Rebel

by Callie Hart

  He probably thinks I won’t eat the other half of his sandwich, but the guy is mistaken. I accept the food, taking a decent bite out of it—cheese and pickle—before convincing myself to look him in the eye. “So I met Leah.”

  “Oh, you did, did you?”

  “Did you tell her to come talk to me?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “To convince me you’re a good guy.”

  A dangerous smile spreads across his face. “But I’m not a good guy.”

  “Then why would you go around buying up women who’ve been kidnapped? Finding them safe houses? Creating new lives for them?” I have to know. My mind won’t rest until I can figure out how this side of him fits in with the rest. Rebel scowls, angling his shoulders away from me so he’s facing the large bay window—it overlooks what seems to be an extensive herb garden.

  “Someone really has been talking, huh?” he says. “I helped those girls because human beings aren’t meant to be bought and sold as property. I was looking for someone. A friend. I’ve had to go to these places—the darkest fucking places on earth—trying to find her. And I’ve been in a position to help the girls that I’ve found in the process. Sue me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He cocks his head to one side, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “Because you wouldn’t have believed me.”

  “I might have.”

  He doesn’t say anything. I keep eating the other half of his sandwich, thinking really hard. Wondering if what I’m considering is actually madness on my part. It probably is, but after him telling me he’s going to let me go, my conversation with Leah and the subsequent encounter I had with his father, I’m beginning to…oh god, I’m beginning to trust him.

  “Are you going to take me to the bus station now?” I ask.

  He pulls in a deep breath, bracing himself against the cool marble. “I guess so.”

  And so he does. Carl brings the Humvee around, and Rebel drives me back into the closest town of Grove Hill. He’s silent as he drives. Outside a café called The Sweet Spot, he pulls over and kills the engine. My heart skips a beat when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a roll of money.

  “This will get you back to Seattle. You’ll be able to grab some more clothes and…shampoo or whatever. They sell tickets inside the café. If you hurry, you’ll be able to make the midday bus.”

  I look at him, at the money he’s holding out in his hand. I close my eyes, allowing my head to fall back against the headrest. “Take me back,” I whisper.

  “What?”

  “Take me back.”

  Rebel, always so self-assured and cocky, now looks confused. My heart beats faster, suddenly scared. What the hell am I doing? My parents flash into my head—how sick with worry they must be. Sloane, too. This isn’t just madness. It’s cruel. If I stay here and I don’t contact them, even just to let them know I’m alive, then what kind of person does that make me? Rebel leans over and presses the money into my hand. “You need to go,” he says. His eyes flash, as though he can read what’s going on inside my head. I close my hand around the money.

  “It’s okay. I’ll stay. I’m not happy about it but I’ll do it. I’ll testify.”

  Rebel pulls his lower lip into his mouth. If I’m not mistaken, he does it to hide the fact that he’s trying not to smile. I can see it in his eyes, though. “This is because you wanna sleep with me, isn’t it?”

  “No!”

  “Admit it. You’re only lying to yourself.” He’s not even trying to hide his smirk now. I thump him as hard as I can on the top of his arm.

  “I’m doing it because you were right back at your cabin. You said you were going to show me you weren’t the man I thought you were, and you have. But mostly, I decided to stay because your father said he didn’t want me at his party tonight. And you may have noticed, but your father is a massive asshole. Displeasing him will make me one incredibly happy woman.”

  Rebel tips his head back and laughs. I’ve never heard it before, his laughter. It sends electricity snapping through my torso, my arms, my legs, my head; it’s the most amazing sound. “The Widow Makers say I’m stone-cold, Soph. They say I’m made of ice. When the rest of the club meets you, I’m pretty sure they’re gonna say you’re made of fire.”

