I’ve never felt so angry in all my life. It’s all-consuming, the rage pumping around my body with each solid thump of my heart. I hate it. I hate how it makes me feel so unlike myself. Jogging down the stairs, swearing profusely under my breath, I manage to find the kitchen. And I also find Rebel. He’s sitting at a kitchen island, apparently washed and changed already, and he’s eating a sandwich.
He tenses when he sees me, placing his food down on his plate and leaning back on his stool. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to come find me.”
“I haven’t come to find you. I’ve come to find food.”
He pushes his plate toward me across the marble kitchen island, his expression flat. “Help yourself, sugar.”
He probably thinks I won’t eat the other half of his sandwich, but the guy is mistaken. I accept the food, taking a decent bite out of it—cheese and pickle—before convincing myself to look him in the eye. “So I met Leah.”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
“Did you tell her to come talk to me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“To convince me you’re a good guy.”
A dangerous smile spreads across his face. “But I’m not a good guy.”
“Then why would you go around buying up women who’ve been kidnapped? Finding them safe houses? Creating new lives for them?” I have to know. My mind won’t rest until I can figure out how this side of him fits in with the rest. Rebel scowls, angling his shoulders away from me so he’s facing the large bay window—it overlooks what seems to be an extensive herb garden.
“Someone really has been talking, huh?” he says. “I helped those girls because human beings aren’t meant to be bought and sold as property. I was looking for someone. A friend. I’ve had to go to these places—the darkest fucking places on earth—trying to find her. And I’ve been in a position to help the girls that I’ve found in the process. Sue me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He cocks his head to one side, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “Because you wouldn’t have believed me.”
“I might have.”
He doesn’t say anything. I keep eating the other half of his sandwich, thinking really hard. Wondering if what I’m considering is actually madness on my part. It probably is, but after him telling me he’s going to let me go, my conversation with Leah and the subsequent encounter I had with his father, I’m beginning to…oh god, I’m beginning to trust him.
“Are you going to take me to the bus station now?” I ask.
He pulls in a deep breath, bracing himself against the cool marble. “I guess so.”
And so he does. Carl brings the Humvee around, and Rebel drives me back into the closest town of Grove Hill. He’s silent as he drives. Outside a café called The Sweet Spot, he pulls over and kills the engine. My heart skips a beat when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a roll of money.
“This will get you back to Seattle. You’ll be able to grab some more clothes and…shampoo or whatever. They sell tickets inside the café. If you hurry, you’ll be able to make the midday bus.”
I look at him, at the money he’s holding out in his hand. I close my eyes, allowing my head to fall back against the headrest. “Take me back,” I whisper.
“What?”
“Take me back.”
Rebel, always so self-assured and cocky, now looks confused. My heart beats faster, suddenly scared. What the hell am I doing? My parents flash into my head—how sick with worry they must be. Sloane, too. This isn’t just madness. It’s cruel. If I stay here and I don’t contact them, even just to let them know I’m alive, then what kind of person does that make me? Rebel leans over and presses the money into my hand. “You need to go,” he says. His eyes flash, as though he can read what’s going on inside my head. I close my hand around the money.
“It’s okay. I’ll stay. I’m not happy about it but I’ll do it. I’ll testify.”
Rebel pulls his lower lip into his mouth. If I’m not mistaken, he does it to hide the fact that he’s trying not to smile. I can see it in his eyes, though. “This is because you wanna sleep with me, isn’t it?”
“No!”
“Admit it. You’re only lying to yourself.” He’s not even trying to hide his smirk now. I thump him as hard as I can on the top of his arm.
“I’m doing it because you were right back at your cabin. You said you were going to show me you weren’t the man I thought you were, and you have. But mostly, I decided to stay because your father said he didn’t want me at his party tonight. And you may have noticed, but your father is a massive asshole. Displeasing him will make me one incredibly happy woman.”
Rebel tips his head back and laughs. I’ve never heard it before, his laughter. It sends electricity snapping through my torso, my arms, my legs, my head; it’s the most amazing sound. “The Widow Makers say I’m stone-cold, Soph. They say I’m made of ice. When the rest of the club meets you, I’m pretty sure they’re gonna say you’re made of fire.”
My chest tightens at the thought of meeting the other Widow Makers. God knows how I’m going to handle that. Not well, probably. Rebel twists in his seat, staring at me. His hand lifts from the steering wheel, reaching slowly toward me. My breath catches in my throat as he grazes his fingertips along the line of my jaw, his eyes fixed firmly on the point where his skin meets mine. “I swear nothing will happen to you, sugar. I’ll keep you safe, no matter what. Your family, too. From here on out, from now until you decide you need to leave, you’re under the Widow Makers’ protection, and so are they.”
******
REBEL
Soph stares anxiously at the payphone, chewing on her lip. She shouldn’t be worried, but she is. “Just do it. Pick up the phone and make the call,” I tell her.
Panic flashes in her eyes. “I’m going to break down. I won’t be able to stop myself,” she whispers.
“It’ll be okay. They’ll know you’re alive and well. They’ll stop worrying that you might be dead, and that’s the most important thing, right?”
“Yeah, I...I guess you’re right.” She moves mechanically as she picks up the handset and dials slowly, her finger hovering over each key before she presses it. The dial tone changes, turning into a ringing that I can hear standing two feet away. I watch her face as she waits for someone to pick up.
She grimaces when the ringing ceases and a male voice says, “Dr. Alan Romera.” Her whole body locks up. I turn around, gritting my teeth together. I’m a selfish son of a bitch and I know it. Sophia lets out a strangled sob, gripping hold of the side of the payphone. Her eyes look wild when she turns to me.
“Hello?” the guy says on the other end of the phone. A fat tear rolls down Soph’s cheek. She swallows hard and then shakes her head, slamming down the receiver.
“Was that your dad?
She nods.
“Why?” I ask. “Why didn’t you speak to him?”
“I can’t. I just can’t,” she whispers. Her voice sounds thick with emotion. “If I do, if I speak to him, then I won’t be able to stop. I’ll ask him to come get me. I won’t be strong enough to stay.”
She starts crying even harder, and no matter how badly I might want her to think I’m a completely heartless jackass, I can’t do it anymore. I move quickly, before I can change my mind, shifting to stand behind her. I wrap my arms around her body, her back to my chest, and I hold her as she cries. She doesn’t push me away.