Page 10

Rio

Glass shattered somewhere to my left as I ducked behind an overturned table. The roar of motorcycle engines, mixed with shouting and gunfire, created a symphony of chaos around me. Blood dripped from a cut above my eyebrow, but I ignored it. My focus narrowed to a single purpose -- finding the two Army pricks who’d attacked me. Somewhere in this hellhole, they were hiding, and the Devil’s Boneyard assault gave me the perfect cover to hunt them down.

I peered over the edge of the table, taking in the carnage. The Moretti hideout had transformed from a nondescript industrial building into a war zone in less than ten minutes. Bodies littered the concrete floor, some moving, others eerily still. The sickly scent of blood and gunpowder filled my nostrils, a smell I’d grown unfortunately familiar with.

Not how I’d planned to spend my time, but here I was. At this rate, the battle with the Morettis would be never-ending. This made our third confrontation with them since the initial fight.

The attack had started with precision. Charming had received intel about the hideout’s location from Shade, and he’d moved fast. At first, he’d intended to leave me out of the fight, but I’d insisted on going. I wasn’t the type to sit at home and let the men go off to battle. No, if there was a chance at finding the assholes who’d hurt me, I wanted in on the action. They’d cheated by drugging me before. They’d also planted a tracker inside the heel of a boot and another under my truck. This time, I’d have the upper hand.

“Rio, three o’clock!” Chaos’s voice cut through the noise.

I spun right as a bearded man charged toward me, switchblade gleaming in his hand. I sidestepped, grabbed his extended arm, and used his momentum to slam him into the wall. His nose crunched against concrete, and he howled. Before he could recover, I spun him around, twisted the knife from his grip and drove my knee into his stomach. He doubled over, and I brought my elbow down hard between his shoulder blades. He crumpled to the floor, motionless.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I called to Chaos, who flashed me a wild grin before launching himself back into the fray.

I’d never seen the Devil’s Boneyard in full attack mode before. It was terrifying and awe-inspiring. These men moved with practiced precision despite the apparent disorder around them. Chaos lived up to his name, spinning through the fight with unpredictable movements that left opponents disoriented. Three Moretti soldiers tried to corner him, but he laughed in their faces before putting two of them down with quick, brutal strikes. The third backed away, fear evident in his eyes.

I skirted the edge of a burning barrel, the heat singeing my arms as I passed. My eyes darted from face to face, searching for the men who’d made my life hell.

A bullet struck the wall inches from my head, showering me with plaster. I dropped to a crouch and scuttled behind a stack of wooden pallets. Fuck, that was close. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced my breathing to steady. Panic wouldn’t help me now.

I spotted Rebel across the room, his movements fluid as he took on two men at once. His fists connected with sickening thuds, and I watched as he effortlessly dominated the fight. His confidence in battle was magnetic, drawing my eyes to him even amid this chaos. He caught my gaze for a split second, his lips quirking into that cocky smirk that both infuriated and thrilled me, before returning his attention to the men before him.

My momentary distraction cost me. A hand grabbed my hair from behind, yanking me backward. Pain exploded across my scalp as I stumbled, fighting to keep my balance. I twisted, driving my elbow blindly behind me, and felt it connect with something solid. The grip on my hair loosened slightly. I spun and found myself face-to-face with a woman I didn’t recognize -- one of the Morettis’ girlfriends, judging by the diamonds in her ears and around her throat. Her eyes blazed with hatred as she lunged at me again. What the fuck was this bitch doing in the middle of a fight?

“Biker whore,” she snarled, aiming a knife at my stomach.

I caught her wrist, deflecting the blade away from my body. “Original,” I replied, before headbutting her hard enough to make my own vision blur.

She staggered backward, blood gushing from her nose. I didn’t give her time to recover. I swept her legs out from under her and watched as she crashed to the floor, the knife skittering away. She wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. Just to make sure, I stomped on her ankle, and she let out a shriek that would do a banshee proud.

I shook my head to clear it and continued my search. The back rooms. That’s where they’d be. Cowards always hid while others fought their battles. Same had been true in the Army. My unit had been sent in to deal with some skirmishes, and the two men who’d attacked me somehow managed to avoid most of the battle every damn time. I’d always found it odd how they could do that and get away with it. Now I knew. They were backed by someone powerful.

I navigated through the chaos, ducking under a flying chair and sidestepping a grappling pair of men who tumbled across my path. The din of the fight began to fade as I approached a corridor leading deeper into the building. I paused at the entrance, listening. The sound of low voices drifted from one of the rooms.

