Chapter 11
REBEL
Engines snarl closer. Ten vehicles, maybe more. Headlights slice through the smog like knives. The air tastes of oil and ozone, the way it does right before everything goes to hell. Carter’s shoulder brushes mine, steady and unspoken. Move or die.
Divine’s voice snaps through the comm, calm but sharp. “South alley is boxed. Your only clean exit is under the east conveyor. It’s a service crawl space, twelve meters ahead. Cameras are offline for ninety seconds. Run!”
Carter’s hand finds mine before I can think. “You heard her. Run.”
That’s all I need.
We dive out from behind the pallets as the first volley of gunfire erupts.
Bullets chew the crates we were using for cover, wood splintering into dust. Carter pulls me with him.
I don’t argue. Carter moves in controlled bursts, calm, where I’m all pulse and grit.
We zigzag through metal racks until Divine’s voice hits again.
“Sixty seconds.”
A guard turns the corner. I drop first, silent and fast, kick his knees out from under him, and stab a knife through his shoulder. Carter catches the man before he hits the ground and eases him down like a professional apology.
“Forty seconds.”
The crawlspace grate is half-rusted, half-welded. Carter wrenches it free with a grunt, muscles straining. “Ladies first.”
“Go to hell,” I hiss, crawling through. The tunnel stinks of rainwater and rust. I keep my pistol forward, flashlight tucked tight to my wrist as my heart tries to beat its way out of my chest.
“Thirty.”
The gunfire above fades to echoes. Boots thunder across the floor we just left. Light slices through the cracks, but no one looks down far enough.
Carter follows behind me, movements precise, deliberate. At the junction, we drop into a runoff trench that empties behind the plant’s loading yard.
“Ten seconds,” Divine warns. “Then I’m cutting power and sending them a nice fake heat signature.”
We sprint the last stretch through shadows. The alley yawns open. A skeleton of chain-link and fog. Iris’s van idles with the headlights off, back doors open. French leans out, grinning like a thief.
“Field trip’s over, lovers. Get in!”
We tumble inside as Iris guns it. Tires screech. The van fishtails, then bites asphalt. Behind us, the plant lights die as Divine kills the grid.
I stare out the rear window. The guards swarm the wrong side of the complex, chasing ghosts Divine built from old camera feeds. No one sees us slip away.
Inside the van, it’s all panting breaths and silence. Carter wipes blood from his forearm. It could be his or it could be someone else's. I taste copper and adrenaline.
“Nice timing,” I say.
He smirks. “You doubted?”
“I doubted everything.”
He laughs once, low. “Smart.”
We don’t go back to the clubhouse. Instead, Divine reroutes us to a safehouse on the outskirts of Koreatown. A shuttered print shop doubling as a data cache for one of the Vultures’ shell companies. Divine found some information we need to pull from their computers to shut this shit down.
French drops us off, her grin fading when she looks at me. “You sure about this, babe?”
“No,” I admit. “But I’m going anyway.”
Carter loads a fresh mag. “I’ll cover you.”
Divine’s voice hums in my ear. “Server room’s in the basement. You’ve got a two-minute window before their motion sensors reboot. Try not to get shot, I just fixed the firewall.”
We slip inside through a service door. The air hums cold and sterile. Rows of servers line the basement, blue light blinking like veins under glass. The hum is hypnotic. The kind of place that hides sins behind spreadsheets.
Carter checks the corners, pistol drawn. “You do your thing. I’ll make sure no one interrupts.”
I kneel by the mainframe, fingers flying across the keyboard. Divine’s script runs clean, backdoor access, shell trace, and mirror pull. Data floods the drive, lines of code cascading like rain.
“You’re pulling too much,” Divine warns. “Keep it under the radar.”
“I need everything,” I whisper. “I’m not missing another piece.”
A soft click echoes behind us. Carter’s voice tightens. “Rebel.”
The lights go red. Alarms scream. “Shit.”
Carter grabs my arm, yanks me up. “We’re blown.”
“Give me ten seconds!”
