Page 18 of Rebel
“And you think it’s me?”
“I thought you might be a pawn. Now I think you’re a target.”
“Careful,” I warn as I stand. "You’re standing inside my walls now.”
He rises as well, closing the distance between us until the air crackles. “Then make me believe you.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“No,” he murmurs. “But you want answers. And I’ve got them.”
The silence between us hums with adrenaline and something darker neither of us names. My pulse skips as his gaze drops briefly to my mouth, then he steps back.
“Here’s my offer,” he says. “You give me access to your ledgers, the donation accounts, and the shelter’s fronts. I don’t need your servers, just the paper and the portals. Soldier and accountant. I follow numbers, they give up names. I can track where the money’s going faster than your techs.”
“And what do you get out of this?”
“Insurance,” he says simply. “You’ve got enemies with deep pockets. I’ve got skills they’d pay to erase.”
“So, what? We’re partners now?”
His lips twist. “Allies. Temporarily.”
“That sounds a lot like you think you’re in charge.”
He meets my gaze, unwavering. “I’m not in charge. I’m trying to keep your club off a kill list.”
My laugh is short and brittle. “You don’t even know me.”
He studies me for a moment longer. “Maybe not, but I knew Alex. And you’ve got the same eyes.”
Something inside me twists. I turn away because I don’t trust what’ll happen if I don’t.
“Fine,” I say finally. “You get the ledgers, but Church is off-limits. Out of my systems. Out of my way.”
He nods, slow and deliberate. “Deal.”
I stand, and Carter follows me out of the infirmary. I turn right, go up the stairs, and stop at the first door. I open it and let him pass. Carter’s body brushes mine as he passes, heat through denim and leather, solid and unmistakably male. For a split second, we’re chest to chest, and I feel the steady thud of his heartbeat against my ribs. His breath ghosts over my mouth, warm and faintly coppered with dried blood and whiskey. The scent of gunpowder clings to him, sharp and smoky, layered over clean sweat and salt air. I could close the inch between us without even thinking about it. I lick my lips before I can stop myself, and his gaze drops there, slow and deliberate.
I back away before things get out of hand. “Get some sleep before you bleed through that bandage.”
He smirks, stepping farther into the room. “You offering to tuck me in?”
“Keep talking, and I’ll staple your mouth shut.” His low, rough laugh follows me to the door.
As I step into the hallway, the clubhouse’s distant hum wraps around me again. My sisters’ laughter filters through the walls. For a heartbeat, I almost feel safe.
But when I glance back, Carter’s still watching me with dark, steady, unreadable eyes. And just like that, the burn in my thigh isn’t the only thing I can’t ignore.
I sleep in snatches. When the sun finally drags across the blinds, I’m up before it, counting the hours in coffee and code.
The next day, I go for a ride to clear my head. When I get back, the silver bike is gone, but Carter Bishop is still in my head. His voice. His precision. His hands. The way he didn’t hesitate to pull me down when bullets started flying.
Those eyes are as hard as concrete. Honest in a way that unsettles me.
I kick the stand down, yank off my helmet, and curse under my breath. “Stupid.”
The compound’s alive in fragments. Iris’s bike revs near the back fence. Divine’s office light flickers like a warning beacon. Calypso’s music thunders faintly through the tattoo shop’s walls, old, sultry, defiant. The bar doors swing open, and French steps out, holding two mugs of coffee and a smirk.
