Rebellious

by Gillian Archer

  After leaving his office, I texted Reb: Gotta work tonight. Can’t get out of it.

  Immediately my phone rang in my hand. There was a reason I texted him: I was weak; see conversation with Daniel above. And I didn’t want to hear the anger in Reb’s voice when I told him I wasn’t coming home until after nine. But still, after taking a deep breath, I answered.

  “Hey.” Then I had to hold the phone away from my ear because of Reb’s volume.

  “I wanna talk to your boss, now!”

  “Yeah, we’re not doing that, Reb.”

  “Why the fuck not? I’ll get you out of there with your fucking check in hand. You need to be here.”

  Nothing pissed me off more than a man who thought he knew better than me. I might be falling for Reb, but that didn’t mean I hit my head on the way down and lost the ability to think for myself. So I said as much. “No, I need to get a good recommendation from this job. I still have student loans and rent to make. I might be temporarily staying at your house, but that doesn’t mean you decide everything for me.”

  Silence reigned on the other end of the line. I think Reb got that I was pissed.

  Finally, after a moment, he said quietly, “Tank is watching out for you tonight. Try not to lose him.”

  And then he ended the call without saying anything else.

  I stared at my phone in disbelief for a few seconds. He couldn’t even bother to say good night? I was tempted to text him how I really felt at the moment, but I was afraid of what I’d say. Instead I’d wait until I got home so I could say it to his face.

  I spent the next few hours stewing over his high-handedness. Thinking of all the things I should’ve said, and all the things I would say when I saw him later.

  After restocking some shelves in the mystery section—and avoiding eye contact with Tank—I returned to the back and broke down more boxes. I must’ve been really into my job because I didn’t hear Daniel come up behind me.

  “It’s dead tonight. I think you can go on home. We’ll be fine.”

  I swung around. “Did he call you?”

  “What? Who?” There seemed to be genuine confusion in Daniel’s eyes.

  I sighed. “Nothing. Sorry. I mean thank you.”

  “Your final check will be deposited in your account at the end of the week.”

  “But—”

  “I have no control over payroll. That’s just how it is. We’ll miss you around here. You made things…interesting.”

  “Yeah. I guess.” I looked around the back room and didn’t feel even a tinge of regret. I’d never been remotely attached to any of my part-time jobs, but this one—being able to work with books—had been the one I was most excited about. At first. I guess between Michael’s shenanigans and Reb’s overbearing protection, the shine had quickly fallen off this job. Still, I wanted to finish it. Because I was stubborn like that. “I’ll just run these boxes out to the Dumpster.”

  “I can get—”

  “It’s fine. Really, it will only take me a minute.”

  Daniel nodded, his brow wrinkled in confusion. No doubt he’d expected me to run for the doors the second he gave me a reprieve. But I wasn’t running, because I wasn’t all that eager to fight with Reb at home.

  Between my morose thoughts, the crashing sound of the boxes hitting the Dumpster, and my physical exertion, I didn’t hear anything until it was too late.

  Something bashed into the back of my head and knocked me off balance. I fell to the ground. “Oomph.”

  I didn’t even have time to put my hand to my smarting head. A huge boot smashed into my side, and I curled into a ball, trying desperately to protect myself. I opened my mouth to scream, but it cut off when something crashed into my head again.

  Oh God. I was being attacked. The blows kept coming. My back. My side. My head. I wanted to look to see who, but I was too busy protecting my head. Pain exploded with every hit.

  I was going to die in a parking lot and no one would know. Oh God. Reb still thought I was mad at him. Tucker would never know how much I loved him.

  That was the last thought I had before everything went dark.

  Chapter 23

  Tank

  Tank had a really bad feeling. Emily had been in the back for way too long. Usually she just disappeared back there for a minute or two, twenty at most, but it’d been more like an hour. He knew it was her last day—Reb had said as much when he put Tank on babysitting detail. So there was a possibility she could’ve gone home early. But she wouldn’t have ducked out on him with all the shit raining down on everyone lately. Would she?

