Page 83 of Rebel
From the south wall, gunfire cracks like thunder. Headlights slice through smoke and dust.
Carter.
His bike bursts through the gate, Bones at his flank. Both of them armed, wild-eyed, cutting through the night like vengeance given form. Behind them, Allura, Calypso, French, Raven, and Sloane follow. Leather and chrome and fury.
The compound erupts into war.
I duck behind a truck, grab an assault rifle off a fallen guard, and start firing. The recoil drives up my shoulder, the flash painting the smoke gold. Syvannah’s beside me, reloading like she’s done it her whole life.
“Rebel!” Carter’s voice cuts through the gunfire.
I turn. He’s bleeding from the arm but still standing, eyes locked on me like nothing else exists.
“Took you long enough!” I shout.
He grins through grit. “You always did like to make an entrance.”
Bones covers our flank, laying down fire as we run.The Harlots ride circles around the perimeter, picking off guards, their engines howling through the chaos.
I grab Syvannah’s wrist, dragging her toward the gate. “We’re clear, move!”
We dive into the back of the van driven by Iris. Carter jumps in after us, leaving his bike behind and slamming the door as Bones fires one last burst into the compound. The van peels out, tires screaming.
Through the rear window, the Vultures’ compound burns. Flames clawing high, devouring the night.
Syvannah sobs once, quietly, then straightens. “What now?”
I hand her a bottle of water and a clean rag. “Now you breathe.”
She nods, clutching it like a lifeline.
Bones’ voice crackles through the comm. “I’ll take the girl to the Bastards’ clubhouse. They’ll keep her safe till Tiny gets word.”
I glance at Carter. “You trust him?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “No. But I trust that he loves you enough to keep his promise.”
Bones stares into the rear window of the van from his bike like he can see me. His eyes are dark but steady. “You’ve got my word, Rebel. I’ll get her home.”
“See that you do,” I call.
We split at the crossroads. Syvannah climbs out of the van on shaky legs and gets on Bones’ bike, holding on tight. Once she’s settled, Bone’s bike veers west toward the Royal Bastards compound, our van north toward the desert.
The wind rushes in through the broken window. Carter leans back, blood drying on his sleeve, breath ragged.
“You all right?” I ask.
“Better now,” he says, voice low. “You?”
I smirk. “Bleeding, bruised, and furious.”
“Good,” he says, a hint of a smile ghosting his mouth. “Wouldn’t have you any other way.”
We ride in silence, my head resting on Carter’s chest. The dull thud of his heartbeat steadies with mine. The flames in the rearview are shrinking to embers. Ahead, the horizon glows faint and uncertain, the kind of dawn you fight your way toward.
I glance at Carter, at the way his hand rests on his gun even now, and think of everything we’ve burned to get here.
“They wanted to break us,” I murmur.
