Rebel Revenge Inc_Rebel_Volume 1 Read online

  “What exactly goes on in there?” I mutter as the ground below my feet vibrates from the music playing inside. “And why the hell am I not allowed in?”

  Did Travis do it? Did he put my name on that list after the party? Why? Just to keep me away from him? And what about the rest of the women on that list? Why aren’t they allowed inside?

  I really wish I had that list so I could track them down and talk to them.

  An idea hits me, one that I probably shouldn’t follow through with, that could easily get me arrested. At this point, though, I don’t give a shit. All I care about is getting inside and finding Maci. And maybe getting a bit of intel on Travis.

  Revenge.

  Revenge.

  Revenge.

  I peer around the corner of the building and eyeball the entrance. The bouncer has his back to me and is chatting with a couple of women at the front of the line. And just on the podium behind him is the handheld with the list on it.

  Taking a deep breath, I dig my handheld out of my pocket and open the encryption scanner Ari installed a long time ago. Then I step out and casually stroll up the sidewalk toward the podium. When I get close enough, I let my hair fall across my face, aim my handheld, and send out an encryption scan, which should steal any recently opened data from his handheld. I’d be super proud of myself for being so clever, except I forgot to turn off the lighting and the handheld brightly flashes the moment I hit scan.

  A handful of people in line stare at me in confusion while the bouncer twists around to see what the hell is going on. Panicking, I reel around, hightail it down the sidewalk, and make a sharp right when I reach the corner. The street I turn on is the parking area, which is crammed with fancy hover cars. The air is much stiller here, the lights dimmer, and while I’m sure my imagination is getting the best of me, the air feels chillier.

  Alone.

  Cold.

  Darkness.

  I’ve felt like this before.

  I shiver as my bare feet pad against the dirt, not a single soul around as I make my way through the woods. My clothes are torn, my back is bleeding, my soul is back on the spot of the woods where I woke up, lying on the ground—

  An engine revs from nearby, making me nearly jump out of my skin, and I instinctively reach for my Taser. But before I can grab it, a hand touches my shoulder.

  “Wynter?”

  My pulse leaps as I spin around, lift my fist, and punch the attacker in the face. The instant I connect with their cheek, my knuckles pop.

  “Shit,” I cry out, jerking back.

  “Holy shit,” Everette breathes out in surprise, his hand drifting to his cheek.

  The cheek I just hit.

  The metal cheek I just hit.

  Pain radiates through my knuckles as I cradle my hand to my chest. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He gives a pressing look at my hand. “Are you?”

  Not wanting to appear weak, I nod. “Of course. I’m not the one who just got punched in the face.”

  His brow cocks. “But I have a metal plate in my cheek.”

  I wonder why, but figure it’s probably rude to ask.

  “I know, but still … you can feel pain, right?” Face palm. Why am I such an asshole?

  Fortunately, he seems more amused than upset. “Sometimes, but that punch definitely didn’t hurt me.” The light cascading down from the sky casts across his face as he dubiously eyeballs my hand. “It looks like you’re in a lot of pain. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Breathing through the pain, I wiggle my fingers. “See? Perfectly okay.”

  His gaze lifts to mine. “Well, for future reference, if you’re going to hit a greystele in the face, you probably shouldn’t use your knuckles. But that might go for all punches in general.”

  “I didn’t use my knuckles,” I lie, feeling stupid. “And I know how to throw a punch. I’ve done it a lot actually.”

  His half-bronzed lips press together as he bites back a smile. “You get into a lot of fights, huh?”

  “Yep, all the time.” Frustration bursts through me as his lips quirk in amusement again. “So you can wipe that smirk off your face.”

  He rubs his metal hand across his mouth, his eyes glittering with amusement. “There. All wiped off.”

  The muscles in my jaw pulsate.

  Seriously, what is with this greystele? This is the second time we’ve shared a conversation and both times he managed to get under my skin within a couple minutes.