  With a muttered curse, Tank pushed away from his table at the small coffee shop and headed to the back of the store. He didn’t even pause when he hit the door marked “Personnel Only.” He plowed right through and found her boss hacking away at cardboard boxes.

  “Where the fuck is Emily?”

  The guy jumped a foot in the air. “Shit, you scared me.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, this space is for employees only.”

  “Call a fucking cop. Where’s Emily.”

  “She left thirty minutes ago.” Her boss went back to hacking at the boxes. “But seriously, you can’t be back here. Leave or I will call a fucking cop.”

  Tank narrowed his eyes. More than anything he’d love to teach the asshole a lesson in respect, but he had to find Emily first. She better not have left. Reb would have his ass if she disappeared on him.

  But when Tank reached the parking lot, her blue Audi was still in the same spot she’d parked it in a few hours ago.

  His bad feeling multiplied. The last time he’d felt like this, three men in his unit had died when a sniper popped up out of nowhere.

  Either her boss lied—doubtful, since people tended to tell Tank what he wanted to hear—or Emily was in trouble. He walked toward her car, then cursed when he got close enough to see the damage.

  The whole driver’s side of her car had been keyed. And the message left behind wasn’t a pretty one. Someone had gouged “WHORE” in huge letters.

  “Fuck!” Tank pulled out his phone and made a call as he jogged to his bike.

  Reb picked up on the first ring. “Yeah.”

  “We’ve got a problem…”

  Reb

  This time he didn’t bother to knock. Reb’s rage carried him through the locked front door and into Michael’s living room. But unlike last time, only the punk’s brother was home.

  “Where is she?”

  The kid’s face went white and he started trembling. “Wha-what?”

  “Where. Is. She?” Reb stalked toward the kid, the baseball bat from his last visit clutched in his hand. “I know your brother has her. Where are they?”

  “I don’t…I don’t…” He gulped. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  Reb swung the bat into the flat-screen TV. It exploded into shards of glass, then hung drunkenly off the wall in a tangle of cords. That wasn’t enough. Reb swung again and sent more glass and plastic pieces crashing into the room. His chest heaved in huge panting breaths.

  It still wasn’t enough. Would never be enough until he had Michael’s neck in his hands. But until then…

  He turned back to the only person standing between him and finding out where his girl was. Reb pointed the bat at the guy’s face. “You’re gonna tell me where she is. I know he has her. Where are they?”

  The guy shook like a terrified Chihuahua, and a suspicious odor permeated the room.

  “Fuck, Reb. You made him piss himself again.” Axle leaned nonchalantly against the open door. “And we haven’t even got to his kneecaps yet.”

  Reb growled in irritation. It was already getting messy and they hadn’t gotten any information out of him. “Take him into the kitchen and tie him down.”

  Axle and Tank entered the house and prowled toward Michael’s brother.

  Reb tuned out the guy’s begging. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that set of false promises—just the first time today.
<
br />   This was the only place Reb could think of to get answers. When he heard what the sick fuck had carved into Emily’s car, he knew who was to blame. The security cameras at the back of the bookstore had conveniently been turned away, and there’d been no talk as far as his guys knew that the Tramps had a hand in this. Every member of the True Brothers MC was on notice to find out what the fuck had happened to Emily. If they weren’t here in Michael’s house with Reb, they were out looking for any Tramp they could get their hands on.

  Lord knew the pigs weren’t gonna do shit about this. They were still in the alley behind the bookstore scratching their asses.

  Reb was gonna get answers. And he was pretty sure he had his guy—or the guy’s brother, at least. Shitty leopards never changed their spots, and this wasn’t the first time Michael had left behind his “whore” signature.

  Axle snarled in disgust at the mess they were dealing with. “How the fuck can one human hold so much piss?”

  “He’s gotta be empty now.” Tank, apparently not above getting down and dirty, knelt to tie the guy’s legs to the chair.

  Reb tossed the bat to Axle. Pulling his favorite knife out of his back pocket, Reb flicked it open and gently ran his finger parallel to the blade. It kissed his skin like a lover’s caress. “He might be out of piss, but I can guarantee he’s got plenty of blood to play with.”

