Chapter 13
CARTER
Morning crawls in. Light slices through half-closed blinds and pins the sheets like evidence. Rebel’s hair spills over the pillow, dark and tangled, her skin traced with ghosts of my hands. For a heartbeat, I let myself believe the fire outside these walls burned itself out overnight.
Then reality moves in. The laptop hums from the corner of the table, screensaver flickering with the decrypted mess Divine dumped on us overnight. Rows of numbers, transfers, shell routes, breadcrumbs left by ghosts who thought they were smarter than everyone else.
I pull on jeans, run a hand through my hair, and scroll through the files again. Something’s off. A buried name glints under six layers of dummy corporations.
Dominic Calloway.
Bones.
My stomach knots tight. Every instinct screams no. But numbers don’t lie, only people do.
Behind me, Rebel stirs, a soft groan as she wakes. She rolls onto her side, eyes half open. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I say.
“You were watching those files again.”
“Yeah.” My throat feels scraped raw. “Found something.”
She sits up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “What kind of something?”
I hesitate. My gut tells me to soften it, but truth’s a blade, once you pull it, you can’t sheathe it again.
So I turn the laptop toward her. “Tell me that name doesn’t mean what I think it does.”
Her gaze flicks to the screen, and everything inside her stills. One heartbeat. Two. Her lips part. “No.”
“It’s all there,” I say quietly. “Offshore accounts. Transfers through Emerge Auditing. The same network we hit. Bones isn’t clean in this. He’s knee-deep in the money.”
She shakes her head hard enough to make her hair whip. “No. He wouldn’t. He’s Royal Bastards. He’s family.”
“I’m not saying he’s running it. But he’s tied in. Maybe blackmailed, maybe coerced, maybe…”
“Stop.” Her voice snaps sharp, brittle. “You don’t know him.”
I lean forward. “You’re right. I don’t. But I know what money looks like when it’s laundered through blood. And this? This is exactly that.”
She gets up, pacing, hands twisting in her hair. “You’re wrong. You have to be.”
“Rebel.”
“I said stop!”
The words hit harder than I expect. She grabs her cut, shoves her arms through, movements jagged with fury. “I’m going to him.”
“Not like this,” I warn. “You’re angry, and that’s what they want. That’s how people get killed.” “Then I’ll die knowing the truth.” Her voice cracks on “truth.” It sounds like a promise and a goodbye.
She heads for the door, jaw tight, eyes shining with the kind of stubborn faith that gets saints crucified.
I grab my keys. “Then I’m coming with you.”
She whirls. “I don’t need protection.”
“This isn’t protection,” I say. “It’s insurance. Against stupid decisions. Yours or mine.”
For a second, something soft flickers behind her anger. Then she looks away. “Fine. But stay out of my way.” She slams the door.
The ride across the city feels like penance. The sun burns through smog, the air thick with exhaust and tension. Every red light flashes like an omen. Rebel rides ahead, hair whipping like a flag of defiance, and I can almost feel her fury burning the air between us.
She doesn’t speak, doesn’t look back. I follow her taillight through downtown until we hit the familiar sprawl of the Royal Bastards’ compound, the skull-and-engine insignia glaring off the gate.
She kills her engine hard enough to make the bike shudder. I pull up beside her and cut mine.
“Last chance to walk away,” I say.
She throws me a look that could strip paint. “Not my style.”
The gate guard knows her, waves her through. His eyes flick to me, wary. I give him a calm nod that says I’m not here to start a war. Yet.
Inside, it’s quieter than I remember. A few patched men linger near the bar. The smell of oil and smoke sits heavy in the air. Rebel strides through like she owns the floor, like she’s done this her whole damn life.
Bones is at the back, leaning over a table, head bowed. When he looks up, there’s that half-smirk he wears like armor. “Look who the wind dragged in.”
“Cut the charm,” Rebel says. “We need to talk.”
He studies her, then glances at me. “And who’s this?” I know he knows who I am, but wants to play dumb.
“Friend,” I answer.
“Doesn’t look like a Harlot.”
“Doesn’t have to,” Rebel snaps. “Dominic. Tell me you didn’t.”
Bones’ face shifts, barely, but enough. “Didn’t what?”
She shoves the tablet toward him, data glowing blue across the glass. “Your name’s on the accounts. Offshore, linked through Emerge Auditing. You were funding Vulture ops. Tell me I’m wrong.”
For a heartbeat, I swear even the air freezes.
Bones’ jaw tightens. He glances over the data, expression unreadable. Then he laughs once, sharp and joyless. “That’s what this is? You think I’m working with the bastards who gutted our brothers?”
“I don’t think anything. I saw it.” Rebel growls.
“You saw numbers, not truth.” Bones replies.
“Then explain it!”
His gaze cuts to me. “You bring this Fed in here to read me my own accounts?”
“Marine,” I correct, stepping closer. “And the pattern’s there whether you want to see it or not.”
He snorts. “Pattern. You ever think maybe someone’s framing me?”
Rebel’s voice wavers but doesn’t break. “Who the hell could frame you, Bones? You built half this system.”
He moves closer, slow, deliberate, like a storm closing distance. “Careful, girl. You’re talking like someone who forgot where she stands.”
“I remember exactly where I stand,” she shoots back. “On the side that doesn’t sell out the family.”
The tension hits a knife’s edge. My hand drifts toward my sidearm without meaning to. Bones notices, smirks. “You want to point that at me, Gunny?”
“Not unless you give me a reason.”
“Then here’s one. Get her out before she says something she can’t take back.”
Rebel doesn’t move. Her voice drops low. “You tell me right now if you’re dirty.”
Something flickers in Bones’ eyes, grief, guilt, exhaustion.
His voice drops low, raw. “You want to know the truth?” he says finally.
“Yeah, I moved money. But not for them. For us. For the brothers’ families.
For the ones the Syndicate left in the dirt.
He gestures toward the club walls, toward the ghosts.
“I did what I had to do to keep this place alive.”
The silence after that feels like a held breath. Rebel shakes her head, eyes glassy. “You lied to me.”
“I protected you.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Bones exhales, heavy. “No, it’s not. But it’s what I had left.”
Her hand trembles as she pulls the tablet away. The glow fades off her face, leaving nothing but disbelief. “You always said family doesn’t hide in shadows.”
“And I meant it,” he says softly. “Until the shadows were all we had.”
The words break something in her. She takes a step back. I see it, the exact moment her trust fractures down the middle.
“Come on,” I murmur. “We’re done here.”
Rebel turns and walks out, every step like she’s shedding skin.
Bones calls after her, “You think you know betrayal, Rebel? You don’t. Not yet.”
I don’t look back. Because I know he’s right. The worst betrayal doesn’t come from your enemies. It comes from the ones who taught you loyalty.
Once we are outside, Rebel stops beside her bike, jaw locked, eyes wet but furious.
“Don’t,” she says.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Yes, you were. You were going to say it’s not my fault, that he made his choice, that…”
“That you don’t have to hate him yet,” I finish quietly.
She swallows hard. “Too late.”
For a moment, the wind picks up, carrying the smell of oil and rain. Somewhere behind the compound walls, an engine revs to life. The day stretches wide and mean ahead of us.
I glance at her. “We’re not done. There’s more under those ledgers, someone bigger behind Bones.”
Her chin lifts. “Then we burn our way to them.”
Light catches her eyes, fractured and fierce. Soldiers used to look like that right before they crossed a line they couldn’t come back from.
And for the first time since this started, I know what really scares me.
It’s not the Vultures. It’s Rebel. What she’ll become if I can’t stop her.