Chapter 20
REBEL
The tunnels open into the old underground garage, a relic from the gun-running days.
Calypso leans against the wall, pale but steady, Annabelle asleep against her chest. Farris checks the first van, fuel full, tires good, back seats already stacked with blankets and bottled water. Women and children file in under the red glow of the exit light, clutching what’s left of their lives.
“All right,” I bark, steadying my voice. “Two convoys. Calypso, you and Farris take the first with the kids. I’ll follow with the rest. Keep comms open. No lights once we hit the highway.”
French’s voice crackles through my earpiece. “Capone’s sending Torch and Knight to intercept halfway. Farmhouse is clear. We’ve got Bastards posted on the perimeter.”
“Copy that,” I reply, slamming the van door.
Farris climbs behind the wheel of the first van with Calypso. “You sure about this place?”
“It’s off-grid,” I answer. “No cameras, no traffic, no way for the Vultures to trace us. It’ll hold.”
He nods, and the engines growl to life. I hurry to the second van and once the rest of the women are in, I fire it up.
We roll out into the dark, headlights cutting quick before switching off. The city falls away behind us, all neon and noise fading into brush and open desert. The stars stretch wide and merciless overhead. The women sit silent, the kids bundled tight, small hands gripping worn stuffed animals.
An hour later, lights appear ahead. Royal Bastards' colors gleaming under the moonlight. Torch raises a gloved hand to signal that the gate is open. The dirt road bends toward a lonely two-story farmhouse surrounded by rusted fencing, dense forest, and dry fields.
Capone stands at the gate, cigarette between his fingers, shades reflecting the convoy of bikes guarding the perimeter.
Trigger, Derange, and Knight sweep the yard, their patches catching firelight from the dying day.
Daisy, Jezebelle, and Aerianna are inside with bottled water and first-aid kits, already organizing chaos into order.
Capone flicks his cigarette, nodding once. “Got your girls and kids covered, Rebel. No one gets past that fence.”
“Appreciate it,” I answer, voice rough. “Owe you more than whiskey for this.”
He smirks. “Save it for when you’ve got your money back.”
Inside, the farmhouse smells like dust and diesel.
The living room’s turned into a triage. Blankets on the floor, bottles lined up, women huddled close with shaking hands.
Annabelle squirms free, toddles toward Aerianna, who scoops her up and kisses her forehead. “Hey there, sugar plum. You hungry?”
Calypso sinks into a chair, exhausted, her skin pale under the fluorescent hum. Farris crouches in front of her, checking her pulse like he can will her body to behave. “You need rest.”
“Rest later,” she says, voice thin. “We make sure they’re safe first.”
I check the windows. Royal Bastards are posted in every direction, bikes forming a metal wall. Safe enough for now.
“Stay put until we clear the grid,” I tell Calypso. “I’ll get word when Divine and Carter lock the breach.”
She nods, but her eyes follow me to the door. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I lie, and step back out into the heat.
The desert hums under the engines as I pace the perimeter, scanning the horizon until the last night fades.
Royal Bastards patrol in a loose formation.
Torch is checking the north fence, and Knight is taking the back pasture.
Capone moves like a shadow, cigarette ember glowing between updates.
It’s the kind of quiet that never stays quiet for long.
Once the farmhouse is secure, I climb back into the van. The ride into the city is long, straight, and silent. The freeway stretches empty, the air thick with heat and exhaust.
I pass the glow of downtown and the smell of asphalt, my thoughts on my nephew, Levi, and every mile between what we’ve saved and what we’ve lost.
By the time I reach the clubhouse, the smog is bleeding into the sun, and the sky looks like a wound that refuses to close.
Inside, Divine’s war room glows like a storm. Screens strobe blue and green. Carter stands behind her, arms braced, eyes hollow from hours without rest.
“We stopped the infiltration,” Divine reports, fingers flying, “but the money’s gone. Every shell, every hidden account was emptied in seconds.”
Carter’s jaw flexes. “They stripped us clean.”
I steady my hands on the table. “All of it?”
“Every cent,” Divine confirms. “But I found something buried in the breach logs. A name pinged during the trace.” She glances at me. “Your nephew. Alex’s boy.”
My stomach knots. “Levi?”
Divine nods. “He’s been hidden in the foster system under a false ID. The one you arranged through the shelter three years ago. You wanted him off the grid, remember? The breach lit up his file. If we don’t move, the Vultures will find him first.”
Carter’s already grabbing his helmet. “Then we move.”
The ride north is a blur of highway and heat.