“You’ve got five.”
I snatch the drive, shove it into my pocket. He’s already moving, cutting toward the stairwell. Gunfire erupts above, bullets pinging off the railing. Carter fires back, controlled and surgical.
“Go!” he shouts.
We burst through the side exit, glass raining down as a bullet takes the window out behind us. Outside, French’s van fishtails onto the street, but there’s no time to reach it.
“Separate routes!” Divine barks. “Lose them, regroup at safehouse Delta.”
Carter and I cut down opposite alleys before converging again at the intersection. Two black SUVs tail us, headlights slicing through the smog.
I spot a Harley Davidson CVO Road Glide RR sitting in a parking spot in front of a store. Without missing a beat, my feet move toward it. Luck is on my side when the steering column is unlocked. I flip the ignition and fire her up. She purrs under my ass.
I look behind me at the approaching vans.
“Backseat’s crowded,” I mutter.
“Then drive faster,” Carter growls, sliding onto the stolen bike behind me.
I gun the throttle. The engine screams. Tires burn rubber as we launch into the street.
Bullets snap past, echoing off glass and steel.
We weave through traffic, wind tearing at our clothes.
Carter fires over my shoulder, three quick shots that take out the SUV’s front tire.
It skids, then crashes into a lamppost. The second one keeps coming.
“Hang on!” I shout, swerving into a side street.
The alley’s too narrow, littered with dumpsters and neon reflections. We slide sideways, sparks flaring under the tires, and burst out into an abandoned industrial block. The bike fishtails, then catches.
The SUV’s headlights flare behind us.
“Carter!”
He fires backward, two shots, clean. The driver slumps, horn blaring as the vehicle spins and smashes into a support pillar. Metal shrieks. Silence follows.
We coast to a stop in front of a crumbling warehouse. My pulse is a thunderstorm. My hands won’t stop shaking.
Carter climbs off, scanning the shadows. “You hit?”
“Just breathing too fast.”
He walks over, tilts my chin toward the light filtering through broken windows. His thumb brushes dirt from my cheek. “You did good.”
“You say that like we didn’t almost die.”
He smirks faintly. “Almost doesn’t count.”
The air between us shifts. Too close. Too quiet. The world smells like gunpowder and adrenaline, but under it, him. Soap, sweat, danger.
“You shouldn’t have come,” I whisper.
He studies me, eyes unreadable. “And let you walk into that server room alone? Not a chance.”
I should pull back. I should say something sharp to break it. Instead, I look up. His hand slides from my chin to my throat, not rough, just steady.
“Rebel.” It’s not a question. It’s a warning.
My breath catches. “Yeah?”
“Stop thinking.”
Then he kisses me.
It’s nothing like I expected. No finesse, no restraint. Just need, pure and unfiltered. His hand grips my jaw, mine fists in his shirt. The taste of blood, salt, and smoke fills my mouth. Every part of me that’s been clenched since Alex’s death finally cracks open.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “You okay?”
“No.” My voice breaks. “Yes.”
Sirens wail somewhere nearby, closer every second. I swallow hard, force air back into my lungs. “That never happened.”
He huffs a laugh, rough and low. “Keep telling yourself that.”
We pull apart just as blue lights flash against the warehouse walls. Carter tucks the pistol into his waistband, eyes already scanning for exits.
The taste of him lingers. I wish it didn’t feel like the most honest thing I’ve had in years. Even with Bones, that was all superficial. This, what I feel for Carter, surpasses Bones a million times.
Divine comes through our comms. “Go to the safehouse. Do not come back to the compound just yet, until the heat dies down.”
Carter looks back once as we step into the night. “You ready?”
“For what?”
He smiles, grim and certain. “For war.”
We disappear into the dark. Two outlaws bound by blood, betrayal, and something neither of us dares name yet.
The ride to the safehouse feels longer than it should. The sirens fade behind us, the city stretching out like a wound that won’t close. I can still taste him. Still feel his hands. Still hear the echo of gunfire in the space between breaths.
