Page 6

Rebel

Rio had been here longer than she’d planned. Not that I was going to rush her off. I liked having her in my house, which made me realize I really wouldn’t mind it being a permanent thing. Ridley had taken to her and made sure she had appropriate clothes for riding a motorcycle, seeming to know Rio belonged here with us.

I spotted Rio across the parking lot before she saw me. Her focus was entirely on her riding gear, fingers testing straps and pockets with the precision of someone who trusted nothing to chance. Good. She’d need that attention to detail for what I had in mind. The sunlight was nearly blinding, but it was a great day for a ride. I only hoped she liked the surprise I had for her.

The lot was empty except for us. I stepped closer, letting my boots scuff against the ground just enough to announce my presence.

Rio’s head snapped up. Her strawberry-blonde hair caught the light as it shifted around her shoulders. Those blue eyes narrowed, assessing me in a heartbeat. She didn’t relax when she recognized me. Smart girl.

“Thought you’d be inside,” she said, nodding toward the clubhouse behind us. Her Georgia drawl made the words sound almost friendly. Almost.

“Had something better in mind.” I stepped aside and gestured to what I’d parked behind me.

The Harley-Davidson Nightster sat like a coiled beast waiting to pounce. All sleek black lines with just enough chrome to catch the afternoon light. Brand fucking new, with pipes that would wake the dead when fired up proper. Not my bike -- mine was built for power, not seduction -- but this one had a different purpose.

Rio froze, her gaze locked on the machine. Her face didn’t give much away, but I caught the slight parting of her lips, the momentary pause in her breath.

“That yours?” she asked, keeping her voice flat.

“Could be yours.” I took a step forward. “For today, anyway.”

I ran my hand along the bike’s frame, leather gloves whispering against the smooth finish. “Heard you can ride.”

Her eyes flicked from the bike to me, then back again. The caution there was mixed with something else -- desire… not for me, but for what the machine represented. Freedom. Power. Control.

“Who told you that?” Her voice had an edge to it.

“Shade.” I offered the name like a peace offering. “He’s the club hacker. He ran across some stuff from your past while making sure the two assholes hunting you weren’t closing in.”

Rio scoffed. “Shade needs to keep his mouth shut.”

“He also said you were good.” I leaned against the bike, casual, confident. “But talk’s cheap.”

That got her. The corner of her mouth twitched, almost a smile but too sharp for that. She approached the bike slowly, circling it like a predator sizing up potential prey. I didn’t move, just watched her. Those blue eyes missed nothing.

She crouched beside the front tire, fingers pressing against the tread. “These are new,” she muttered, more to herself than to me.

“Everything’s new.” I folded my arms. “Bike hasn’t seen fifty miles yet.”

Rio stood and moved to the handlebars, her body still coiled with tension but her movements more fluid now, more focused on the machine than on keeping her distance from me. She ran her fingers over every inch of the bike, not asking permission. I liked that.

“Mind if I start her up?” she asked, not looking at me.

“Be my guest.”

She swung her leg over and settled into the seat like she belonged there. No hesitation, no awkward shuffling to find her balance. Her hands gripped the bars, testing the feel while her boot nudged the kickstand up.

She started the bike like a pro, and the Nightster roared to life. The sound bounced off the clubhouse and nearby homes. Rio’s body changed on that bike -- tension flowing out of her shoulders even as her focus sharpened. For a second, I caught a glimpse of who she might have been before the Army. Before whatever had put those walls up.

She revved the engine, and I felt the rumble in my chest. There was something fucking primal about that feeling, something no amount of high-tech bullshit could replace. Rio felt it too. I saw it in the slight curve of her lips, the way her thighs tightened against the machine.

After a long moment, she cut the engine. The sudden silence felt louder than the noise had been.

“Not bad,” she said, but her eyes gave her away. They were brighter now, more alive.

“Wanna see what she can do?” I asked.

Rio dismounted, her movements slow and deliberate. “Why? What’s in it for you?”

Direct. I appreciated that.