  “Thank you, Mr. Literal.” Rolling my eyes, I move to step past him and leave before I do something stupid, like try to punch him again.

  “You should ice your hand.” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his black pants as he follows me.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, wincing as I hold my hand against my chest. “Is it like your thing or something?”

  He blinks at me, those startling blue eyes flooding with confusion. “What?”

  “Giving advice to people who clearly don’t want it.”

  Gadgets rotate as he shrugs. “Maybe, but no one’s complained before.”

  “Well, I am. And here’s a little bit of advice for you.” I quicken my strides, throwing over my shoulder, “When a girl is practically running away from you, it means they don’t want to be around you.”

  He slows to a stop, letting me go. At least, that’s what I assume at first. Then he calls out, “Or maybe it just means they’re scared.”

  Scared?

  He thinks I’m afraid of him?

  I grind to a stop and whirl around, strands of hair whipping into my face. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Why? Most people are. Afraid of my kind, I mean.” His voice is neutral, but his expression carries a drop of bitterness.

  I raise my brows. “Well, I’m not most people then, I guess. Because I’m not afraid of you.”

  He studies me for a beat or two before cautiously stepping toward me, his thick steel boots scuffing against the ground. “In the last five hours, we have had two conversations and you ran away from me both times.”

  “I wasn’t running,” I lie. “I just have places to be.”

  He stops in front of me, standing so close the scent of his cologne and something surprisingly sweet laces the air. “Oh yeah, where?” he wonders curiously.

  “Places.” I cringe at my stupid answer.

  The corners of his lips quirk. “Places, huh? Sounds pretty important.”

  “I never said it was important. Just more important than talking to you.” I move to leave again.

  “Are you going in there?” he asks, nodding at the club’s side entrance.

  I twist back around and arch a brow. “Why?”

  He shrugs, his gaze flicking up and down my body. “Just wondering why you’re all dressed up.”

  “I dress up all the time.” Not a total lie. I used to.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I grow wary. “How?”

  He shrugs, seeming the slightest bit embarrassed. “I’ve seen you around campus. You’re sort of hard not to notice.”

  “Oh.” Was that a compliment? If so, I don’t want it. “Then you should know I don’t really dress up anymore.”

  “Actually, I do.”

  “Good.” Wait. What sort of stupid comeback was that?

  He laughs, seeming lost. “Huh?”

  I sigh. “Look, I’m tired, okay? Usually, my comebacks aren’t so ridiculous.”

  “Comebacks?” He cocks a pierced brow. “I didn’t realize we were having an argument.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “You so did, too. You were practically egging me on.”

  “Actually, I wasn’t.” He steps toward me. “I was just stalling until I could figure out the right way to ask you to come with me to The Silver Glass Box.” His lips tug up in a lopsided grin. “Not sure if that was the right way, but I guess it’s too late now.”

  I raise my brows. “You’re going in?”

  His smil
e is all sorts of amusement. “What? Is that shocking or something?”

  My gaze scans his black pants, his grey shirt, the cuffs around his wrists, and the metal boots he has on. The outfit is nice, but not even close to being expensive enough for him to blend in with the rich douchebags currently inside.

  Still, I’m not going to try to bullshit myself and say he doesn’t look good. He does.

  I glance from him to the club. “How are you getting in?”

  A smile rises on his lips. “What? You don’t think I’ll be able to just walk in through the front door?”

  “No,” I answer truthfully then shrug. “Sorry, but this stupid club won’t let anyone in who doesn’t have the right last name.”

  “And what’s so wrong with my last name?” he teases with his bottom lip jutted out.

  I almost freakin’ smile. Seriously, what the shit?

  “Nothing is wrong with it. At least, to a normal person.” I wince at my use of normal person. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just …” Fuck, I’m stupid. Saying something like that to a Greystele, I probably sound like a straight-up bitch. Sighing, I gesture at the building lit up by pale purple lights. “I just meant that the people in there care about last names and who you are.” My hand falls to my side as I offer him an apologetic look. “Unless your last name is linked to the mayor or some hotshot drug lord, you’re not going to get through the front doors.” Especially if you’re a greystele. I’m not about to say that aloud. Not when I’ve already put my foot in my mouth.