By the time we reach the Harlots’ safehouse, the adrenaline’s curdled into exhaustion. Divine’s already waiting out front, tablet in hand, hair up, fury in her eyes. French leans against the doorway, smirking like she’s been dying to say I told you so.
Carter cuts the engine. I swing off the bike, legs shaking, heart still trying to find a rhythm that doesn’t sound like his name.
Divine’s voice is low and lethal. “You tripped three alarms, fried a data relay, and led a convoy through half of downtown.” She tilts her head. “So tell me, was it worth it?”
I hold up the drive. “Depends on how much you like answers.”
That stops her. For a moment, the fight drains from her shoulders. She takes the drive like it’s a holy relic, turns it over in her hands. “You got it?”
“Every file, every transfer, every name.” I pause, glancing at Carter. “Even the ones we weren’t supposed to find.”
Divine whistles low. “Well, shit.” Then, under her breath, “You really are your brother’s sister.”
French crosses her arms, grinning. “And she didn’t even die this time. Proud of you, sugar.”
“Barely,” I mutter.
“Still counts.” French glances at Carter, eyes narrowing just enough to make me twitch. “And you, Soldier Boy, how’s the jaw? You look like you ran into a building. Or Rebel.”
He smirks, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Something like that.”
Divine waves her hand. “Alright, children. Let’s get inside before the neighbors decide to call in a noise complaint.”
The safehouse smells like gun oil, lemon cleaner, and too much caffeine. French brews coffee while Divine plugs the drive into her rig, screens lighting up the room with blue and white pulses. I drop onto the couch, every bone in my body vibrating with fatigue.
Carter kneels in front of me, med kit open. “Let me see your arm.”
“I’m fine.”
He gives me that look, the one that makes it clear arguing would be a waste of oxygen. He reaches for my forearm, rolls my sleeve up, and cleans the burn I didn’t even realize I had. His hands are steady, gentle, and annoyingly careful.
“You know,” he murmurs, taping a bandage over the wound, “for someone who says she doesn’t need saving, you sure keep getting shot at.”
I glare. “Maybe you’re bad luck.”
“Or maybe you’re addicted to trouble.”
“Same difference.”
His mouth twitches, half amusement, half warning. “You almost got yourself killed tonight.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly, eyes catching mine, “but it’d be the last. And I’m not ready for that.”
The words hang there, heavier than gunfire. I don’t know what to do with them, so I don’t. French snorts from the counter, breaking the moment.
“Don’t get sentimental, Soldier. She’ll bite.”
Carter’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Yeah,” he says softly, “I know.”
He finishes bandaging me, his fingers brushing my skin once more before he stands. The room hums with silence again, save for Divine’s typing.
She glances up, eyes sharp behind her glasses. “You two want good news or bad?”
“Bad,” I say.
“The Vultures weren’t just laundering money.” She gestures at the screen. “They’re buying muscle. Private contractors, small arms dealers, shipping routes. Someone’s building an army, and they’re doing it under your brother’s name.”
My chest tightens. “Then we burn it down.”
Divine’s grin is sharp. “Already working on it, babe.”
French hands me a cup of coffee, then clinks her mug against mine. “Family, fists, forgiveness, and now a little vengeance. About damn time.”
I smile, but it feels fragile. “You forgot fire.”
“Didn’t have to. That’s your department.”
Later, when the others are asleep and Divine’s screens dim to standby, I step out onto the balcony. The city glows below, endless and cold. My reflection stares back in the glass. Bloodstained, bruised, but alive.
Carter joins me without a word, two mugs in hand. He offers me one, steam curling between us. His knuckles are still raw. Mine too.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.
“Didn’t try.”
“Same.”
I sip the coffee. “We make a good team.”
He watches me over the rim of his mug. “Is that what we are?”
I meet his gaze, unflinching. “For now.”
He nods slowly, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Then for now,” he says, “I’ll take it.”
The night hums quietly and endlessly around us. For the first time in years, I don’t feel completely alone in the silence.
Somewhere below, the city keeps breathing. And for once, so do I.