Rebel Revenge Inc_Rebel_Volume 1 Read online

  As I move to hop into bed, a loud bang echoes through the air.

  I tense, unsure if the noise came from inside my house or out in the yard.

  Crash!

  Fear pulsates through my body as I activate the lock on my door, scoop up my handheld, and peer out the window. Neon and silver light from the city overcast lights up my backyard. My eyes rove across the pool and the glass pool house, and then along the trees that line the electric fence.

  Crash!

  I practically jump out of my skin as a creature about the size of a cat darts across my backyard.

  A slow exhale eases from my lips. “It’s just a cat. Chill the hell out.”

  I stare at the backyard for a moment or two longer before turning to go to bed. But then a loud noise echoes from outside again.

  Tremulous breaths tear from my lips as I collapse to the floor and hug my knees to my chest.

  Don’t cry, Wynter. Do not cry. Don’t be afraid. I’m sure it’s nothing. You have an alarm system. You’re safe.

  Still, fear pulsates through me. I rock back and forth, breathing in and out until the tears threatening to pour out of my eyes dry away.

  I hate this.

  Hate that I’m so terrified.

  “Don’t utter a word.”

  Sucking in several breaths, I pick up my handheld and send all my friends a message so at least they won’t worry.

  “Hey guys! I’m okay.” My overly cheery tone makes me cringe. “I promise. Lost my handheld today and had to buy a new one. Not sure how I lost it. Honestly, I think someone might have jacked it. Thanks for checking up on me, though. Love you guys!”

  There. That way, if Ari tracks my handheld to the club, I can simply say it wasn’t me who went there.

  I lie down in bed and pull the blankets over me. Even after lying there for over an hour, watching the time tick by, my eyelids refuse to slip shut. I toss and turn, trying to get comfortable for at least another hour before giving up and turning on the hologram screen, setting the channel to the news.

  The current headline is about a new string of drugs sweeping across the city. Apparently, the drug known as sweet kissless haze is becoming a real problem in the city, causing multiple illnesses, which is leading to an increase in greystele procedures, something the city residents are growing worried about. It makes me think of Everette.

  How did he become a greystele? What happened to him? Should I ask? Would he be upset?

  The news reporter then switches to discussing another problem plaguing the city, one I wasn’t aware of.

  “And in other news, the suspicion of illegal greystele making has been increasing,” the woman with neon pink hair and glittery purple lips on the hologram screen says. “Squad detectives suspect that an underground trafficking of body parts might be to blame. That a group of rebels has been performing illegal procedures to harvest body parts and replacing them with mechanical devices, turning the victims into greysteles.”

  “Holy shit,” I breathe out. “Someone’s stealing and selling body parts?”

  I lean forward, eager to hear more information, but she doesn’t give out any, switching straight to a report about a local charity Travis’s family donated to. My mind goes right back to that list of names.

  Revenge.

  Revenge.

  Revenge.

  The word burns through my veins, like a venomous poison.

  “I can’t let this go,” I whisper. “I have to do … something, other than walk around afraid all the time.”

  Perhaps, if I can attain proof that Travis and his friends attacked me that night, along with other women, then maybe that’ll be enough to go to the squad. If the girls on that list are victims, too, perhaps we can all band together. But asking them about it means probably answering questions about my own attack, especially with the girl whose name I recognize. Am I ready to do that? To utter the words to someone else?

  Don’t speak.

  Don’t think.

  Don’t breathe.

  Just break.

  The longer the mantra runs through my head, the more worked up I get. Rage burns in my veins, along with my scars, and through my chest.

  Revenge.

  “Fuck all of you,” I snap to my empty room. “I’m not going to break. I’m going to breathe. I’m going to think. I’m going to speak, although I’m going to be more careful about it. Threaten to ruin my life if you want to. It’s not a great life anymore anyway.” I stare up at the ceiling, my mind racing. “Threaten me all you want, but I’m going to make you guys pay.”

