Chapter 11 Rebel
“Time to stop running, my sweet little fish.”
Everything inside me seized at the realization that Paul was here. He found me. I didn’t know how, but I had a feeling joining a motorcycle club had been a strategic move for him. Paul never made a decision without calculating how to take down his enemy as ruthlessly as possible. I’d become an enemy the second I left him. Now, I was prey, exposed, vulnerable, and far too easy a target.
I shook my head, backing away as his hard stare landed on me and locked. “I’m not your anything ,” I emphasized, keeping my focus on the dangerous man who stood before me.
I knew his temper. Hell, I knew everything about him and what he was capable of. It took every ounce of courage I possessed not to quake in fear.
“You seem to forget our little agreement,” he replied, taking a step forward. “You belong to me.”
“I never agreed to that,” I hissed.
“It wasn’t your choice.”
No, it wasn’t. I lost my freedom the night we met; I just didn’t know it.
Like the predator he was, Paul slowly took control, taking everything away from me until I had to rely on him for survival. But the reason he came into my life had nothing to do with me. I never had a chance to choose or reject him.
No, my parents were the only ones to blame. They sold me to him to pay their debts and gain extra cash. I never meant anything to them other than a means to provide income. I worked from the moment I was old enough to babysit. My mother did odd jobs for temp agencies, but with her poor work ethic, she never got hired anywhere. The man who raised me, who claimed to be my father, had tried to stick his dick in me since I was old enough to get my first period.
And he succeeded, making his late-night visits to my room when my mother worked. I fought him, but it never stopped until my parents met Paul. Sadly enough, the villain in this story wasn’t my father. It was the man who bought me on my eighteenth birthday, drove me for ice cream, took me back to his place, and began to groom me until one night, he took my father’s place. My father had been a fumbling, drunken mess in the bedroom, barely able to get it up long enough to hurt me for long.
Not Paul. He took sadistic pleasure in raping me, tormenting me, subduing me, and ensuring I knew how to please him. I didn’t know most of the sexual acts he forced me to participate in before he bought me. My life became hell from that day on.
It didn’t take long for me to plan my escape, but it did take years to accomplish it. I had to earn his trust, especially after I ran away on multiple occasions like I had when I was a teen. My parents always managed to find me. So did Paul. His punishments were far worse than anything my parents could ever inflict.
So I waited. Plotted. Gained his trust again. And then I ran.
But Las Vegas didn’t hide me the way I hoped. No, I was kidnapped by wolves first, then brought to The Roost.
Until the last few months, I’d never felt like I had the freedom to do as I wished. And now, staring into the eyes of the man who helped steal my innocence, I felt rage begin to surface, bubbling in my gut. The fear I felt began to diminish as Paul’s lips widened into a grin.
“Ah, there it is. That fire that I’ve missed.”
I didn’t reply.
“You’ve caused a lot of inconvenience, Rebecca.” His lips twitched before he licked them. “I’ll enjoy your punishment.”
“Fuck you,” I spat, feeling bold.
His amusement mixed with lethal promise as his green eyes darkened. “How far do you think you can push me?”
I didn’t realize we weren’t alone until I saw more men wearing the Grave Robbers leather vests join us. They closed in and forced me to move closer to Paul. My hands curled into fists as I prepared to fight.
“Ah, my brave little fish. Don’t get hostile now. We’ve got a meeting to attend.”
Huh?
He took advantage of my confusion and advanced swiftly, wrapping his large hand around my upper arm. My body collided with his chest as I narrowed my eyes.
“What did I tell you, Rebecca?”
Too many wicked threats to name.
“About running,” he snarled.
“That you will always find me.”
“That’s right. No matter how far, I’ll hunt you. It doesn’t matter who you fuck to get them to protect you. I won’t hesitate to kill that Samoan bastard.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“You care about him. Good. That means you’ll obey me.”
It didn’t mean shit, but I refused to reply, letting my silence answer. For the first time in my life, I believed I had someone in my corner. A man who loved me enough to fight against the sadistic son of a bitch who thought he could own me like a piece of property.
