slithered up my spine like gravel, rough and jolting in a way that wasn’t exactly unpleasant, just unexpected and a tad uncomfortable.

Sucking in a breath, I fixed my face before I glanced over my shoulder at Brekken Steel, one of almost a dozen bodyguards that traveled with my band, Blissfully Immune, and our sister band, Damaged Saints.

Even off duty he wore black on black on gray and a shrewd look that might have been unnerving if I wasn’t addicted to trouble.

“There’s a problem with shows like that,” I muttered. “It’s next to impossible to shut down the adrenaline rush of being up there. I’m still too drunk off all those screaming voices to even think about closing my eyes right now. The ghost whispers get wild, man, especially alone in the dark.”

His lips pressed into a tight, firm line as he nodded his head. “I imagine it gets a bit intense.”

“It’s a hard high to come down from.”

“So, you decided to come down here and risk being mobbed if someone recognized you? Good plan.”

“No, I came down here because eating alone in my room sucks balls, and room service gets pretentious after a while,” I admitted.

“It’s not much fun watching the game on my own either.

Figured I’d celebrate the end surrounded by other cheering fans or piss them off cheering for the team that ended their team’s dreams.”

“Yeah? Which team is yours?”

“Come on, man, I’m from New Bedford. What team do you think I’m rooting for?”

A low, rough chuckle welled up from deep in his throat, warm and enticing, like his voice, which raised a crop of goosebumps along my arms. “Fair point. I still don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be down here.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not my keeper.”

“But I am a guard currently employed by the company hired to keep you safe, and right now I’m wondering where the hell yours is and how you got down here without an escort?”

“Oh, Imma have to plead the 5th on that one,” I replied, flashing him the same grin others had called swoon-worthy; too bad his only reaction was to cock an eyebrow at me. “Can’t go giving up my best tricks right off the bat.”

“Uh-huh. I will be reporting this. You know that, right?”

I just rolled my eyes and nodded. “Of course you will. Look, if you’re that hung up on me being down here, then it’s a simple fix. Come back upstairs with me and hang out. The highlight reels will be on right after the game, and I’m dying to see how the rest of the teams fared.”

“Didn’t realize you were that into the sport.”

“I played until I reached a point where I was being pulled between hockey and music.”

“How’d you choose?”

Sighing, I decided to give him the scaled-down answer because the truth was twisted and complicated enough that it still pissed me off when I thought about it too long. “Went with the one I was best at. What can I say? I like things easy.”

I winked when I said it, because flirting was always a good way to end a Q and A session before it really got rolling.

Should have known it would have zero effect on him.

Either my gaydar was broken or the guy was completely immune to the vibes I was putting out, neither of which was very beneficial right now.

“You forget, I see the energy that goes into your performances and the long hours each song takes to craft. If that’s your idea of easy, I’d hate to see what you consider hard.”

Chuckling, I just raised my glass to my lips and peered at him over the top of it for a moment before draining the last of my beer.

"So, are we staying or are we going?” I asked, poised to wave the bartender over for a refill if he decided not to take me up on my offer.

“If it will head off potential flash mobs, TikTok reels, and a barrage of new photos on social media, I guess we’re going,” he replied and stepped back so I could get up.

“I knew you were the cool one.”

“Wouldn’t go that far,” he said as I slid a twenty-dollar tip across the bar and stood, Steel hot on my heels as I headed for the elevator. “Seriously though, how did you get down here without an escort?”

“You really don’t wanna know the answer to that.”

“Actually, I do. If there was a lapse in security, then Sully needs to know about it.”

“The only lapse was in their ability to predict how creative I can be when I’m properly motivated,” I replied, not wanting to get anyone in trouble for my act of rebellion.

“If you wanted to come down, no one would have stopped you.”

"It's hard to get laid when you have an escort, unless both parties are into that sort of thing.”

“So, the truth comes out,” Steel remarked, his voice sounding dry and completely unimpressed.

“Meh. The place was woefully lacking in possibilities.”

“So, you decided to stick around for the refreshments and the game.”

“Let’s just say that there are a lot of things I prefer not to do on my own, and hotel bars have a way of solving most, if not all of them, depending on the night. Unfortunately, tonight was a bust.”

“Look, if I’m off, I’ll join you for hockey and a late-night snack if you’re hungry. I played center through college. You’re not the only one who hates missing games.”

I eyed him up and down and could tell he would have been a fierce advisory on the ice and one hell of an asset if he’d been on my team. “I played wing.”

“I take it you were fast.”

“Even going backwards.”

“Impressive, we might have to take to the ice sometimes, see if either of us is still capable of showing off a bit,” Steel offered, shocking the hell out of me.

“I’m always capable of showing off.”

He snorted at that; the first real laugh I’d managed to wring from him since he’d appeared behind me at the bar. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“So, what, you’ll hang out with me in my room, keep me from trolling bars for beer and an easy fuck, and catch up on the hockey season in the process?”

“Why not? Sounds like a fair trade to me, though I have to admit, you managed to shock me.”

“How so?” I asked as we stepped into the elevator and headed up to our floor.

“I didn’t take you for the fuckboy type.”

“I’m normally not, but beggars can’t be choosy.”

“I can’t imagine any situation that would turn Rebel McAuliffe into a beggar.”