My fingers curled around a switchblade I’d taken earlier. The weight felt reassuring in my palm. I moved silently down the corridor, testing each door as I passed. The first two were locked. The third opened to an empty storage closet. The voices grew louder as I approached the fourth door. I pressed my ear against it.

“-- fuck’s sake, we need to get out now!” The voice was panicked, frantic.

“Not until we grab the cash. I’m not leaving empty-handed. You saw how much these assholes brought with them.” This voice was lower, calmer, but with an edge of frustration.

I recognized it immediately. My body tensed, anger coursing through me like electricity. Found you, asshole .

I didn’t waste time on subtlety. I kicked the door open with enough force to send it slamming against the interior wall. Two men spun toward me, their expressions shifting from surprise to recognition to fear in the span of seconds.

“Remember me?” I asked, my voice deadly calm despite the adrenaline surging through my veins.

Private Ellis made a break for the window. I intercepted him with a tackle that sent us both crashing into a desk. Papers scattered as we rolled across its surface and onto the floor. He outweighed me by at least sixty pounds, but I had rage on my side. I drove my knee between his legs, and he howled in pain, curling inward.

I barely had time to register Sergeant Denton lunging for me before something hard connected with the side of my head. Stars burst across my vision as I stumbled sideways, momentarily disoriented. I blinked away the dizziness in time to see him raising what looked like a metal paperweight for another strike.

I ducked beneath his arm and slammed my fist into his kidney. He grunted but didn’t go down. Tougher than I remembered. He swung again, and I blocked the blow with my forearm, pain shooting up to my shoulder. I countered with a strike to his throat that had him gasping and staggering backward.

“You bitch,” he wheezed. “Should’ve finished you when we had the chance.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I replied, before driving my foot into his knee. The crack was audible even over his scream.

Ellis had recovered enough to grab me from behind, his arm snaking around my neck in a chokehold. Spots danced before my eyes as he cut off my air supply. I struggled, clawing at his arm, but his grip was like iron. My lungs burned. The switchblade. I still had it clenched in my right hand. I flicked it open and stabbed backward, feeling the blade sink into flesh.

He screamed and released me. I gulped in precious air, spinning to face him. Blood stained his shirt where I’d caught him in the side. Not fatal, but enough to take the fight out of him. He stumbled back against the wall, clutching the wound.

Movement by the door caught my attention. Rebel. His knuckles were bloody and his eyes were wild. He took in the scene with a quick glance -- me standing, two Army boys down but alive.

“You good?” he asked, gaze lingering on the already-forming bruise on my temple.

I nodded, still catching my breath. “Found what I was looking for.”

Denton tried to crawl toward the window. Rebel casually stepped on his injured leg, eliciting a howl of pain. “Friends of yours?” he asked me, raising an eyebrow.

“These are the bastards who hurt me. I had a score to settle.”

Rebel’s smile turned predatory as he looked down at the man beneath his boot. “Well, looks like the lady settled it.” He increased the pressure, and Denton’s face contorted in agony. “Want me to finish them off?”

I considered it for a moment. The rage inside me demanded their blood, but something else -- something colder and clearer -- held me back. “No. I want them to remember this. Remember that I found them.” I knelt beside Denton, forcing him to look at me. “And I can find you again. Next time, I won’t stop. I’d suggest you turn yourselves in.”

Fear flashed in his eyes. Good. That’s what I wanted -- them looking over their shoulders, wondering when I might appear. A fate worse than death for men like these. I didn’t know how they’d escaped before, but maybe Shade could find the connection so we could sever it. If they went back to prison, maybe they’d stay there this time. As much as I wanted to end their lives, another part of me knew I wasn’t a killer. Not when it came to this. If the military told me to point and shoot, I’d do it. I’d been following orders. This was different.

“Charming’s calling a retreat,” Rebel said, his hand resting casually on my shoulder. “Cops are inbound.”

I nodded, stepping back from my attackers. They wouldn’t be causing trouble anytime soon, and the Moretti hideout was thoroughly destroyed. Mission accomplished, even if the satisfaction I’d hoped for remained elusive.

As we headed back through the chaos of the main floor, I cast one last glance at the two men. They’d underestimated me not once but twice. They wouldn’t make that mistake again.

If they came for me again, if they didn’t turn themselves in and pay for their crimes, then I’d have to rethink things. I wouldn’t play by the rules next time. Now that I was part of the Devil’s Boneyard, it might be time to stop thinking like a law-abiding citizen. It hadn’t done shit for me so far.

