Rogue (Dead Man's Ink, #2)(7)
Rebel’s eyes flash, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he grinds his teeth. “Raphael Dela Vega’s here. In town.”
“Wait. What?” My arms and legs suddenly feel very cold, very numb. That…that makes no sense. What would he be doing here? My anger towards Rebel doesn’t matter anymore. Bile rises up in the back of my throat as I try to process this piece of information, but it’s as though it just won’t settle in my mind. New Mexico is so far removed from Seattle, and so very far removed from Los Angeles. My brain tries to scramble, to come up with some logical reason why Raphael would be here, here of all places. Some reason other than the fact that he must have come for me. I draw a blank.
Rebel shifts for the first time, wincing a little, like he’s in pain. “I don’t even want him to see you here, Sophia. If he does, he’ll likely try and find a way into the compound, and then what? Someone’s back’s turned and you’re lying in a pool of your own goddamn blood? No. No way.” He says this so quietly, and yet there’s such determination behind his words.
“You haven’t been by here in ten days,” I growl.
He blinks again, staring straight at me. “Would you have wanted to see me?”
“Yes! I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be kept in the dark over what’s going on in the outside world! You…we slept together! And then you’re just gone. You lock me up and then you just vanish off the face of the earth.”
“So that’s it? You just wanted someone to come f*ck you? I’m sure any of the boys would have obliged you if only you’d have told them.”
I react without thinking. I’m lunging at him, my hand flying out to strike him across the face before I can stop myself. My palm makes contact with his cheek, a loud cracking sound filling the room. “Don’t you f*cking dare,” I grind out. “Don’t you dare do that. You f*cking buy me like I’m nothing but a lump of meat, like I’m goddamn property, and then you make me care about you. You make me think you care about me. You trick me, make me look like an absolute idiot, and then you try and make me out to be some sort of slut, too. Don’t you f*cking dare.”
My whole body is vibrating with anger. I’ve heard the saying ‘seeing red’ before and I’ve thought nothing of it, but now I know it’s actually a very literal term—it’s almost as though I’m seeing him through a red haze.
Rebel runs his tongue over his teeth, slowly lifting his hand to touch his fingers to the red welt on his face where I struck him. He speaks carefully, very slowly. “Sophia, please know, you’re just about the only person on the face of the planet who could get away with that right now.”
“Yeah? Well, if you don’t get the hell away from me, I’m gonna do it again, *,” I spit.
“I went out with the intention of killing a man tonight. You think I’ll have any moral objection to tying up a misbehaving woman?”
I lean forward even further so that our faces are no less than an inch apart. “Try me.”
Rebel’s calm, overly controlled behavior should have clued me into the fact that he’s been on the verge of snapping this whole time. He rockets forward, hands grabbing me by the tops of my arms, pinning me to the sofa. “You really don’t want to do this with me, Soph,” he breathes.
I do, though. I want to gouge his eyes out. I want to smash my fist into his face so hard that he loses teeth. I want to break his bones and watch him bleed. I think maybe he expected me to back down as soon as he grabbed hold of me, but I don’t. I twist underneath him, slamming my knee into his side. He doubles over, huffing out a deep, pained breath. Wrenching my arms out of his grasp, I slip out from underneath him and drive my clenched fist into his side as hard as I possibly can. Rebel grits his teeth, snarling between them, jumping to his feet.
“You’re f*cking crazy!”
“I guess that’s what happens to a person when you lock them away for ten days on their own, and then show up accusing them of being a whore.”
“I didn’t accuse you of being a whore.”
“You may as well have done. You think just because I slept with you, I’d want to sleep with any of your gross, Neanderthal groupies? I’m not some club hooker to be passed around like a damn party favor!”
He comes at me again, reaching for me, and that’s when I notice the blood on his hands. My mind instantly rewinds to what he just said about setting out to kill someone tonight, and I reel back. Oh my god. No, he couldn’t have. Did…did he actually do it? Rebel sees my anger change to horror and swiftly stops in his tracks.
“What?”
“Your hands, Rebel. What the f*ck is all over your hands?”
He looks down at them, a small frown creasing his forehead, eyebrows banking together. The expression he’s wearing screams innocent confusion, however the wet blood on his hands screams something else entirely. His face is ashen.
“I don’t…”
I scream when he staggers sideways and crashes into the couch, dropping to one knee. “What the hell? Rebel? Rebel!” He looks like he’s on death door. “Oh, god, please…what’s wrong?” I touch his side, the side I rammed with my knee, my hand comes away covered in blood. His t-shirt is drenched with it. I didn’t notice before since the material is black, but now that I’m looking closer I can see the dark, wet stain spreading across his stomach.