“Need someone who can keep up,” I said with a shrug. “Most of the guys ride like they’ve got something to prove. Get themselves killed trying to show off. Either that, or they ride they like they’re grandpas out for a Sunday cruise.”

“And I don’t have anything to prove?” One eyebrow arched higher than the other.

“Do you?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers trailed over the seat she’d just vacated.

“Where would we go?” she finally asked.

“Coastal highway. Good roads.” I paused. “Unless you’ve got somewhere better in mind.”

“You always hand out bikes to women you barely know?”

I smiled, not bothering to soften it. “Only the ones Shade says can handle them.”

“And if I wreck it?”

“Don’t.”

Rio laughed then, a short, sharp sound that seemed to surprise even her. “You’re not big on bullshit, are you?”

“Waste of time.” I pushed off from where I’d been leaning. “So is standing around talking when we could be riding.”

She studied me for a long moment, like she was trying to read something written in fine print on my face. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it, because she nodded once.

“I’ll need a helmet,” she said.

“Got one for you.” I moved to the clubhouse porch and pulled out a matte black helmet with a tinted visor from a paper sack I’d stashed there. “Should fit.”

She took it, checked the sizing with a critical eye. “You planned this.”

Not a question. I didn’t treat it like one.

“My bike’s around back,” I said instead. “Meet you at the gate in five.”

I turned to go, but her voice stopped me.

“Rebel.”

I looked back.

“Thanks,” she said, the word awkward in her mouth, like she didn’t use it often. “For the ride.”

I nodded once. “Don’t thank me yet. Ride’s just starting.”

As I walked away, I heard the Nightster’s engine roar back to life behind me. The sound followed me across the parking lot, a promise of speed and freedom that made my blood hum in response. Whatever baggage Rio carried, whatever had put that wariness in her eyes, it wouldn’t matter once we hit the open road.

On a bike, going fast enough, the past can’t catch you. At least not for a while.

* * *

The coastal highway unraveled beneath our tires like a snake shedding its skin. Rio kept the Nightster steady beside me, neither falling behind nor pushing ahead. The ocean crashed against the surf off to our right. She rode like she had something to prove, but only to herself. No stupid risks, no showboating. Just pure skill and the kind of focus that told me more about her than words ever could.

Wind tore at my clothes, a constant battle that kept the blood pumping. Beside me, Rio leaned into a curve, her body an extension of the machine. The Nightster responded to her like they’d spent years together instead of less than an hour. Natural talent. Couldn’t be taught.

The sun hung fat and low over the water, casting a golden path across the waves. The highway curved, taking us closer to the beach, then further away, before curving back again.

Rio didn’t hesitate. She took the tighter line, the Nightster’s pipes echoing as she accelerated through the turn. I matched her, staying close enough to see her in my peripheral vision but giving her space to maneuver.

Rio glanced over at me, her face obscured by the helmet but her posture relaxed now, fluid. She gunned the engine, pulling ahead by a bike length. Challenge issued. I grinned inside my helmet and opened up my throttle.

We weren’t racing. Not exactly. Just two predators testing each other’s speed, finding a rhythm that worked between us. No words needed. The bikes spoke for us, negotiating boundaries with engine growls and tire squeals.

The highway curved inland for a stretch, cutting through a stand of palm trees. Shadows dappled the road, making it a constantly shifting puzzle. Rio had been wasted in the Army. This was where she belonged.

Twenty minutes later, the road brought us to a stretch of beach dotted with weathered buildings. One caught my attention, a wooden shack perched on stilts just above the high tide line. Smoke curled from a chimney, carrying the scent of butter and seafood.

I signaled, pointing toward it. Rio nodded and followed my lead as I turned onto the gravel lot beside the building. We parked beneath a wooden awning that creaked with each gust of wind off the water. The sign above the door simply read “CATCH” in faded red letters.

Rio dismounted first, pulling her helmet off in a smooth motion. Her hair tumbled free, tangled from the wind but somehow making her look more alive because of it. She ran her fingers through it once, a practical gesture with no vanity behind it.