* * *

The Devil’s Boneyard compound lay in darkness as we returned, the rumble of motorcycles cutting through the night before dying to silence in the lot. I slid off Rebel’s bike, my body screaming in protest at every movement. He’d insisted I ride with him tonight instead of using the bike he’d given me.

Blood had dried in crusty patches along my forearms, and each breath sent sharp pains through my ribs where Ellis had landed a solid hit. The adrenaline that had carried me through the fight was fading fast, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and the dull throb of emerging bruises. But we’d won. I’d won. And that knowledge numbed the pain better than any painkiller.

The compound was eerily quiet after the chaos of the Moretti hideout. Most of the men had returned before us, having taken different routes to avoid drawing attention. A few members stood smoking near the entrance, nodding silently as we approached. Their faces showed the marks of battle -- split lips, swollen eyes, bloodied knuckles -- badges of honor in this world I was still learning to navigate.

Rebel’s hand pressed lightly against my lower back as we entered, a small gesture of support that I was too tired to resist. “Medical supplies are at home, or there’s some in a back room here at the clubhouse,” he said, his voice gravelly from shouting during the fight. “Wouldn’t hurt to patch up the worst of the spots now. Unless you want Doc to look at you.”

I shook my head. “I can handle it.” The club’s medic would be busy with more serious injuries. Besides, I preferred to lick my wounds in private. Although, the small rooms down the clubhouse hallway were technically private. Or as close as anyone could get with so many people nearby.

The interior of the clubhouse smelled of leather, cigarettes, and now the metallic tang of blood. A few Prospects scurried about, distributing beer and bandages to the wounded men sprawled on couches and chairs. Chaos sat at the bar, animatedly recounting some moment from the fight to an attentive audience, his hands gesturing wildly despite the makeshift bandage wrapped around his left palm. His voice carried across the room, punctuated by bursts of laughter.

“-- swear the motherfucker pissed himself when I came through that door!”

I didn’t break stride as I passed them, following Rebel down a dimly lit hallway. My left ankle protested with each step, a subtle limp I tried to disguise. Show no weakness. That was a lesson I’d learned long before meeting the Devil’s Boneyard.

Rebel led me into what looked like a bedroom. Except it had two sets of bunk beds on either wall. I wasn’t sure what it was used for since all the men seemed to have their own houses.

“Bathroom’s through there.” Rebel nodded toward a door on the right. “Towels in the cabinet. Use whatever you need.”

I stepped into the small bathroom, flipping on the light and immediately wincing at my reflection. A bruise was forming along my right temple, spreading into a purple stain beneath my eye. Dried blood crusted around a cut on my forehead. My bottom lip was split, and dirt smudged across my cheek like war paint. I looked like hell.

I turned on the tap and waited for the water to warm, propping myself against the sink as fatigue threatened to buckle my knees. The events of the night played through my mind like a fragmented movie. The initial assault. The sound of breaking glass and screams. The satisfaction of finding those Army bastards. The look in their eyes when they realized who I was.

Fear. They’d been afraid of me. Maybe that’s why they’d drugged me before they’d raped me. They’d known I’d fight back, and the fuckers hadn’t been sure they’d win.

Water steamed in the sink, and I plunged my hands into it, watching as blood and grime swirled into pink eddies. I’d fought before but never like tonight. Never with such calculated violence. Never with the backing of men who treated brutality as just another Tuesday. In the Army, any battles had been more… methodical. Well, as much as they could be. This had felt wilder.

And I’d liked it. That was the truth I couldn’t escape as I cleaned each scrape and cut. The power, the respect in Rebel’s eyes when he’d found me standing over my attackers -- it had filled something empty inside me.

I soaked a washcloth and pressed it gently to my split lip, hissing at the sting. Over the last week, I’d gradually, inevitably, been pulled into his world. Into this world.

A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

“You alive in there?” Rebel’s voice carried through the wood.

“Still breathing,” I called back, wincing as the movement reopened my lip.

“Need help?”

I considered saying no. Independence was my default, a shield I’d carried for years. But tonight had shifted something fundamental between us. “Yeah,” I admitted. “Could use an extra hand.”

The door opened, and Rebel leaned against the frame, assessing me with those intense eyes of his. He’d removed his cut and T-shirt, revealing a torso marked with old scars and fresh bruises. A particularly nasty gash ran along his right bicep, hastily cleaned but still angry looking.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the closed toilet lid.

