Page 2 of Stolen Rebel

A feeling of being watched has me raising my head. The guy I barged into earlier is staring, but as soon as our eyes meet, he looks away. Smirking, I shift my attention to the bar. The bartender who served us is talking to a woman with her back to me.

I run my gaze over her. She’s tall, narrow waisted, and long limbed. Dark wavy hair snakes down her back, and the way she’s got her hands planted on her hips tells me she’s either irritated or frustrated with whatever he’s saying to her.

She nods, then pivots and snatches up a cloth. As she raises her head, shock rolls through me. My heart, which usually beats with the steady thud of a war drum, stops entirely. For a heartbeat, the Mad Dog is gone, replaced by the twenty-eight-year-old me who’s just seen a ghost. The ghost of his first ever love.

The scar on my face itches, and the rage returns, hotter and sharper than before.

Rowan “Rebel” Byrne. What the fuck?

Blinding hot rage careens through my veins, and my hand tightens around the half-drunk glass of whiskey. Five years. Five fucking years since I last saw this woman’s traitorous face, and she’s just going about her business without a fucking care in the world.

Almost instinctively, I touch my scar. All this time I searched for her, the need for vengeance eating me up until there was nothing left other than a husk of a man who fell in love for the first time only to find out he was being played for a fucking mug.

I down the last of my drink and get to my feet. As I approach the bar, she gives me a cursory glance, then turns away, reaching above her head for a pint glass. Her purple t-shirt rises, giving me a glimpse of tanned skin and toned abs. My stupid, brainless dick twitches. If Rowan’s betrayal taught me anything, it’s that I should never listen to my dick.

Moving to the far end, she holds the glass at an angle and pulls on one of the pumps. Dark ale spurts into the glass. My eyes burn holes in the side of her face, but if she realizes I’m sending a hate-filled gaze her way, she doesn’t react.

She sets the pint of beer on the bar and holds out her hand for payment. The guy passes a note across the bar. Ringing up the sale, she counts out his change and drops the coins into his waiting palm.

There’s no one else waiting other than me. She travels the length of the bar, a fake smile fixed in place as she approaches.

“Hi there. What can I get you?”

A flawless face. A whole heart. The young guy who believed in fucking fairytales and happy ever afters.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve.”

She blinks several times in a row, her forehead wrinkling. “Excuse me?”

I slam my glass on the bar, drawing the attention of a couple of people nearby. No one will intervene. The lethal vibes pouring off me will stop any have-a-go-heroes from finding their spine.

“Tell me, Rebel, what did they pay you to rat me out?” I almost flinch at using the nickname we used to laugh about. A nickname she earned in school for always getting into some kind of trouble.

A frown draws her eyebrows together, except her innocent, confused act isn’t fooling me.

“Rebel? I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong person. My name’s Erin.”

Erin. Good one. “Don’t fucking play games with me. You’ll lose.”

She takes two steps back, only stopping when her spine hits the other side of the bar behind her. “I think you should leave.”

“Not without you.”

“I’m going nowhere with you. If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police.”

A slow, menacing smile tugs my lips upward, except I’ve looked at my ruined face for long enough to know it’s uneven, the scar running through my top lip responsible for my lopsided grin.

“You had a good run, Rebel. Five years. More than most who cross me would get. Time’s up, sweetheart. It’s time to pay the price for fucking me over.”

Her bottom lip trembles, and she swallows. I track the movement of her throat, envisaging my hand wrapping around her slender neck. One quick snap and it’s bye-bye traitor.

Except… where’s the fun in that.

I glance behind me. Kai is at our table watching my exchange, an intrigued expression on his face. He doesn’t know who she is. No one does, not even my brothers. She was my secret—something I could have that was all mine.

The only woman I’ve ever loved, and more fucking fool me.

Returning my attention to her once more, I snap out a hand and capture her wrist. She yanks her arm up, but she’s wasting her time. Now I’ve finally caught her, I’m not letting her go. Not until she’s paid for every bruise, every broken bone, every stitch that knitted together the gaping hole in my face.