Page 36 of Rebel
“Didn’t figure you for the visiting type,” I shoot back.
He steps closer, boots grinding over wet gravel. “Word travels. Rebel’s been asking questions. Digging in graves that don’t like to be disturbed.”
“Not her fight,” I mutter.
“Looks like you made it hers.” His eyes drop to the marker. “He saved your ass that night, didn’t he?” I don’t answer. “Thought so,” Bones goes on. “You’ve been carrying that guilt like a dog carries a bone, chewing it down to splinters.”
I step forward. “You think you knew him? You saw the patches and the parties. You didn’t see the fallout. The nightmares. The things he wouldn’t even tell her.”
Bones’ tone hardens. “You still think this is about guilt? You don’t get to make his death your penance. We all lost something that night.”
“Yeah,” I snap. “Some of us lost him in our arms.”
His jaw flexes. “And some of us had to pick up the pieces of what he left behind.”
That’s all it takes. The air fractures. His fist comes first, a quick jab across my jaw. I return it, hard enough to make him stumble. Then it’s fists, breath, rain, and regret.
We trade blows like confessions. Bloody, wordless, half forgiveness, half fury.
I taste blood. He spits a tooth into the mud and laughs, low and raw. “You still hit like a soldier.”
“You still talk too much.” He catches me once in the ribs. I counter to his gut. Both of us breathe like we’ve been waiting years to hit something that can hit back.
Then it burns out, the way real fights do. No victory, just exhaustion.
Bones wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “The Vultures are back in L.A., Bishop. They’re running new products through charity fronts, using your old logistics routes.”
“I know.”
He nods toward the grave. “And if they’re back, that means the people who buried him are watching her. Rebel’s in deeper than she realizes.”
“I’ll keep her clear.”
He snorts. “You’ll try. She’s her brother’s sister. You can’t leash a wildfire.”
He turns to go but pauses, eyes glancing toward the dog tag pressed in the mud. “Tell her I said nothing. She wouldn’t believe I was warning her anyway.”
“Bones.” He looks back. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me, Bishop. Just keep her breathing.” Then he’s gone, swallowed by fog and silence.
I stand a moment longer, rain sliding down my neck.The grave looks smaller now, the world quieter. I wipe my mouth, taste blood and dirt, and head for my bike.
I’m halfway to my bike when the burner in my pocket buzzes. Unknown number. Figures.
DIVINE: You planning on taking the long, broody route, or are you just allergic to letting people know where you are?
I stare at the message, rain dripping from my jacket.
ME: How’d you get this number?
DIVINE: You left your firewall open for three seconds last night. I’m faster than God.
ME: Is that supposed to make me feel better?
DIVINE: No. It’s supposed to make you move your ass.
ME: Why?
