Chapter Eighteen
Rebel
The other side of the bed is empty, and my brain goes on high alert, I sit up so fast it makes my head spin.
I’m still in Kinsley’s bedroom, but she isn’t. I swipe a hand down my face and listen for any sign of her. It would be just like her to have left me in her own place. I lean back and look around.
There is nothing personal here, nothing to say she is planning on making this place her home. All the thoughts from last night come back like a freight train, and panic rises.
I’ve got shit I need to be doing, not sitting here soaking up the scent on her pillow and the memory of her warm skin against mine. Or wondering whether she is going to walk back to her old life in a couple of months, and what I can do to make her stay.
Raven could help, they’ve struck up a kind of friendship.
Nope, my sister would never let me live that down. Those intrusive thoughts are interrupted when my phone buzzes in my jeans on the floor.
Fury:
Where the fuck are you?
Fury:
Stop pouting and get your ass to the clubhouse
Fury:
If it helps with your tantrum, Nero isn’t here so you won’t get your ass kicked. Again.
Rebel:
Fuck off
Fury:
Good, you’re not dead. I’m guessing it’ll only take you two minutes to get here
Rebel:
FUCK OFF
Fury:
We’ve started without you so hurry the fuck up
I toss the phone. Intuitive little shit. Or maybe I’m just being too obvious. It’s not easy to sneak out of here when it’s right across the street, and some nosy bastard is always outside the clubhouse.
If those assholes find out what I’ve got going on with Kinsley, I’ll never hear the fucking end of it. There is no way to explain it when I don’t know what the hell it is myself.
I’m not rushing over there to join them. Wallen can do with the reminder he chose the wrong side.
After searching, I find the place empty. Where the fuck is she? Shouldn’t it be me running out the door without waking her?
Outside, I find Kinsley on a small stepladder wearing paint splattered clothes and boots, there is a mask over her face as she sweeps long strokes with her spray can. She is so caught up in what she is doing she doesn’t notice me watching her.
It’s too early for the church to be open, too early for many of the brothers to have surfaced but there are two on the street, one by the main entrance and one at the high wall separating the clubhouse from the warehouse beside it. Where Wallen is.
“You looked so peaceful sleeping, I thought I’d leave you to your dreams.”
I cock my head in her direction, and she laughs at my expression. It’s a nice laugh, something she doesn’t do often.
She has pushed the mask up on top of her head, instead of drawing it down under her chin like most people. She’d hate me for saying it, but she looks adorable. I almost cup my balls to make sure they’re still there.
“A coffee would have been nice.”
“There’s a café,” she leans back a little to point around me, and I take a step closer because she could fall. “Right down the street. They make great coffee.”
“I would have made you coffee,” I grumble.
Kinsley smirks. “Careful, Rebel, you’re gonna have me thinking you’re going soft.”
Her arched brow shows her double entendre. So she woke up playful, huh? My expression stays stern, but inside, where I’ll never show it, I’m glad I had some part in making her happier.
“I’ve got stuff to do,” I say.
“Don’t kill anyone.” She waves and puts her mask back up.
She does not know how literal a warning that is. Or maybe she does, and it hasn’t made her run for the hills, instead, she’s joking around about it.
“I can’t make any promises.”
“So you’re like all the other men I’ve ever met,” she gives me a sassy look.
I’ll give her the last word on this one. I’m not offended. Promising would make me a liar, and I won’t lie to her. Keep things from her, sure, but never outright lie.
She watches me as all of that runs through my head, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s figuring that out for herself.
Kinsley is not like other women I’ve met. Where other women would argue or question me, Kinsley just looks at me like she can read my mind, or she doesn’t care.
That’s much more likely, and I can’t hide the smile.
She gives me one last appraising look, then gets back to painting, and I cross the street.
It’s only when I turn back I can see the mural taking shape. Up close it looks like a lot of different colors being layered in a haphazard way. From a distance I can see it's a garden.
A couple more brothers come out as I head to the warehouse. On a whim, I stop one of them and hand him some money.
“Go to the coffee shop and grab a large caramel latte to go.” He’s a prospect so won’t say no, but he doesn’t hide his confusion. “For her,” I point behind me.
He looks over at Kinsley and his lips part as if he is about to make some kind of fucking joke.
“Mouth shut, do as you’re told, prospect. Get the coffee. And a Danish,” I add, turning away so he can’t see me smiling at how she is going to react when he brings that to her, knowing it came from me.