The club’s black SUV hums steadily beneath us, engine purring low, air thick with sun and asphalt.
Carter drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh near the pistol he keeps within reach.
Neither of us talks much. There’s too much in the silence.
The breach, the name Divine whispered, the sick twist in my gut that hasn’t stopped since.
When we reach the small foster house on the edge of Santa Clarita, it looks ordinary enough. Beige stucco, patchy lawn, a swing set creaking lazily in the dry wind. Ordinary is how danger hides.
The back gate hangs open, chain-link bent where someone forced it. Carter slows, scanning the yard. “No vehicles nearby. You ready?”
“Been ready since the moment Divine said his name.”
We step out. The heat slams into us, dry and unrelenting.
The porch creaks beneath our boots, and I knock once before pushing the door open.
The air smells like disinfectant and canned peaches.
Inside, a woman in her mid-forties with a phone in hand freezes mid-sentence. Her eyes widen when she sees my cut.
“You can’t just barge in here.”
“We can,” I interrupt, low and even. “Where is he?”
She swallows, shaking. “Bedroom. End of the hall. He was napping.”
We pass framed pictures of other foster kids, paper crafts on the wall, and alphabet magnets on the fridge. All the normal things meant to look like safety.
Then I see him. A small figure in a worn gray T-shirt stands in the doorway, barefoot, clutching a toy car in one hand. His dark hair sticks up in tufts, sleep-mussed. But it’s the brown, wide, stubborn eyes that hit me hardest. Alex’s eyes. He doesn’t flinch, just studies me like he already knows.
For a heartbeat, I can’t move. My chest locks up around the ghost of my brother’s laugh, the echo of his voice yelling over engines and gunfire.
The boy studies me, then glances at the patch on my cut. The crowned skull and chrome. “You’re Aunt Rebel?” The way he says it, like he’s known that name his whole life, undoes me.
“Yeah, baby,” I whisper, crouching down so we’re eye to eye. “That’s me.”
He hesitates only a second before stepping forward and walking straight into my arms. Small and solid, heartbeat hammering against mine. He smells like soap and dust and the kind of innocence I forgot the world still had.
Carter exhales beside us, voice rough. “Kid’s brave.”
“Runs in the family,” I manage, my throat tight.
Levi peers up at Carter. “Are you one of the Harlots?”
Carter smirks. “Not pretty enough.”
Levi blinks, then grins. It’s quick, crooked, and pure Alex. The sound that bursts from my chest is half-laugh, half-sob.
The social worker edges closer, still uncertain. “He doesn’t have much. Backpack by the door. A blanket he won’t sleep without.”
“Then that’s what we’ll take.” I grab the worn dinosaur-print pack, slinging it over my shoulder.
Carter clears the corners with a quick scan, his tone clipped. “We should move. If the Vultures traced the file, we’ve got a head start, not a lead.”
Levi’s arms tighten around my neck as we step outside. The sunlight hits hard and white. “Where are we going?”
“Someplace safe,” I tell him. “With family.”
His small hand clutches my cut. “Like my dad?”
My throat closes, but I nod. “Exactly like your dad.”
He looks out the SUV window as Carter pulls away, the swing set shrinking in the mirror behind us. “Mama said you ride big motorcycles.”
“I do,” I say softly, brushing his hair back. “You’ll see one soon enough.”
The highway unfurls in front of us, long and empty. Carter drives fast, eyes flicking to the mirrors every few seconds. The desert heat shimmers on the horizon. Levi eventually dozes off against my shoulder, small and warm, the weight of him anchoring me in a way nothing else ever has.
Carter glances over, voice low. “He’s got your brother’s eyes.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, staring out the window. “And his courage.”
We don’t talk after that. The hum of tires on asphalt fills the silence between us. Somewhere behind, the Vultures are circling, but right now, I’ve got Alex’s son in my arms, alive and safe.
For the first time in days, I remember why we fight. And I promise myself that whatever comes next, they’re not taking him from me.
By the time we hit the outskirts of Lancaster, the sky’s gone molten.
The sun is dipping low, heat radiating off the asphalt in waves.
Levi sleeps curled in my lap, his little hands clutching that toy car like it’s armor.
The hum of the SUV’s engine and the dry rattle of wind are the only sounds for miles.
Carter keeps his eyes on the road. “Farmhouse is fifteen minutes out. Capone’s men already swept the perimeter twice.”
“Good,” I say, watching the horizon. “They’ll need to keep it tight. Vultures don’t back off, they circle.”