I obeyed, too tired to maintain my usual defiance. He kneeled before me, taking the cloth from my hand and wetting it again under the tap. His movements were surprisingly gentle as he cleaned the cut on my forehead, his other hand tilting my chin to get a better angle.

“That Army fucker do this?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual.

“Paperweight to the head,” I confirmed. “Could’ve been worse.”

His jaw tightened, but he continued his ministrations in silence. I studied his face as he worked -- the concentrated furrow of his brow, the tightness around his eyes that betrayed his anger, the three-day beard growth along his jaw. The man who’d upended my life and offered me something I hadn’t known I wanted. There were still things we needed to discuss.

“You did good,” he said finally, reaching past me for the antiseptic in the medicine cabinet. “Not many could take on two Army soldiers and walk away.”

“I had motivation. Not to mention, I went through the same training as Ellis. Denton may have learned more with his higher rank, but at the end of the day, his balls could be crushed as easily as any other man’s.”

He huffed a laugh, dabbing antiseptic on my cut. I clenched my teeth against the burn. “Yeah. Remind me never to piss you off.”

The silence stretched between us as he finished with my forehead and moved to my split lip, his thumb ghosting over the injury with uncharacteristic tenderness. Something shifted in his eyes -- a darkening that had nothing to do with anger.

“Anything else need attention?” he asked, his voice lower now.

I hesitated, then turned one hand palm up and the other palm down, revealing scraped knuckles on the left hand and a deep cut across my right palm. Not that I remembered where I’d gotten it. Without comment, he took my hands in his, cleaning each abrasion with careful precision.

“This will scar,” he murmured, tracing the line across my palm.

“Add it to the collection,” I replied.

His eyes met mine, and I saw understanding there. We all had scars -- visible and invisible. In the Devil’s Boneyard, scars were currency, proof of survival.

“Your turn,” I said, nodding to the gash on his arm.

He shook his head. “I’ll get it later.”

“Don’t be stubborn.” I took the cloth from him and gestured for him to sit on the edge of the bathtub. “Fair exchange.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he complied. “Yes, ma’am.”

I focused on cleaning his wound, using the task to distract myself from the intimacy of the moment. Rebel wasn’t just a hookup or casual fling. We’d been circling each other for days, the attraction undeniable but complicated.

“You’re thinking too loud,” he said, breaking into my thoughts.

I glanced up to find him watching me, that knowing look in his eyes that always made me feel transparent. “Just processing.”

“Tonight?”

“Everything.” I pressed a fresh bandage over his cut, securing it with tape. “Finding Ellis and Denton. The fight. Being here.”

“Regrets?” His tone was neutral, but I caught the subtle tension in his shoulders.

Did I regret it? The violence, the danger, the knowledge that I’d crossed lines I once thought immutable? I should. The Rio from before would have handed those men over to the police or Army. She’d have believed in justice. But that Rio hadn’t known what it felt like to have a target on her back, to be hunted by men she’d thought she could trust. That Rio hadn’t experienced the security and belonging the Devil’s Boneyard offered, complicated as it was. Just the same, I hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. I’d changed, but maybe not as much as I should.

“No,” I said finally, the truth of it settling in my chest like a weight. “No regrets.”

Rebel’s expression remained unreadable, but something in his eyes softened. He caught my hand as I withdrew it from his arm, his thumb running over my battered knuckles. “Good.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the small bathroom suddenly feeling too intimate, too charged. I broke away first, standing on legs that felt steadier than before.

“I should go home and shower,” I said. “Get the rest of this off me.”

He nodded, rising fluidly despite his injuries. “Let’s head out.”

I followed him back through the clubhouse to the lot out front. I climbed onto the back of his bike, my arms going around his waist. It didn’t take long to reach the house. When we got inside, I went to the spare room to get a change of clothes. But before I could go into the bathroom, he reached out to take my arm.

“You should use my bathroom. It’s bigger. You’ve been sleeping in my room anyway.”

I stared at him, trying to see if there was some hidden meaning to his words. He just watched me, leaving the decision to me. I gave a quick nod and went into his room, then into the adjoining bathroom.

I shut the door and leaned against the sink. I’d chosen violence and vengeance. I’d chosen to stand with the Devil’s Boneyard against their enemies. Against my enemies. And for the first time since I’d met Rebel, I found myself considering a future I’d been afraid to contemplate -- one where I fully embraced this life, with all its darkness and loyalty. One where I belonged at his side -- not just as a woman he protected, but as his equal.

His old lady.

The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like coming home. Whether I wanted to fully admit it or not, I’d made my decision. I’d stay with Rebel.