  His eyes glint mischievously. “Good thing I’m not planning on going through the front doors.” Then he snags ahold of my hand and tows me toward the side entrance where a guy wearing a similar outfit to the bouncer in front is standing.

  “He’s not going to let you in.” I trot to keep up with Everette as I try to wiggle my hand from his grip while fighting back the panic of having him touch me.

  “Let’s try it, okay?” He glances over his shoulder at me with a smile playing on his lips. “I have a feeling my last name might have some sway at the side entrance.”

  “Well, even if it does, they’re not going to let me in.”

  Confusion dances in his eyes. “But isn’t Porterrsen the right last name?”

  So, he did recognize my last name earlier. Odd. Usually I can tell by someone’s reaction. Either he doesn’t care or he’s good at hiding his emotions.

  I jerk my arm back, trying to get him to let me go before I have a meltdown. “Apparently, not anymore.”

  He slows to a stop, releasing his hold on me. My heart rate immediately starts to settle.

  “Did something happen?”

  “I have no idea.” I pretend to be deeply engrossed in my fingernails. “All I know is that I tried to get in through the front door about five minutes ago, and the bouncer told me my name was on this list, so I couldn’t get in.”

  “That’s strange,” he mutters with his brow crinkled.

  I study him suspiciously. “You act like you know a lot about this club or something.”

  The confusion erases in the flash of a heartbeat as his shimmering bronze lips curl into a fake smile. “Nah. Just curious about this exclusive club everyone keeps talking about, which is why I’m here.” He takes my hand again, lacing his metal fingers through mine, and starts forward again.

  “I never agreed to go with you.” I dig my heels into the ground.

  He stops and turns around to face me. “But, weren’t you just trying to get in?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So, I can get you in.”

  “Yeah, I’m still pretty skeptical about that. In fact, I’m about ninety-nine percent sure they’re going to kick your ass to the curb.”

  He muses over something, his lips tugging upward. “How about this, then? You and I will walk up to the door, and if I can’t get us in, you can punch me in the face again. And I’ll even let you do it on the side that doesn’t have the metal plate. However, if I do, you have to let me buy you an electric shot and dance with me.”

  My throat burns with vomit at the idea of tasting an electric shot. “As appealing as punching you in the face sounds, I don’t think my hand can endure another punch tonight.”

  His grin broadens. “I’ll show you the proper way to punch beforehand. And it won’t be so bad since you won’t be hitting metal.”

  I consider his offer. While learning how to punch properly does sound enticing, hitting him in the face again doesn’t sound as appealing as I thought it would. I’m not sure why. If I just don’t want to risk cracking my knuckles again, or if I don’t hate him as much as I want to. Still, I really want to get inside that club.

  “Fine, you got yourself a deal. But no electric shots. I hate those things.” I don’t bother mentioning my lack of desire to hit him in the face. I’ll deal with that when we get to that part. Plus, you never know. I just might change my mind.

  “Okay, sounds like a deal.” Grinning, he shakes my hand then threads his fingers through mine and tows me toward the door. I resist the compulsion to jerk back, despite every muscle in my body tightening in protest.

  Just breathe, Wynter. Air in. Air out.

  “You okay?” Everette whispers as we near the door.

  I nod. “Of course.”

  He stares at me, unconvinced, before giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “Oh, yeah, and if this guy asks, your name is Victoria.”

  “What …?” I trail off as we reach the bouncer.

  “Hey, Mike,” Everette greets the guy with a smile. “I’m Everette Averysen. Doug told me you could get me in.”

  Shit. He knows the bouncer’s name? So not a good sign that I’m going to win our bet. Then again, getting inside is sort of winning for me, minus the dancing with him part. But maybe I can find a way to get out of that when the time comes.