“Hungry?” I asked, removing my own helmet.

“Starving.” She looked at the shack with skeptical eyes. “This place actually serve food?”

“Best seafood on the coast.” I hung my helmet on my handlebars. “If you don’t mind eating with your hands.”

The hint of a smile touched her lips. “Would think less of a place that gave me a fork for crab legs.”

Inside, the shack was bigger than it looked from the road. Mismatched tables were scattered across a plank floor worn smooth by decades of salt water. The walls were covered with fishing gear, buoys, and faded photographs of men holding up their catches.

The place was mostly empty. A couple of fishermen hunched over beers at the bar, their conversation a low, indecipherable murmur. An old man in the corner mended a net, his gnarled fingers working with surprising speed. No one looked up when we entered.

I led the way to a table by the window, where we could watch our bikes and the ocean beyond. Rio took the seat with her back to the wall, eyes scanning the room before settling. Always assessing. Always ready. The stance of someone who’d learned the hard way that relaxation could be costly.

A weathered woman with sun-bleached hair approached our table, dropping two laminated menus in front of us without a word.

“What’s fresh?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “Everything came off the boats this morning. Shrimp’s good. Got some crab. Clams. Oysters if you’re feeling brave.”

“Bring us a mix,” I said. “And two beers.”

She nodded and disappeared toward the kitchen.

Rio raised an eyebrow. “You always order for your dates?”

“This a date?” I countered.

She held my gaze for a beat, then looked away, out toward the ocean. “Figure of speech.”

The beers arrived, cold and sweating in their bottles. Rio took a long pull from hers, then set it down carefully. Her fingers remained wrapped around the glass, as if she needed something to hold onto.

“You ride well,” I said.

She shrugged. “Bikes make sense. Clear rules. You fuck up, you pay for it right away.”

“Not like people.”

She glanced at me, something flickering in her blue eyes. “Exactly. Not like people.”

Our food arrived on a large metal tray lined with newspaper. Steam rose from the pile of shellfish, carrying the scent of garlic, butter, and salt. Small dishes of melted butter and cocktail sauce sat on either side. No plates, no utensils. Just food meant to be handled.

Rio considered the spread, then selected a shrimp. She peeled it with practiced movements, not a wasted motion. The meat disappeared between her very white, straight teeth.

“Good,” she admitted.

I grabbed a crab leg and cracked it open, extracting a piece of meat and dipping it in butter. “Told you.”

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of cracking shells and the distant crash of waves filling the space between us. With each bite, Rio’s shoulders lowered a fraction. Her hands rested on the table between selections, no longer poised for immediate reaction. Small changes, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking. But I was looking.

“How long you been riding?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.

She wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Started when I was fourteen. Uncle had a shop. Taught me everything he knew before…” She trailed off, then redirected. I already knew she didn’t have family. From what Shade had found, first her uncle had died in a freak accident, then her mom had passed a little over a year later. “Been on and off since then.”

“Army didn’t let you ride?”

Her expression shuttered briefly. “Not the issue. Just didn’t have the time. Or a bike.” She cracked open a claw. “You?”

“Grew up on them. Father was a mechanic.” I didn’t elaborate. Some stories I liked to keep close to the heart.

Rio nodded, accepting the boundary. Another point in her favor.

She reached for her beer again, and this time her hand was steady, relaxed. The movement caught the light, highlighting a small tattoo on her inner wrist that I hadn’t noticed before. Simple design -- just a lotus blossom.

I nodded toward it. “Meaning behind that?”

For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t answer. Her fingers curled around her wrist, covering the mark.

“Had a sister once. Her name was Blossom,” she finally said.

I nodded, not pushing for more. Some truths were like wild animals -- approach them too directly and they’d bolt. Shade hadn’t mentioned a sister. I wasn’t sure if it was a biological one, or maybe one she’d met in foster care after her mom died. It wouldn’t do me any favors to tell her everything I’d learned about her through Shade’s abilities. I needed to hear it all in her words in her own time.