  Chapter 8

  I wake up the next morning feeling exhausted. At most, I got about three hours of sleep because that night haunted my dreams. Only, instead of my attackers assaulting me, I end up beating them up. Punching, kicking, tearing them apart, my anger so scorching I thought I was going to melt.

  When my eyes open, my skin is drenched in sweat, and my right hand feels as though it was slammed through a door.

  Sitting up, I inspect my hand over and wince. Shit, I forgot to ice it last night after I punched Everette in the face. The knuckles are swollen, and a couple of yellowish spots dot my skin. The impending bruises will probably get worse the further the day goes along. Lovely.

  I really need to learn the proper way to punch. Maybe I’ll take a few self-defense classes. Not really my thing, or at least the old Wynter’s thing anyway. The new Wynter understands the importance of being able to defend herself.

  “Defense classes, for sure,” I say, grabbing my pipe from my nightstand.

  After sucking in a few breaths of haze, I grab my handheld and make a list of everything I need to do.

  1. Enroll in self-defense classes.

  2. Get the contact info for the girls on the list.

  3. Figure out something that will get my friends off my back.

  4. Get revenge on the motherfuckers who hurt you.

  The last one is more for motivational purposes than anything else.

  Next, I search for self-defense classes nearby and a few pop up. Unsure which place is better, I enroll in the earliest class I can find. Then I select a pair of torn jeans and a grey T-shirt from my clothing system before heading to take a shower as the system prepares my outfit

  As I scrub the scent of last night off me, my mind drifts to Everette. He never agreed to call me after we parted ways last night. He doesn’t even have my number. I wonder if maybe he’ll try to track me down and let me know that Maci made it home okay. If he does, I’ll have to pretend the news is new to me. I will thank him, though.

  Thank him for saving Maci like no one saved me.

  * * *

  About a half an hour later, I’m racing across campus, the chains on my belt jingling as I’m late for yet another class. I’ve really been on a roll with not being punctual lately. Half the damn time, I’m not even aware of the time until it’s too late, as if I’m walking around in a zombie state. Sometimes that’s exactly how I feel. Like a numb, dead, inside and out, zombie.

  “Wynter!” a deep male voice shouts from across the campus yard.

  I flick a glance over my shoulder and find Everette striding toward me. His light brown hair is a ruffled mess, but in a sexy way, and he’s dressed head to toe in black except for silver metal cuffs and boots.

  I almost don’t stop. Almost run into the building. But considering what he did for me—and Maci—last night I ditch being a bitch for a few minutes and slow to a stop. I then turn and wait for him in the shade of the trees, the overcast lighting flickering through the branches as I watch him jog the rest of the short distance toward me.

  “Hey,” he says when he reaches me. “For a moment, I thought you weren’t going to stop.”

  “Sorry.” I adjust the strap of my bag, sliding it higher onto my shoulder. “I’m late for class.”

  “Oh, sorry, I’ll make this quick, then.” His gaze darts from left to right at the groups of other students hanging out near the giant advertisement hologram
screens that cover the main section of the university. Then he steps closer and lowers his voice. “I just wanted to let you know Maci got home safely.”

  “Really?” I pretend to be surprised. “That’s awesome. Thank you so much for making sure she did.” I chew on my bottom lip, choosing my next words carefully. “How did you do it? I mean, get her to leave the club and go home?”

  “Paid her five hundred bucks.”

  Liar. Then why did the entire club get evacuated?

  Why lie? And how does he lie so well?

  “Really?” My brow rises. “Wait, you didn’t, like, pay her to go home with you, did you?”

  He chuckles, his eyes crinkling around the corners, the roughness he usually carries with him softening. “No, I didn’t. And I doubt she even would’ve if I’d asked, considering what I am.” He shifts his weight. “I actually didn’t pay her five hundred dollars.” He peers around again, then whispers, “I activated the security breach alarm then waited for a blonde-haired girl wearing a pink dress and silver shoes to exit the building with Travis. She actually got into a limo without Travis about five minutes after wandering out and went straight home.”