  “Can I see your resident ID?” the bouncer asks with his arms crossed as he scrutinizes Everette’s metal woven arms.

  Sighing, Everette removes one of the cuffs he’s wearing. Surprisingly, a bit of flesh still remains on his wrist, along with the barcode of his resident ID.

  The bouncer scans the ID, and then, with a nod of his head, steps aside and lines his palm to a scanner. Moments later, the glass doors glide open.

  “Just make sure not to get yourself into any trouble,” he warns. “I won’t be able to vouch for you, if you do.”

  Nodding, Everette moves to step inside, pulling me with him.

  “Wait.” The bouncer grabs my arm, his gaze burrowing into me. “Who’s this?”

  Let go of me.

  Let go of me.

  Let me fucking go.

  “This is Victoria,” Everette speaks for me, as if sensing the panic has struck me silent.

  “Doug said it’d only be you coming in.” The bouncer keeps his gaze trained on me. “He never mentioned a woman would be with you.”

  “Well, he should’ve.” Everette drapes an arm around my shoulders and hauls me closer to him, causing the bouncer’s hand to fall from my arm. My pulse marginally calms the hell down as his sweet scent graces my nostrils. “I don’t go anywhere without my snuggle buggles, and Doug knows that.” He shakes his head. “I swear he’s losing his mind in his old age.”

  The bouncer assesses me for a racing heartbeat of a second before fixing his gaze on Everette. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that lately, too. I’ve even tried to get him to go to the doctor to get checked out, but he can be so stubborn sometimes.”

  “Definitely,” Everette agrees with an easy smile. “Maybe if we both start hassling him about it, we can convince him to go.”

  “I like the way you think.” Smiling at Everette, the bouncer steps aside and signals for us to go in. “Go on in and have fun.”

  Nodding, Everette pulls me through the doorway and into a dimly lit hall. From the far end, music throbs, electrifying the air. The noise sends bottomless dread sinking into the pit of my stomach and images piece my brain.

  Not now, Wynter
. You need a clear head while you’re here.

  The instant the door slams behind us, I mutter, “Snuggle buggles?”

  Everette chuckles under his breath as he puts his cuff back on and rolls down the sleeves of his shirt, hiding most of the evidence that he’s a greystele. “Yeah, sorry. I’m pretty clueless when it comes to the whole lovey-dovey pet name thing.”

  “Well, for future reference,” I throw his earlier words back at him, “when you do get a girl to stick around long enough for you to give her a pet name, snuggle buggles is probably not the way to go. Unless she’s into Teddy bears and carries a damn mini dog around in her purse.”

  He suppresses a laugh. “Mini dog?”

  “Yeah, you know, one of those super mini dogs that people carry around in their purses.”

  “I think they’re just called toy dogs, and most people don’t carry them around in purses.” He makes no move to head down the hallway. Instead, her releases my hand, steps back, and leans against the shimmering silver wall.

  I recline against the wall opposite of him, cross my arms, and shrug. “Well, they do in my world.”

  A brow arches up. “Have you ever done it?”

  I glare at him. “Hell no. Even before, I was never that sort of girl.”

  He angles his head to the side. “Before?”

  Dammit. I didn’t mean to let that slip. “Before I decided to make myself over.” I shrug. “You said you’ve seen me before, so you know how I used to look.”

  He searches my eyes. “Why did you change?”

  That rope around my chest gives a tug, nearly choking the air out of me.

  “Why not?” Surprisingly, my voice is even.

  His nonchalant shrug contradicts his intense gaze. “I just wonder if perhaps there was a reason. That’s usually the case, anyway, when people decide to reinvent themselves.”

  “I didn’t reinvent myself. I just decided to dress differently.”

  “Okay.” The way he says that so easily pisses me off, as if he thinks he can see through me so well to know I’m lying.

  “I’m not lying,” I insist, “so stop looking at me like that.”

  His expression is unreadable. “Like what?”

  “Like you, I don’t know, know me or something.”