  My chest tightens at the thought of meeting the other Widow Makers. God knows how I’m going to handle that. Not well, probably. Rebel twists in his seat, staring at me. His hand lifts from the steering wheel, reaching slowly toward me. My breath catches in my throat as he grazes his fingertips along the line of my jaw, his eyes fixed firmly on the point where his skin meets mine. “I swear nothing will happen to you, sugar. I’ll keep you safe, no matter what. Your family, too. From here on out, from now until you decide you need to leave, you’re under the Widow Makers’ protection, and so are they.”

  ******

  REBEL

  Soph stares anxiously at the payphone, chewing on her lip. She shouldn’t be worried, but she is. “Just do it. Pick up the phone and make the call,” I tell her.

  Panic flashes in her eyes. “I’m going to break down. I won’t be able to stop myself,” she whispers.

  “It’ll be okay. They’ll know you’re alive and well. They’ll stop worrying that you might be dead, and that’s the most important thing, right?”

  “Yeah, I...I guess you’re right.” She moves mechanically as she picks up the handset and dials slowly, her finger hovering over each key before she presses it. The dial tone changes, turning into a ringing that I can hear standing two feet away. I watch her face as she waits for someone to pick up.

  She grimaces when the ringing ceases and a male voice says, “Dr. Alan Romera.” Her whole body locks up. I turn around, gritting my teeth together. I’m a selfish son of a bitch and I know it. Sophia lets out a strangled sob, gripping hold of the side of the payphone. Her eyes look wild when she turns to me.

  “Hello?” the guy says on the other end of the phone. A fat tear rolls down Soph’s cheek. She swallows hard and then shakes her head, slamming down the receiver.

  “Was that your dad?

  She nods.

  “Why?” I ask. “Why didn’t you speak to him?”

  “I can’t. I just can’t,” she whispers. Her voice sounds thick with emotion. “If I do, if I speak to him, then I won’t be able to stop. I’ll ask him to come get me. I won’t be strong enough to stay.”

  She starts crying even harder, and no matter how badly I might want her to think I’m a completely heartless jackass, I can’t do it anymore. I move quickly, before I can change my mind, shifting to stand behind her. I wrap my arms around her body, her back to my chest, and I hold her as she cries. She doesn’t push me away.

  I can feel her heart bang, bang, banging, its tempo fast and furious around her body. My hands are over her stomach, one resting on her hip, but I can feel her pulse beating there even, through the material of her shirt. She slumps back against me so that I’m the only thing keeping her upright. I’m not sure that it’s even a conscious decision to lean on me, but I hold onto her. I hold onto her tight.

  Standing on the street in Grove Hill, the place where Cade and I grew up, I’m assaulted by a million different memories as I hold this broken, crying girl in my arms. She turns and buries her face in my chest, and my head is racing. I heard her father say his name on the phone: Dr. Alan Romera. I know this about her now, at least. Her last name isn’t Marne. It has to be Romera, like her father. A father who’s going out of his head, wondering where his daughter is.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m really so sorry that you’ve had to do this for me. Can you forgive me?”

  Sophia holds her arms in, close to her sides, not wrapping them around me. She’s still leaning on me, though, still needing me in some small way. “Maybe.” She gasps the word in between breaths. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  I should ask her again if she’s sure she wants to do this, but I don’t because I�
�m a bastard and I need her. I feel like shit. Hollowed-out, evil shit. But still, a brief spark of hope flickers inside me, too. She didn’t say no. She said maybe, and maybe will have to be good enough for me right now.

  It shouldn’t matter. I’ve done some incredibly shitty things in the past to get what I want, and I haven’t batted an eyelid. But this, with her…it’s different. She’s not from the awful, damned world that I call home. She was on her way to being something better than I’ll ever be, before my family and my shit messed everything up for her. So now here she is, neck deep in this crap, danger surrounding her at every turn. It’s within my power to send her back to safety, but I’m choosing not to. So yeah, it feels like I really need her forgiveness. And I’m sure as hell going to make sure I earn it.

  SOPHIA

  I couldn’t bring myself to phone Matt. The hesitation wasn’t the same as my reluctance to call my father. I’d just been afraid of falling to pieces as soon as I heard Dad’s voice, knowing that still I wasn’t going to see him for a while. But with Matt…

  I just didn’t want to hear his voice, period.