  “How do you know she made it home?” I ask quietly, unsure why we’re whispering. “Did you follow her?”

  “I did. There wasn’t really another way to make sure she got home safely. Unless I offered her a ride myself. That might have made me come off a little bit stalker-ish, though.” The corners of his bronzed lips twitch. “And despite what some people may think, I’m not a stalker.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that.” After what he did for me last night—helping me out when I was desperate, then believing me enough to actually help—I owe him an apology. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you. I promise it’s not personal. I just …” I shift my weight. “I’ve just been going through some stuff lately and it’s messing with my moods.”

  His brows crinkle. “Is everything okay?”

  I wrestle back a grimace. “There you go, asking that question again.”

  “Maybe that’s a sign that something seems wrong.”

  “Maybe. Doesn’t mean I want everyone checking in on me all the time.”

  A soft smile touches his lips. “It’s a good thing when people check in on you. It means they care.”

  I adjust the handle of my bag again, fidgety and restless, yet my heart beats evenly. “I get that—I do—but not everyone wants to talk about their problems.” Not everyone can.

  “Just because someone doesn’t want to talk about their problems doesn’t mean they shouldn’t.” He inches closer, the tips of his boots clipping mine. My heart races in panic from his nearness yet, for some bizarre reason, I don’t budge. “I’ve done the whole keeping-shit-to-myself thing before, and trust me, it didn’t get me anything, other than a nervous breakdown.”

  “You had a nervous breakdown?”

  He nods. “It happened a little over a year ago. And I ended up …” His gaze travels to his arm.

  I gulp. “That’s when you … when you become a greystele?”

  He swallows hard and nods.

  I want to ask him what happened. How he hurt himself so badly that they had to replace his body with mechanical parts, but he quickly says, “But anyway, yeah, after that, I got help to deal with my stress.”

  “What sort of help?” I wonder if he means drugs. That is the cure for almost everything these days.

  “My friends. My family. My therapist.”

  “Oh.” My lips turn downward. Family. I don’t really have one of those. Not one that will try to help me anyway. As for therapy, that could work if I was ever able to get past the urge to vomit every time I even thought about uttering my secret. “That’s good your family cares about you like that. Not everyone is like that, unfortunately.”

  “What about your friends?” he suggests. “Can you talk to them?”

  “No …” I shake my head. I need to stop talking about this. “Look, I appreciate what you did for me last night and for making sure I’m okay and for telling me your story, sort of anyway, but I promise I’m fine. I’m not going to have a nervous breakdown. I’m just a little stressed out; that’s all.”

  He sighs. “Wynter …”

  God, why does he keep saying my name like that? All soft, as if I’m something precious. It makes me think about how soft his lips would be and that makes me feel disgust inside.

  Because I’m not precious.

  I’m tainted.

  Ruined.

  Angry.

  And I just want to be left the hell alone.

  “I gotta go.” I back away, throwing him a wave. “Thanks again for doing that for me last night.” I take off toward the glass doors of the building, running away again. But if he’d stop popping up in my life, I wouldn’t have to.

  Everette doesn’t call out my name, and I make it safely past security and inside. Then I sprint down the hallway like a lunatic. But getting gawked at beats running into class late again.

  As I’m rounding into the wide hallway lined with digital doors and classrooms, my sneakers squeaking on the floor, a shadow moves from my peripheral vision. I have no time to react before a set of fingers wrap around my arm.

  Everette has done that so many times to me I just assume it’s him. When I glance up, however, I meet the dark eyes of Travis.

  A slow smile curls at his lips as our gazes collide, and fear and anger simultaneously ripple through me.

  “Let me go,” I warn in a low, shaky voice. “Now.”

  He chuckles, peeling his fingers off me then raising his hands in front of him. “Don’t be a bitch. I just want to talk.”

