Outside the window, dawn is just a smudge on the edge of the city, trying to remember how to be light. Inside, Rebel’s fingers lace with mine. Pain is still here. So is the weather. But the room is warm, and we’ve got enough breath left to use.
18
REBEL
Carter sleeps like he’s making up for a lifetime of missed hours. One arm slung over my waist, breath steady, the faint hum of pain whispering through his body. The shoulder wound’s clean, his skin warm beneath the gauze. Dawn creeps through the blinds, a bruise of light. I lie there and listen to the tick of the clock, the hum of the clubhouse starting to come to life, the rare silence between our heartbeats.
He shifts once, murmuring something half-dreamed, and my hand finds his chest automatically. His skin is warm, solid, proof that we lived through another night that should’ve killed us.
When Divine’s voice, low and ragged, mutters code and coffee orders, I slip free of the bed and pull on jeans, a tank, and my cut. The weight of leather steadies me.
By the time I make it to the kitchen, French is already leaning against the counter in one of her silk robes, coffee steaming in hand. She raises an eyebrow.
“Morning, sugar. You look like you fought a war and won the prize.”
“Don’t start,” I warn, pouring my own cup.
French grins, sharp as a blade. “Who said I was startin’? I’m just observin’. That man’s got more stamina than common sense.”
“Coffee,” I interrupt, holding up the pot. “Drink. Shut up.”
“Bossy.” She laughs, but it’s gentle. “He’s good for you, Vic. You’re almost smiling.”
“Almost,” I admit, and take the seat by the window. Outside, the compound hums. The prospects are cleaning bikes, Raven arguing with Iris about inventory, and Allura’s voice calling orders like a general.
French watches me for a long minute, then sighs. “Church in ten. Allura’s already in mission mode.”
“Of course she is.” I finish my coffee, rinse the cup, and head toward the meeting room.
The table gleams in the daylight. It’s polished, powerful, our names etched into the copper rim like vows. The Harlots file in one by one. Allura at the head, Raven to her left, Sloane and Divine to her right. French slides in beside me, Iris brings her tablet, and Calypso… Calypso moves slower than usual.
Farris walks her in, one hand at the small of her back, the other balancing their two-year-old, little Annabelle on his hip. Calypso’s wearing her hoodie and sunglasses despite the morning light. I know that look, she’s having a bad flare.
Three years ago, back before the Los Angeles Chapterof the Royal Harlots started, Calypso was diagnosed with Lupus. She kept it from us for as long as she could, but the ride from New York City to L.A. really did her in, and she had to confess the one thing she thought made her weak. Only it didn’t. Learning of her medical condition gave each of us the motivation to keep moving, that no matter what life throws at you, you can and will overcome it.
“Don’t mind me,” Calypso whispers, taking her seat. “Lupus decided to join the party.”
Allura’s gaze softens, but she doesn’t pity. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I shouldn’t be doing a lot of things,” Calypso answers, voice thin but steady. “Still do ’em.”
Annabelle squirms free of Farris, toddles straight for me, and giggles, “Aunt Rebel!”
My heart unclenches in a way bullets never could. I scoop her up and kiss the top of her head. “Hey, little menace.”
“She learned that word from you,” Farris teases, earning a soft eye-roll from Calypso.
“Alright, ladies,” Allura announces, snapping a pen against the tabletop. “Let’s get to it. We’ve got fallout to clean and a fundraiser to plan.”
Divine flicks her tablet on. The screensaver vanishes into a spread of data, blue light washing across her face. “The gala’s being scrubbed as a ‘terrorist scare,’ but Gentry’s disappearance is still trending. Calloway Holdings froze three accounts overnight. Somebody’s running scared.”
“Good,” Raven remarks, folding her arms. “Let ’em choke on their own PR.”
“Problem is,” Divine explains, “the money didn’t stop moving. It rerouted through shell charities, veteran outreach, youth shelters, the works. Our own accounts are clean, but they’re watching everything connected to Emerge Auditing.”
“Which means us,” I say, leaning forward.
“Which means we play smarter,” Allura corrects. “No open retaliation. Not yet.”