We finished eating as the tide began to rise, waves creeping closer to the stilts beneath us. The rhythmic sound formed a backdrop to our silence, comfortable now rather than wary. Rio leaned back in her chair, one hand resting on the table while the other held her beer. It was the most relaxed I’d seen her.

The moment felt balanced -- not tense, but not fragile either. Like finding perfect equilibrium on a turn, that split second where everything aligns exactly right. Push too hard in any direction and you’d lose it. So I just let it be, storing the memory of her face in that rare moment of peace.

The old fishermen paid their tabs and left, nodding to us as they passed. The net-mender had vanished without me noticing.

“Thank you,” Rio said suddenly, her voice quiet but clear. “For this.” She gestured vaguely at the remains of our meal, but I understood she meant more than just the food.

I nodded once. “Anytime.”

She smiled then, a real one that reached her eyes and transformed her face. It was brief -- there and gone -- but genuine. More valuable for its rarity.

We’d have to leave soon, head back before traffic got bad. But for now, I was content to sit across from this woman with her warrior’s eyes and rare smile.

The last oyster shell sat empty between us, trails of butter and hot sauce drying on the newspaper. Rio had one hand on the table beside mine. Close enough that I could feel the heat from her skin, but not touching. That moment of almost-contact felt more intimate than if she’d grabbed my hand. Like a decision being weighed. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to.

Rio’s eyes had lost their constant vigilance, focused now on the water. Her breathing had slowed, matching the cadence of the surf.

My phone shattered it all.

The harsh electronic ring cut through our bubble of peace. Rio’s hand jerked back instantly, her body tensing as if the sound itself might be a threat. I pulled the phone from my pocket, ready to silence it and deal with whoever it was later.

Then I saw Shade’s name on the screen.

Shade didn’t call unless it mattered. More importantly, he didn’t call when I was off the grid unless something had gone seriously wrong. The relaxation of the past hour evaporated.

I met Rio’s now-alert eyes. “Need to take this.”

She nodded once, already scanning the room, the exits, the other patrons. Back to soldier mode in the space of a heartbeat.

I swiped to answer. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” Shade’s voice had the clipped precision he used when time was a factor.

“Coastal road. That seafood place with the stilts.” I kept my tone neutral, giving nothing away to Rio, who watched me with narrowed eyes.

“How fast can you get back?” Shade didn’t waste words on niceties.

“Forty-five minutes if we push it. Why?”

The line went silent for a beat. Bad sign. Shade only paused when he was deciding how much to say over an open line.

“Those men Rio mentioned.” His voice dropped lower.

My fingers tightened around the phone. “What about them?”

“They’re in town.” Shade’s typing created a backdrop to his words. “Showed up at The Rusty Nail about an hour ago, asking questions. Vince called it in.”

“What kind of questions?” I turned slightly away from Rio, but I could feel her attention like a physical weight.

“About a strawberry blonde matching Rio’s description. Said she was their friend, they’d lost touch after the Army.” More typing. “Vince stalled them, said he might’ve seen her a few days ago, but she looked to be heading out of town.”

“They armed?”

“Concealed. Vince caught a glimpse when one leaned over the bar.” A pause. “That’s not all. I ran their names through my system. And I mean a deeper dive than before. When it involves the military, it always takes more time. Lots of layers to peel back.”

My jaw tightened. “And?”

“Three similar reports filed against them in the past. Sexual assault. All military women, different bases.” Shade’s voice held controlled rage. “All cases dropped due to ‘insufficient evidence.’ Last victim before Rio was hospitalized for two weeks. They have to be backed by someone high up to keep getting by with this shit.”

Something cold settled in my chest. Not fear -- rage. The kind that sits like ice until it’s time to act.

“Where are they now?” I kept my voice low, steady.

“Left The Nail twenty minutes ago. Heading toward the edge of town. I’ve got eyes on the traffic cams. They’re in a black Dodge Ram, Georgia plates.”

I glanced at Rio. Her body was coiled tight, ready to spring. She’d picked up on my tension even without hearing Shade’s words.