  “I’m not being a bitch. And I sure as hell don’t want to talk.” I sidestep to leave, but he mimics my move.

  “Relax,” he says. “I just want to talk to you.”

  “And I already said I don’t want to talk,” I hiss through my teeth.

  “I’ll make it quick,” he assures me, shoving up the sleeves of his grey shirt.

  I inch to the side again, but he moves with me, sticking his hand out and blocking my path.

  “Leave me alone.” I cringe at how pathetically weak I sound.

  “No. Not until we talk about you harassing Maci and spreading lies about me.” He slants closer, his stale breath hot on my face. “I know you went to her house, Wynter. Maci told me.”

  “I don’t even know a Maci.” My fingers curl into a fist as last night’s nightmare blares through my mind.

  I want to hurt him like he did me.

  But I can’t.

  Helpless.

  I feel so helpless.

  And I hate it.

  Hate.

  I hate him.

  I hate his friends.

  I hate myself.

  “I know it was you,” he insists with a smug smile. “Maci said it was a girl with short blonde hair who was wearing a cheap leather jacket and boots, yet drove an extremely pricey hover car.”

  “There’re a lot of blonde girls in this town who drive pricey hover cars.” I carry his gaze, despite how scared shitless I am.

  “Not ones who wear second-hand clothing.” He pulls a disgusted face at my outfit. “You’re the only girl I know who fits that description. And the only girl I know who’d be stupid enough to try to get back at me.”

  I stick my hand into my pocket and fiddle with my handheld, hoping I can get the video recorder to turn on and record this conversation. “If you’re implying I want to get back at you for something, isn’t that like you admitting you did something to me that made me want to get back at you?”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re so stupid sometimes. Seriously, you live up to that whole dumb blonde cliché.” He snags ahold of my arm as I start to step back. “Go ahead; press that button. Make a recording.” He yanks on my arm, causing my hand to jerk from my pocket. My handheld falls out and bounces off the floor.

  Adrenaline courses through me. How the hell did he know?
r />   As if reading my mind, he says, “You think this is the first time I’ve had to deal with an uncooperative participant?”

  Did he basically admit he’s raped more than just me?

  “I wasn’t a participant,” I growl out. “I was drugged up and had no clue what was going on. And I told you guys to stop at least a hundred times.”

  He presses his fingers firmly into my wrist, imprinting my skin. “No, you were drunk. Hammered, actually. And you wanted it. Begged for it.”

  My gaze snaps to his, my fingernails piercing my palms. “No, I wasn’t, and you know it.”

  He shrugs. “It’s your word against mine. And my friends. Plus, everyone else who saw you shitfaced that night.” Yanking me closer to him, he dips his mouth toward my ear and whispers, “Do I need to remind you what’s going to happen if you don’t leave this alone? I think I made it pretty clear that night. Let this go and move on. If you don’t, you’re going to regret it.” He digs his fingernails deeper into my flesh. “You don’t want to mess with me, Wynter. I’m like a fucking god in this city, and I can break you in half with a snap of my finger.” He leans back, grinning. “Oh, and tell your dad I said hello next time you see him, will you? We’ve been on fantastic terms for the last couple months.”

  My dad has talked to Travis?

  Travis and my dad are on great terms?

  My dad who knows what Travis did to me!

  Blood roars in my eardrums as I inhale and exhale, about to explode.

  Traitor.

  Revenge.

  I want to make him hurt.

  I’m about to explode and who knows what else I’ll do, when a guy around my age with blond hair, strangely familiar blue eyes, a pierced lip, and a couple of neon skeleton digital tattoos on his arms exits a classroom near us. He’s dressed in all black except for a neon green belt and boots. Chains dangle from his pockets and studs are embedded into his brows

  As he moves closer to us, he glances up from the handheld he’s carrying, concern rising as his eyes stray from Travis to me.

  “Everything okay?” he mouths.