  “I don’t kn-kn-know what you’re talking about.” The guy’s eyes were wild as he looked from Reb’s knife to Reb and back.

  Tank slammed his fist down on the kitchen table. “You damn sure do know. Tell. Us. Now.”

  The guy just trembled, his eyes bulging out like a toad’s. He opened and closed his mouth but couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say anything.

  Reb had had enough of this bullshit. Grabbing the bottom of the guy’s T-shirt, he cut into the fabric, then slowly drew the knife up, easily slicing the shirt open. A thin raised red scratch ran along the guy’s abdomen from the kiss of Reb’s blade. Reb stepped back and wiped his knife on his pant leg as a huge, shuddering breath left Michael’s brother.

  “You only have so many layers of clothes.” Reb pointed the knife at the guy’s crotch. “I’ll ask you again. Where. Are. They?”

  “If you mean my parents, they’re out of town ’til Sunday. They went to Texas to visit Michael. I couldn’t go since I had to work. God, I really wish I’d gone with them. But I can call them for you. I’m sure it’s not too late over there. They are older so they go to sleep really early, but I’m sure—”

  “Bullshit!” Axle swung the baseball bat at a kitchen chair, sending it flying into the living room in a spray of splinters and broken wood. He turned and pointed the bat at Michael’s brother. “Next one will be your kneecap. First the bat, then my Brother’s blade. We’ll start with your knees and work our way up north.”

  “I swear! They’re in Texas. Have been since last weekend. They went after…” He trailed off as his eyes darted to Reb and his looming knife, then he finished in a whisper, “After the last time you guys were here.”

  “Bunch of pansy-ass bullshit. You start on the left kneecap, Axle. I’ve got the right.” Reb stepped around to the side and drew his knife along the guy’s right kneecap in a soft scratch. Reb’s knife left a trail of frayed and puckered jean in its wake. But no blood. That’d come quick if the punk kept wasting time with his bullshit.

  “I can prove it. I can prove it!”

  Apparently they had his attention now.

  Michael’s brother was panting so hard he was practically hyperventilating. His eyes wide with his terror, he jerked his head to the side. “My phone. The proof is on my phone.”

  “You mean the one I broke the last time we were here?” Axle gave Tank a commiserating look. “Shit-for-brains here thinks this is our first rodeo. Does he really think we’re gonna hand him the means to bring the pigs down on us? What a dipshit.”

  “No, no, no, no.” The guy shook his head emphatically. “You were never here. I know. I swear I won’t call anyone. I’ll stay away from the phone icon. I can show you where Michael is. Ju-ju-just turn it on and use the Where’s My Peeps app.”

  Tank grabbed the phone and held it out to Reb.

  Waving him off with his knife, Reb said, “Nah, you do it. I’m gonna be too bloody in a minute to make the touch screen work.”

  Michael’s brother whimpered.

  Tank chuckled and fired up the phone. After putting in the passcode and opening the app, Tank held the phone up to Reb. A little blinking icon showed Michael’s location as Arlington, Texas. Along with two other icons with the names Mom and Dad.

  “Doesn’t mean shit.” Reb tossed the phone down on the table. “All that tells us is that Michael’s phone is in Texas. Fucker could’ve mailed it to some schmuck friend while he’s holed up somewhere in town with my kidnapped girlfriend. He took her. I know it.”

  “Oh God.” The guy whimpered. “Oh God.”

  Reb really should remember the name of the guy he was preparing to carve ’nads to neck. But he was counting on the prick selling his brother out before he got to the neck. Or near the ’nads, actually. Given the way the guy was sweating, it wouldn’t take much more to break him. Reb took a step toward Michael’s brother and the guy caved.

  “Facebook!”

  The guys looked at each other in confusion. Of all the places they’d expected Michael’s brother to name, that wasn’t on the list.

  “Fuck me.” Tank grunted. “I really thought he would’ve given his boy up by now. I’m surprised he had it in him. I owe ya twenty bucks, Axle. I’ll go get the blowtorch out of my pickup.”

  “Nooooo!” Michael’s brother cried with an agonized moan. “I swear…My phone…Facebook…It’s all there!”