Heron would never let Paul take me away again. He’d kill him first. I didn’t have it in me to care. Paul deserved whatever fate awaited him once Heron learned what Paul had done to me.
“How do you know about him?” I didn’t say Heron’s name in case Paul hadn’t learned it yet.
“Heron? Or Manu?”
At my gasp, a dark chuckle tumbled from his mouth.
“Did you think I wasn’t watching? That I couldn’t find you?” His free hand speared through my hair and dug into my scalp, holding my head in place as he stared down at me. “You’ll learn your place, Rebecca. If we had more time, I’d make you apologize on your knees in front of my club.”
A few of his club brothers snickered.
“But that’ll happen soon enough. And who knows? When I’m done reminding you who you belong to, I might let a few of my officers have a turn, too.”
Anger flushed my cheeks as I filled my mouth with saliva, opened my lips, and spit on him. Satisfaction shot through my body like an addicting shot of cocaine as he snarled. His threats didn’t matter. Heron would find me.
I anticipated the hit before it came and managed not to flinch when Paul’s slap cracked across my jawline. Another followed, splitting my lip as I felt it rip open from the jagged metal of the ring he wore on his left hand. Its sharp edges glistened with my blood.
I didn’t allow myself to cry. Not even when he yanked my hair hard enough to remove it from the roots.
“Your ass is mine. I will fuck every hole as soon as we leave this fucking rally.”
Was I stupid to piss him off? Maybe. But years of abuse and trauma had finally clawed its way to the surface. I would never be a victim again. I’d rather die fighting him off than allow him to touch me one more fucking time.
He sensed my resolve, and the anger fizzled, replaced by dark lust. “I like this version of you, Rebecca. It’ll be even sweeter when I’m fucking you after you’ve fought me.”
A throat cleared. “Pres?”
Paul’s gaze turned to the man who’d spoken. “It’s time. The Devil’s Murder is ready to meet.”
“No reason to keep them waiting,” he responded with a laugh. His hold on my hair released, and I tried not to focus on the ache it left behind. Paul’s hand tightened around my upper arm as he dragged me toward the tents.
We hadn’t been far away. If not for the loud music and the wild crowd, I might have been able to cry out for Heron. Paul had managed to pull me out of view during this conversation, and I wondered if I would have screamed, would anyone have come to my aid?
Too late to act on it, and knowing I’d soon see all the people I cared about, I knew I’d have to be careful of what I said and how I acted. Paul would hurt me in front of Heron just to get a reaction out of him. Maybe he wanted to start a war between the clubs. I didn’t have a clue why it mattered if we met with the Devil’s Murder MC before he kidnapped me. Again.
The only conclusion that made sense was that he wanted to confront the man who touched his woman. Pride. It always seemed to be one of Paul’s issues.
As we entered the tent, I saw Crow and the club waiting. It took a few seconds for everyone to clue in and notice Paul, or Hammerhead and his fingers clenching around my upper arm. He squeezed as we stood, and I tried not to betray any emotion on my face because it fucking hurt. I’d have bruises later.
Heron immediately took a few steps in my direction. His gaze swept over my face, and he noticed my busted lip. Rage contorted his handsome features as he caught the way Paul held my arm and tugged me closer.
Crow stood in front of Heron. He held out a hand as if to stop my man from doing something reckless and spoke directly to Hammerhead. “We’ve come to this meeting without animosity, Hammerhead, but if you don’t release Rebel, we’ll have no choice but to consider it an act of war against our club.”
“Why does this club whore matter to you?”
Heron snarled. “She’s not a hanger-on.”
Crow shot him a look before focusing on Paul. “Rebel has been claimed by one of our members. She’s an ol’ lady.”
“I don’t recognize anyone named Rebel.”
For fuck’s sake.
“I’m Rebel,” I declared loudly, frowning at Heron. Don’t do anything stupid.
Paul seemed amused. “Then we’ve got a problem.”
Crow stiffened along with most of the Devil’s Murder.
“Because this woman,” he glanced at me, “is my ol’ lady, Rebecca.”
Heron looked ready to explode. Hawk’s hand rested on his shoulder, probably to keep him calm.
“Then it’s easy. We ask her which club she wants to belong to. Not an issue.” Crow knew I’d choose them.