  I know Rebel plays a big part in that. As much as I don’t want him to, he’s somehow worked his way into my head. And, if I’m being honest, into my heart, too. He’s secretive and closed off from the world, but he’s also in pain. I see it all the time, in the moments when he doesn’t think I’m looking. His arrogance fades, leaving him staring off into space with a deep sadness shadowed in his eyes. I have no idea why, but I want to know. I feel the desperate need to find out.

  Rebel takes me back to Ebony Briar, the mansion even statelier on approach during daylight hours. He drives the Hummer around the back to a vast garage where he stows the truck, and then he takes my hand, guiding me behind the low-lying building, out toward the trees at the very edge of the property.

  I’m grateful. I feel exhausted, and facing Louis Aubertin again before it’s absolutely necessary is something that I can do without. I guess Rebel feels the same way. After walking another ten minutes once we’ve crossed the boundaries of the Aubertin property into the next, Rebel leads me to a twisted live oak, monstrous in size and jacketed in Kudzu. We both sit down. He takes off his suit jacket and rolls up his shirtsleeves, exposing the brightly colored ink on his skin.

  “You shouldn’t hide who you are from him, y’know,” I say. “You should show up to this event tonight in jeans and a T-shirt and fuck whatever he thinks.”

  Rebel lies back in the grass, his hands underneath his head. “Don’t think I don’t want to,” he says. “But if he’s mad at me, he’ll punish everyone around him as well as me for it. Leah’ll lose her job. And having her here is very, very convenient for me.”

  “Is she…have you—?”

  He laughs softly, shaking his head. “She spies on Louis for me. Passes along information. The old man’s about as dirty as they come. On the receiving end of so many bribes it’s a wonder how he keeps everything straight in his head. Information like that can be really valuable. Who wants what bill to go through. Who’s involved in insider trading. Who’s addicted to drugs. Who’s cheating on their wives. My father has a stream of information coming in at all times, and Leah gathers it all for me.”

  "And you use that information to get what you want.”

  “When I can.”

  “And when you can’t?”

  Rebel casts a steely look in my direction. “Then I use other means.”

  I lie back into the long grass, lacing my hands over my chest. “Is this who you thought you’d end up being when you graduated from MIT?”

  “No. I thought I was going to be a solider forever. But things don’t always work out the way you intend them to, do they?”

  “Obviously not.”

  Neither of us says anything else. The wind blows through the tree branches overhead, rustling leaves and grass and teasing strands of my hair up into the air. I fall asleep. When I wake up, Rebel’s sitting with his back against the tree, watching me.

  “Getting involved with me is the worst thing you can possibly do,” he says.

  The words are gripping me by the throat—I don’t want to get involved with you. I’m not going to—but the intensity of his expression prevents me from lying. Even to myself. “I get the feeling it might somehow be too late now,” I say, my voice quiet. “Don’t…don’t you feel that, too?”

  He looks away, clenching his hands tightly into fists. “Yeah. Well. I was kind of hoping you were smarter than me.”

  “From your math problems and the diploma hanging on your father’s wall, I don’t think I know anyone smarter than you, Jamie.”

  I don’t know why I call him that. His forehead creases into lines of…worry? “You can’t call me that outside of this place, Soph. You need to remember that. It’s important.”

  “I’ll remember.” I sit up, every part of me focused on him. “I won’t do it again. Will that make you happy?”

  That small crease in his cheek reappears, completing his rueful expression. “Yes, ma’am.” He leans forward, his body close to mine, the smell of him filling my head. Carefully, he plucks a blade of dried grass from my hair. “I kissed you before, sugar. You pushed me away. Next time you want that to happen, you’re gonna have to make it happen yourself. You understand?”

  I look away, tucking my knees up underneath my chin. Hiding from him. He ducks down, searching for my eyes, but I’m a coward. I close them.