“That’s sad,” I replied, tsking and feigning boredom as I shook my head at him, since the truth was that there was way too many scenarios, and all of them linked to desires I rarely shared with anyone.

“What?”

“That you possess such an uninspired imagination.”

“I see.”

“Doubtful,” I shot back. “You see what everyone else does. Rebel the rock star. I’m so much more than that.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“If that were the case, you’d get that there are things I would literally get down on my knees and beg for without a blush or a moment’s hesitation.”

"Hmm," he muttered, side-eying me as he stepped in front of the door, clearly intending to go first so he could make sure there weren’t any unexpected surprises when we stepped off the elevator. “Such as?”

He sounded like he truly wanted to know, which sucked because that was the moment the elevator stopped, dinging as the doors opened.

The look on the hall monitor's, err, guard’s face when he caught a glimpse of me behind Steel was classic disbelief.

These guys had next-level training, but I’d always been a notorious shit and an epic prankster to boot, and I didn’t see that ending anytime soon.

“Wha-h-how…” Cyril stammered as I swaggered past him on the way to my door. I could practically feel the smugness oozing out of my pores, smirk firmly affixed on my face as I dug out my key card.

“Yeah, as soon as I figure out how he managed it, I’ll let you know,” Steel muttered, sounding a tad bit exasperated with me.

Oops.

“Traitor,” I muttered as I opened the door.

“Brat,” he said, voice harsh and rumbly.

Of course that meant my brain went straight to my dick, which twitched in my pants as if to remind me that it had been sorely neglected for a while now.

Leading him in, relieved that I’d had the foresight to close the door to the balcony on my way down, I couldn’t help but feel proud of the escape I’d pulled off.

He’d probably lose his shit if he knew the truth about my little stunt.

Sure as shit, the moment he stepped inside, he started peering around the room, searching for clues.

I grabbed the remote off the rumpled bed where I’d left it and turned on the television as I headed for the mini fridge.

The room had a kitchenette, which would have been nice if I’d had time to stock it before settling in.

“Hope you like sparkling lemonade,” I remarked as I grabbed two and twisted off the caps. “I usually keep iced teas and tangerine juice on hand, but I’m all out right now.”

“This is fine, thanks,” he said as I handed him one.

“Cheers,” I said, extending my bottle.

We clanked necks and settled in on opposite ends of the couch, in the same intensely interested posture, elbows on our knees, bodies leaning forward, eyes on the television, drinks clutched in one hand. What started as low muttering grew as we forgot we weren’t in a stadium.

“Come on, come on, come on!” Steel growled.

“Oh my god, do you not know how to read misdirection!” I yelped.

“Apparently not,” Steel quipped.

We clapped, groaned, and deposited our half-empty lemonade bottles on the table after we splattered each other when we threw up our hands, forgetting we were holding them.

A near goal led to Steel smacking a hand over his face and groaning while I rolled my eyes.

That was too damned close. Stomping, whistling, hands curled into fists, my nails dug into my palms as Detroit’s star wing raced towards the Boston goal, with Steel and I on the edge of our seats, waiting to see if anyone stopped him.

Steel’s boot hit the base of the coffee table as we leapt to our feet when the puck was swiped right out from under him, three Boston players racing for the other end, passing the puck between them.

“Holy shit!”

“Did you see that steal?" Steel declared.

“You’re damned right I saw it,” I declared, dancing around like a madman.

I wasn’t the only one either. Steel clearly didn’t mind showing his enthusiasm over the final, buzzer-beating score that came seconds later.

With Boston winning 3-2, I was more than in the mood to celebrate as we linked arms and danced a messy jig.

I’m sure we were pissing off the people below us, but who the fuck cared right now?

“Hell of an ending,” Steel declared as we finally began to settle down.

“Yeah, it was.”

“I think your plan backfired on you though,” he remarked as I finally dropped back down on the couch and reached for my lemonade.

“How so?”

“Don’t see how you ever plan on sleeping when you’re as hyped now as when you came down off that stage.”

“Yeah, that could be an issue, but there are still the highlight reels to watch.”

“True, at least until you wind up even more amped up over them,” he pointed out. “Didn’t think that part through, did you?"

“Let’s just say that I was hoping for a way different outcome when I went down to the bar.”

“Were you now?” he asked, voice having gone low and even rougher than when we’d been cheering Boston on to victory. “And what, exactly, were you looking for?"

Squirming, I side-eyed him, shrugged, and murmured. “The opposite of a fuck boy. I was planning on being the fuckboy tonight.”

“Really?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

He cocked his head, studying me before he shook his head. “Nope.”

“So, you want to help me out with that part?” I’d meant it to be a cheeky bit of teasing, but there was no missing the undercurrent of desperation lingering in my voice.

It might not be as distinctive as Johnny’s, but there was a reason I backed him up on all the songs. I had pipes and a range that conveyed emotion. Sometimes too much. The burning flare of desire that sparked in his eyes was pleasantly unexpected.

“I’m sure I can manage, if properly motivated,” he replied. “Provided you know how to keep the things that happen behind closed doors to yourself.”

Hell yeah, guess my gaydar wasn’t broken after all!

I made a show of locking my lips and tossing the pretend key over my shoulder. “I know a lot of ways to be motivating.”

“Show me.”