“Not possible. She ran from me, and now she needs to learn her place. Can’t have our whores thinking they can do whatever the fuck they want.”
Paul’s club members laughed in agreement, and a few nudged one another like this shit was funny. I couldn’t imagine what horrors women were subjected to at the hands of such men.
“I’m an ol’ lady,” I respond, not giving a shit if I corrected him in front of everyone. “I choose my man, Heron, and his club, the Devil’s Murder.”
No matter what happened next, I had to make that known.
Heron’s gaze caressed me from head to toe, softening a few heartbeats before his dark eyes hardened to onyx. The fury boiling under his skin made him appear imposing and lethal. He’d kill Paul before we ever left this room.
“The only claim that fucking matters is mine.” Paul raised his left hand. “She’s my wife.”
I’d only had one lover who treated me with kindness, respect, and love. My Heron. He never looked at me with doubt until now. The shock on his features felt like a sucker punch to the gut. I should have explained and told him about Paul. He would have understood if he knew about all the abuse. I’d been fucking sold! No part of Paul or the wedding was ever my choice. His friend officiated, and I had to sign or risk a beating and additional rapes.
“Was your vow given willingly?” Heron asked, staring into my eyes. The agony there felt like it reached across the space separating us and latched onto my heart with poisoned barbs.
“No,” I replied firmly.
Paul laughed. He didn’t care about consent. He never did.
“Then there’s no marriage,” Heron replied firmly.
Paul whipped out a gun from inside his cut, and every member of his club followed his lead. “I say there is.”
Crow calmly stared at his new nemesis. “Put the guns away and release Rebel or deal with the consequences.”
The smug look on Paul’s face proved he didn’t have any intention of releasing me.
Before anyone else could speak, a man walked into the tent. I’d know him anywhere since he visited The Roost often. Rael, the Sergeant-at-Arms of the RBMC Tonopah, strode forward.
He had a magnetic, terrifying personality, and the skull-themed black and white face paint he always wore only added to that deadly vibe. His hollowed-out nose and black sunken eyes gave him the appearance of a devilish spirit. When he grinned, as he did right now, the ghostly specter of his features seemed almost demonic. I’d never want to be someone on the receiving end of his rage. And the way he singularly focused on Paul gave the impression he barely restrained the need to kill.
Paul had no idea who he attempted to fuck with. If he’d done his research, he would have seen the Devil’s Murder had close allies with several prominent clubs, including the RBMC, Feral Rebels, and Reaper’s Vale. Even I knew this, and I wasn’t anything more than a girl who ended up being taken in by honorable men. Bikers who weren’t afraid to stand up to the vilest, most sadistic in our society, the champions of victims, women, children, and the innocent. The Feral Rebels, Devil’s Murder, the RBMC Tonopah, and RBMC Las Vegas were all protectors.
Rael glided to a stop in front of Paul and invaded his personal space. He got so close that I leaned my head back to stay out of his way. “Let go of the girl.”
Paul hesitated.
Rael’s teeth gnashed in his mouth, gums exposed, and I swear I saw something slither in his mouth like a forked tongue. “Now.”
Paul’s fingers released me like they’d caught fire, and he hissed. Before he could reach for me again, I ran toward Heron. He met me halfway and scooped my body into his arms, rushing back to an invisible line drawn between the two clubs.
“Not now, Spark,” he whispered, sensing I wanted to talk about what he heard. “Behind me, baby.”
I obeyed, moving around his back and pressing the front of my body into the tense wall of muscle. My hands wrapped around his waist as I rested my cheek against his back.
Heron’s left arm cradled mine and intertwined our fingers. The right hand twitched like he fought to reach for his gun.
The energy in the room seemed supercharged. Outside, I heard thunder rumble. A streak of lightning crackled outside the tent to the right, showing a sky tinted with a crimson hue. A bad omen. Death.
I didn’t believe in superstition before I met Undertaker, his wolves, the Tonopah RBMC bikers, or Heron’s club. Now I knew things went bump in the night, and it was freaky. The thought made me tremble.
“I got you,” Heron replied, not bothering to lower his voice. “Always.”