  Between the sobs it was kinda hard to make out exactly what the guy meant, but Reb got the gist. He grabbed the cellphone and opened the Facebook app.

  And right there in the top of his news feed was a time-stamped photo of Michael and his parents at a Rangers game. That evening. In Texas.

  Shit.

  Reb deflated.

  There was no way Michael had taken Emily. He was three states away.

  Fuck. But then, who had Emily? Reb’s mind whirled. There was only one other suspect he could think of, and it wasn’t pretty.

  “Untie him.” Reb tossed the phone back on the table and shoved his knife back into its sheath. He sent Tank a look as he picked up his bat.

  Tank nodded and followed him out the door.

  They had to get their hands on some bastard Saddletramps.

  Chapter 24

  Emily

  Pain. It exploded through my nerve endings the second I came to. I whimpered. It hurt everywhere—the back of my head, my jaw, my back, my sides. I couldn’t take a breath or whimper without waves of agony wracking my body. Nausea from the pain prickled the back of my throat. I spent my first few seconds awake trying to keep from throwing up. Somewhere around my fifth painful breath, a few details of my surroundings slowly filtered through. The cold, hard ground under my face. The acrid smell of marijuana. The off-kilter sound of someone cackling. I hadn’t even opened my eyes, but I already knew I was in trouble.

  Oh God. Where was I? What happened to me? My breath left me in short, quick pants since that was all I was capable of without passing out from the pain. But the breaths didn’t help calm me. Panic clawed at my brain as I struggled through the pain to think of the last thing I remembered. And then it came to me. Someone attacking me behind the Dumpsters at work. Kicking, stomping me until I passed out.

  Oh God. Michael.

  What was I going to do? How could I get away from him?

  I tried to move my arm, but I couldn’t. I guessed I was tied up somehow, although the pain radiating from every limb made it difficult to tell which way was up, let alone what had been done to me.

  Why did he take me? Was this Michael’s twisted sense of love? What was he going to do to me? Suddenly I wished I hadn’t read so many books on
the Spanish Inquisition. That and my vivid imagination made my situation about twenty times worse.

  I was so screwed.

  “There’s no point in pretending you’re still unconscious,” a deep voice drawled to my right. “I knew the second you woke up. You’re breathing faster.”

  Oh God. I didn’t recognize that voice. It wasn’t Michael. Who had me? I was almost afraid to open my eyes, but I knew this bastard wouldn’t hesitate to slap me awake. I blinked a couple of times, and the room came in focus.

  “Ah, there’s the sleeping beauty. You know, personally I don’t get what that bastard Reb sees in you. Too short. Too flat-chested. Too bruised. Although that last one might be my fault.” A tall, lanky man leaned over me and ran a finger down my throbbing cheek. I shuddered as I turned my head away.

  I didn’t want him or his hands anywhere near me. The knowledge that he was the one who’d kicked and beat me made my stomach churn. But that could’ve been the ridiculous amount of pain I was already in. My head throbbed, my ribs ached, and I was starting to lose feeling in my hands.

  My surroundings didn’t make me feel any better, either. When I saw the bare cement floor I was lying on, the grungy futon in the corner, the industrial sink opposite me, and the floor drain near my feet, I knew I was in trouble. Scary, they’re-probably-gonna-kill-me trouble.

  Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Spots danced in front of my eyes as my panic sank in. He was going to kill me. But he’d probably have some fun torturing me first. Oh God. Oh God. I didn’t want to die. My breath left me in short, quick pants, which really didn’t make my ribs feel any better. I closed my eyes with a muffled whimper.

  Whap. The side of my face exploded with pain.

  “I told you to keep your eyes open!” the man barked at me.

  I immediately obeyed, and the image of my captor filled my vision. He wore a stained white T-shirt, jeans that hadn’t seen a wash in a long time, if ever, and a scarred leather vest whose patches read “V.P.” and “Joker.” But for his abuse and lack of hygiene, in another setting I might’ve found him attractive. His pale green eyes were captivating. And he had that combination of model good looks, scruffy facial hair, and bad boy sneer.