This back room of the building beside the clubhouse was where we used to bring people we wanted to question and torture when the need arose.
When Stryker bought the pig farm, that became our go to place to handle situations like this. A kill two birds with one stone setup.
Pigs are highly underrated animals. Gross, but intelligent and very efficient in what we need from them.
Stryker doesn’t look up when I open the door and step inside. He has a thing about hanging people so he can use them as a punching bag. Guess it comes from him being a fighter.
He doesn’t have meat hooks here like he does at the farm, so Wallen is hanging from his wrists by a rope looped into a solid metal ring in the ceiling.
It’s painful as fuck being strung up like that, his whole torso stretched, his toes barely touching the floor, even though he is straining to try. Stryker will have done it that way, just enough to make him think he has a chance of touching the ground.
It’s nothing compared to a heavyweight fighter slamming his fists into your body, especially when you’re slight like Wallen.
Fury is leaning against the counter where he keeps his tools locked up. Nero didn’t want us to torture Wallen, which means Fury hasn’t been able to do what he likes to do, but he isn’t incapable of using his fists. So what’s up with Stryker taking the lead?
“Rebel,” Wallen looks over at me in some misguided attempt at pleading for this to stop. “You’ve gotta listen, you’ve gotta understand.”
I don’t know the guy that well, but the men in the MC have a reputation, and Wallen has been locked in a room with two of the worst.
“I don’t know where Storm is, I swear to God. He doesn’t tell me where he is. I swear on my mom’s grave.”
“You hated your mother,” Fury drawls, crossing his ankles and looking as if he’s having the time of his life, all relaxed and shit.
“Step-mother. I loved my real mom,” he frowns. “I’m not lying. I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m not stupid.”
Stryker hits him again, and Wallen shrieks. Fury and I exchange a look, his eyes twinkle with amusement.
Stryker is using thirty percent of what he is capable of, and Wallen is crying like a baby about it. This is the guy I knew before he went to prison, not the one thinking he was a bigshot in that hotel room yesterday.
“You stepped into the wrong pile of shit, Kirk.”
“I just needed somewhere to go,” he looks up at me. “I couldn’t make it on my own when I got out.”
“Another in a long line of poor decisions.”
“I know, and I regret it, I do.”
“You walk out of prison and straight into Storm’s crew.”
I hold my hand at my side, indicating to Stryker to stop. I’m not sure how much Wallen can withstand even with our reaper not working at full strength.
“Do you see how that wouldn’t sit well with us? Especially with what he is doing right now.”
“I don’t know nothing about that.”
“Kirk, do you think we’re stupid?”
“No, no, of course I don’t.”
I move to stand behind him. He twists and turns but can’t get enough slack in the ropes to be able to see me. Fury lifts a brow when I take out my knife and use it to cut the rope.
Wallen drops like a sack of shit and cries out at the jarring contact of his knees with the concrete floor. Considering he’s lost all feeling in his arms it’s no surprise when he face plants too.
Stryker looks disappointed, but I tilt my head for him to leave. Stryker doesn’t ask questions, just wraps one giant hand around his other fist, like he’s about to bow to his opponent or some shit, but he flexes his fingers and his hand twitches. Looks like he busted a knuckle.
His face is as blank as ever as he walks out without an argument. How the fuck did Kinsley capture the part of him no one else sees in that portrait?
Fury hauls Wallen up and tosses him into a chair.
“I’m gonna cut to the chase, Kirk,” I step in front of him and fold my arms. “You have one chance here. Answer all my questions, and it might work out for you.”
“You’ll just…” he looks between the two of us, hope sparking in his eyes. The fucking idiot. “Let me go when I do?”
Fury is hiding a smile behind his hand now. How did this guy convince a mafia family to let him work for them? The squirrelly little fuck is more of a chameleon than he’s letting on.
“Sure, sure. I’ll tell you everything then. Anything you want about Storm. Anything.”
“Including what you were doing with Timo Kivisto last night? A man who came into our club and tried to murder Ellie? You’re lucky she’s not dead, Kirk. That would have changed things.”
Wallen’s face grows paler the more I speak. “I had nothing to do with that.”
“Sure, we’ll go with that. You understand what’s at stake when you walk out of here.
We can keep it quiet, put you away somewhere safe and have you protected, or you can take your chances with the Kivisto’s.
Timo is still here, right?” I keep my eyes on Wallen, and he swallows hard, like he’s going to puke.
“Still in his room at the Drake,” Fury answers my question.