“Keep tracking them. We’re heading back now.” I paused. “And, Shade? Get Java and Ripper on standby. We might need backup.”

“Already done.” The line went dead.

I lowered the phone slowly, my mind racing through options, scenarios, consequences. Rio didn’t give me time to finish.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice was sharp, all traces of relaxation gone. Her eyes had hardened into blue ice.

I met her gaze directly. “We’ve got a problem.”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. “What kind of problem?”

The words sat heavy on my tongue. I could lie, try to shield her. But one look at her face told me that would be both useless and insulting.

“The men from your unit. They’re in town.” I watched her reaction carefully. “Looking for you.”

The color drained from her face, but her expression didn’t change. Her knuckles went white where she gripped the edge of the table.

“How?”

I could tell there was something more she wanted to ask, or maybe something she knew. Was this more of a test to see how much we’d found out? “Don’t know yet. They showed up at The Rusty Nail asking about a woman matching your description.”

Rio’s breathing changed, becoming deliberate and controlled. A technique to manage fear or anger -- maybe both. Her gaze never left mine, searching for any hint that I might be softening the truth.

“Names?” she demanded. “Are you sure it’s them?”

I hesitated. “Shade confirmed it’s them. The same ones you told me about. He hacked into the military files on them.”

She stood abruptly, chair scraping against the wooden floor. “We need to go. Now.”

I rose more slowly, dropping cash on the table to cover our meal. “We will. But first we need a plan.”

“Plan is simple. I leave town.” Her words were clipped, mechanical. “They’re not your problem.”

“They became my problem when they walked into my territory hunting one of mine.” The words came out before I could consider them.

Rio’s eyes flashed. “I’m not yours.”

“You’re under my club’s protection,” I clarified, though part of me wanted to challenge her statement. Not the time. “That makes them my problem.”

She shook her head, already moving toward the door. I caught her arm, gentle but firm. She stiffened but didn’t pull away.

“Rio. Stop.” I kept my voice low. “Running blindly is exactly what they want. We need to be smart about this.”

For a moment I thought she’d argue, but then her military training seemed to kick in. Tactical assessment overriding emotional response. She gave a short nod.

“What did Shade say?” she asked, her voice steadier now.

I guided her toward the door. “They’re in a black Dodge Ram, heading toward the edge of town last he saw. He’s tracking them on traffic cams.”

Rio processed this, her mind visibly working through implications. “How many? Is it just the two of them?”

“Two. They didn’t pick up any friends.” I pushed the door open, scanning the area before stepping through. “Shade ran their names. Found three other reports filed against them. Similar to yours.”

Her face hardened. “Charges?”

“Dropped.” I didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to.

Something shifted in her eyes then -- fear giving way to something darker, more dangerous. “They won’t stop.”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “No. They won’t.”

We reached the bikes, the gravel crunching beneath our boots. Rio grabbed her helmet but didn’t put it on yet. “What’s your plan?”

I pulled out my phone again, checking for updates from Shade. Nothing yet. “Get back to the clubhouse. Regroup. Figure out our next move with better intel.”

“And then?”

“Then we make sure they never hurt anyone again.” The promise came easily, cold certainty behind every word. Wasn’t the first time I’d put someone in the ground. Wouldn’t be the last.

She studied me for a long moment, assessing my sincerity. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because she nodded once.

“I need to make a call,” I told her, already dialing. “Get ready to ride. We leave in two.”

Rio put on her helmet, the visor hiding her expression. But her body told me everything I needed to know -- the precise, economical movements, the way she checked her bike with brisk efficiency. She’d switched fully into combat mode. Those men had awakened something lethal in the woman now straddling the Nightster.

I stepped away toward the shadows, phone pressed to my ear. Behind me, I heard the growl of the Nightster’s engine coming to life, impatient and angry, just like its rider. It matched the feeling building in my chest -- a cold rage that would stay banked until it was time to let it burn.

These men had made two critical mistakes: they’d hurt a woman under my protection, and they’d followed her into my territory thinking they were the predators.

They were about to learn just how wrong they were.