Page 77 of Rebel
“Then they can track smoke,” I mutter. “We’ll burn the trail when we leave.”
The farmhouse rises from the desert like a memory. Torch and Knight stand by the fence line, armed and alert. Capone’s leaning on his Harley, phone to his ear, cigarette in his other hand. He hangs up as we pull in.
“Took you long enough,” he says, flicking the smoke into the dirt. “Everything good?”
I open the back door, adjusting Levi’s weight in my arms. “Yeah. He’s good. Tired.”
Capone looks at the boy, and his usual scowl fades to something gentler. “He’s got Alex’s eyes.”
“Don’t I know it,” I murmur.
He nods once toward the porch. “Calypso’s inside. Farris too. The place is locked down tight. Bastards will run guard in shifts until you say otherwise.”
Inside, the farmhouse hums with quiet chaos. The women from the tunnels are spread across the front room, settling on worn couches and patched quilts. Calypso’s perched on the edge of a chair, pale butsteady, Annabelle asleep in her lap. Farris kneels beside her, checking her pulse while keeping an eye on the window.
Calypso spots us first. Her face softens into something fragile and real. “Is that him?”
“Levi,” I say softly. “Alex’s boy.”
Her eyes shine. “He’s beautiful.”
Levi blinks awake, peering around, small fingers tightening in my shirt. “Where are we?”
“Safehouse,” I tell him. “These are friends.”
Farris rises, extending a hand. “Hey, champ. You like animals?”
Levi nods shyly. Farris grins. “Good. We’ve got a barn full of ’em out back. Goats, chickens, even an old mule named Roscoe who hates everyone equally.”
That earns the first real smile from Levi, small but bright. I hand him over carefully, and Farris leads him toward the door, promising a grand tour.
Calypso watches them go, then looks up at me. “He’s the spitting image of Alex.”
I nod, jaw tight. “Yeah. Hurts like hell to see it.”
“You’re doing right by him,” she says. “That’s what matters.”
Carter returns from outside, voice clipped. “Perimeter’s clear. Capone’s men are rotating watch in pairs. Knight and Torch on first shift.”
“Good,” I reply, glancing toward the window where dusk bleeds into a dull orange haze. “We’ll leave once the night settles. Allura needs us back.”
Calypso frowns. “You sure? You could stay the night.”
“Can’t.” I glance toward the sleeping women. “They need a calm I can’t give. My fight’s back in L.A.”
She nods, understanding. “Then go raise hell.”
Outside, the night hums alive. Capone walks us to the SUV, helmet dangling from his fingers. “We’ll hold the line here. Any Vulture truck that crosses this fence won’t make it to sunrise.”
“I’m counting on that,” I say, gripping his forearm. “Keep them safe.”
He smirks. “Always do. Give Allura my best, and tell her to save me a seat at the next bloodbath.”
Carter chuckles low. “You got it.”
As Calypso, Carter and I pull away, our headlights cut across the open land, and I glance back at the farmhouse. Torch’s silhouette stands guard near the gate, cigarette ember pulsing like a heartbeat. Farris lingers on the porch, Annabelle now awake, tiny arms waving as we disappear into the dark.
By the time we roll back through the Harlots’ gates, the desert’s given way to nightfall. The Royal Bastards remain at the farmhouse, standing guard over the evacuees. The sky above L.A. glows the color of steel, and the air smells like burnt rubber and a storm that never comes.
