Page 4 of Gang of Roses: Rebel

He walked past me and gently bumped my shoulder.

“I was. Then my best friend texted me saying she needed me. Whatever I was doing stopped mattering.”

My eyes burned as I looked away.

“I’ve been trying to keep it together all day. It’s been years since she died, and I still act like it happened yesterday.”

Crow nodded knowingly. “Time doesn’t stop grief, Rain. It just teaches you how to carry it. I know today never gets easier. I know every year you pretend you’re okay when you ain’t. And I know Rose would’ve whooped my ass if I let you sit here by yourself.”

A watery laugh escaped me.

“You always know what to say.”

“Nah.” He smiled softly. “I just know you. And I wanna make sure you’re good. We’ll eat these unhealthy snacks, laugh about all the crazy shit Rose used to do, and celebrate her the way she’d want us to.”

I smiled through my tears. “She would’ve definitely stolen half these snacks.”

“Nah,” Crow chuckled. “She would’ve stolen all of ‘em and blamed it on me.”

I laughed a little harder, the heaviness on my chest easing just enough to breathe.

“Thank you, Crow.”

“Always, Rain. Always.”

Crow pulled me into a quick hug, resting his chin on top of my head. I truly appreciated him coming to my rescue. Even though it had been years since my sister was killed, that shit still haunted me deeply. The part that hurt the most was accepting the one thing I couldn’t change. She was never coming back.

Chapter 2

Rain “Rebel” Crawford

People loved calling me reckless. I guess I couldn’t blame them. I jumped motorcycles over canals, raced through city streets like I had nine lives, and laughed in the face of danger more times than I could count. Rules never meant much to me, and if somebody told me I couldn’t do something, I would probably do it just to prove them wrong. Before she died, Rose used to tell me that our mama always said I came into this world hardheaded. Rose was old enough to remember Mama in ways I never could, so most of what I knew about her came from my sister. And if Mama really said that shit about me, she was fuckin’ right. The funny part was, people confused fearlessness with stupidity. They looked at the risks I took and figured I had a death wish, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Every move I made was intentional. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into, because fear wasn’t in my vocabulary. The difference between me and everybody else was simple: I wasn’t afraid to bet on myself.

Life had already taken the person I loved most when it stole my sister. After that, fear just didn’t carry the same weight anymore. I learned the hard way that tomorrow wasn’t promised. Once you understand that, you stop wasting today hiding from life. That didn’t mean I wanted to die. It meant I refused to let fear dictate how I lived. I was going to live on my own terms until my last breath.

As I zipped up my leather jacket and slid my gloves over my hands, a grin spread across my face at the sight of my new black-and-gold Kawasaki Ninja. Its glossy black fairings reflected the morning sun, while the gold accents and matching rims gleamed like they had something to prove. That bike wasn’t just transportation; it was freedom.

I swung a leg over the seat and thumbed the ignition. The engine roared to life beneath me, vibrating through my body like an old friend. A smile tugged at my lips as I twisted the throttle. The Ninja answered with a deep growl that echoed through the neighborhood before I shot onto the street. Within minutes, I was carving through traffic, leaning effortlessly into every curve as the wind whipped against my face. Riding had always been my therapy. Out here, there were no questions about my mama, no memories of my sister, and no ghosts trying to drag me backward. There was just me, my bike, and the open road.

Eventually, the familiar neon sign for Stone’s Bar came into view. Instantly, my smile disappeared, seeing that my sperm donor owned the place. I hated the son of a bitch with every fiber of my being. If I was being real, I understood why my mama ran from him. No woman deserved the hell he put her through. What I never understood was why she left my sister and me behind with him. That question had haunted me my entire life. I had stopped expecting an answer years ago, but if I ever got the chance to confront her ass about it, I prayed she would finally give me the closure I had spent my whole life searching for answers. Unfortunately, closure wasn’t on today’s agenda, but revenge was on that bitch for sure.

After our encounter at the grave a few weeks back, I still wanted to bury that nigga, Titan, for choking me. My anger continued to burn through my veins as I rolled into the parking lot without slowing much before finally killing the engine. Without any fear, I climbed off and reached for the custom leather scabbard bolted directly to the left side of my black-and-gold Kawasaki Ninja’s frame.

Most people looked at it and assumed it was made for a rifle, but they were wrong. Mine carried a polished aluminum Louisville Slugger.

I reached down, unsnapped the thick leather retention strap, and slid the bat free with one smooth pull. The cool metal settled comfortably in my hand as I rested it across my shoulder, ready to do some damage. People always asked if I was worried about the police. But naw, I wasn’t because cops had never scared me. Hell, the man who raised me was far more dangerous than any badge I had ever come across. Compared to surviving my sperm donor, everybody else was just doing a job.

I slammed the kickstand down and headed toward the front door. The moment I stepped inside, the music, the laughter, the cigarette smoke, and the smell of cheap liquor hit me all at once, reminding me exactly why I hated this place. Looking around, I saw people of all ages throwing back drinks like they didn’t have a care in the world. Behind the bar stood my punk-ass father, talking to some woman with her titties hiked so damn high it looked like she could barely breathe. The moment he saw me, every ounce of joy vanished from his face. He immediately stopped talking to her ass and turned his full attention to me. I slid onto a barstool without taking my eyes off him. Then I laid my polished aluminum Louisville Slugger across the countertop with a loud clank, making damn sure everybody in the bar knew I hadn’t come for a damn drink.

The entire place went silent as every pair of eyes landed on me. It was all good because I wanted every motherfucker watching. I needed them to know what type of man they were giving their business to.

My father frowned. “Rain... what you doing here?”

I leaned back against the stool, folded my arms, and smirked. “Don’t call me that,” I said. “I told you the name was Rebel.”

“I don’t give a fuck what your name is. Get out. Now. And take that little-ass bat with you.”

I laughed. “Naw, nigga. Why don’t you make me?” I leaned back like I didn’t have a care in the world. “I mean, you do like beating women and all. Hell, you ain’t never had a problem putting your hands on one before. So, what’s stopping you now?”