  “Sophia?”

  “What if I’m too scared? What if I want that now, but I’m too afraid of what comes after?” I feel dizzy as I speak, not sure where I’m drawing the courage from.

  “Look at me, Soph.”

  I don’t. I can’t.

  “Sophia.” He shifts his body so that his side is pressed up against mine; his warmth makes my head spin. I feel his fingers underneath my jaw, lifting and turning my head so that I’m facing him. I keep my eyes tightly closed, though, still too paralyzed by the fear that I’m losing myself entirely to acknowledge this. To acknowledge him.

  I might not be able to see him, but I can sense him drawing even closer. My heart stops altogether when I feel the rough stubble of his cheeks grazing against mine as he presses himself against me and whispers in my ear. “The moment you give yourself to me, it won’t be because I’ve bought you. It won’t be because you’re afraid of me, or because you want something in return. It’ll be because you need me. Because you need me inside you. Because you can’t stand this torture a second more. Then, you won’t be afraid of what comes next. You’ll be begging for it.”

  His heat suddenly vanishes, leaving me breathless. With his close proximity making my head spin a moment ago, now that he’s moved away I feel abruptly alone. I open my eyes and Rebel has stood up. His eyes are so filled with hunger that I don’t know where to look. Holding out his hand to me, he jerks his head in the direction of the house. “Come on, sugar. We have to go get ready for my father’s circle jerk of a party.”

  ******

  The dress probably isn’t something I would have picked out for myself, but it’s still beautiful. Cream, almost white, with lace around the midsection, it falls gracefully to the floor as I pour the silky material over my head. I feel like a different person entirely in this dress. Someone I would be if I went home and finished my degree. Someone I would be if I had a normal life. Someone I would have been if I’d let him put me on that bus.

  With my hair swept to one side, pinned in place and curling down over my shoulder, I feel like I belong in some sort of Grecian legend. I have no jewelry, but I don’t need it. The single splash of color I’m wearing—bold, bright red lipstick that I found in amongst the toiletries Rebel brought for me—is embellishment enough.

  Rebel, in yet another beautifully tailored black suit, is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs when I come down to meet him. The smile falls from his face as he watches me approach. I think he approves. The guy he’s talking to turns and looks over his shoulder, smiling
politely as I stop at Rebel’s side. “This is Sophia Marne,” Rebel says, introducing me to the older man. “Sophia, this is Drew McKinney. He’s my father’s campaign manager and our family’s oldest friend.”

  I shake Drew’s hand, mirroring the frown that develops on his face when he takes a closer look at me. “Why, how strange,” he says, his accent by far the most southern I’ve heard since arriving last night. “I swear I’ve seen your face before. Are you…do you work in television?” he asks, breaking out into a grin, elbowing me as though he’s caught me out in some grand deception.

  “No, no,” I laugh. “I’ve just got one of those faces.”

  “A beautiful face, I’m sure. Either way, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Marne. I hope this young man is remembering his manners around you?”

  I hear Rebel’s voice in my head—it’ll be because you need me. Because you need me inside you. Because you can’t stand this torture a second more—and I can’t help but smile. “I assure you, he’s been the perfect gentleman.”

  “That’s mighty good to hear, my girl. Our Jamie’s always been a bit of a rebel. I’m reassured to know he can at least treat a beautiful woman the way she deserves to be treated.”

  Rebel nearly chokes on the flute of champagne he was drinking from. Obviously the rebel reference just hit a little too close to home. “I think I see my father. We should probably go say hello,” he says, clearing his throat. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Drew.” Pulling me away through the crowd of people who have already arrived and are milling around the foyer and formal reception rooms, Rebel growls under his breath. “This is my worst fucking nightmare.”

  His mood doesn’t improve. As the night progresses and we’re forced to make nice with progressively stuffier, drunker, more passive aggressive people, my escort gets ruder and ruder. His final breaking point comes when his father joins us, as a morbidly obese oiler from Texas is praising Rebel in his service to his country.