And he knew who would be his queen.

Rebel

“Rebel.”

“Hank, I was blindsided.”

He sighed in my ear.

“I mean, you know what I’m doing. And women are dying?” I asked.

“Okay, listen to me, Rebel.”

Uh-oh.

He had that tone I knew he didn’t use on his wife because I’d run into Roxie one day at the station and no way would he use that tone on his wife.

A tone he sometimes used on me.

Like I was his baby sister who needed her big brother to teach her an important life lesson.

“I do not want you in that mess. Eddie does not want you in that mess. Jimmy does not want you in that mess. We want you nowhere near that mess. You aren’t getting dick. We told you Valenzuela is not sloppy like that. He’s not gonna give you dick. So you need to pull out of that mess. And heads up, Rebel, a big part of why we want you out of that mess is because women are dying.”

“And maybe you could have shared that with me?”

“How freaked are you right now?” he asked.

“Pretty freaking freaked,” I answered.

“And you think Valenzuela won’t smell that?”

I shut up.

“You said he comes to the set often,” Hank noted.

He was coming more often than he used to.

That I didn’t find fun.

Though it was useful since I was there to take his ass down.

“Yes,” I confirmed to Hank.

“We do not want you there. We really don’t want you there, freaked, Valenzuela gets a whiff of that, digs deeper into you, and we covered you. But this isn’t exactly a CIA operation. DPD doesn’t have the resources to create a false identity that would sustain a deep dive. So workin’ on you to pull out while keeping you safe while you’re in by keepin’ shit from you that would freak you out and get you made was the way we decided to go. And if you don’t like it, Rebel, I’m not gonna apologize. I’m just gonna hope Chaos’s way of dealing with things got in your head and you’re rethinking this death wish you got goin’ on.”

“It’s not a death wish, Hank,” I snapped.

“It isn’t?”

Oh boy.

Trusty sweetheart with the warm whisky eyes was losing patience.

Eddie, that had happened about eight months ago (approximately point one two five seconds after I got wind through the grapevine that a new, more tasteful line of pornography was getting heavy funding and they were looking for a driving creative force to lead the way, I got my idea and shared with them my Plan o’ Vengeance).

Hank tried to work with me at the same time he tried to talk me out of it (with that latter having more of his efforts).

Now he wasn’t feeling the love.

“Hank—”

“Valenzuela doesn’t break necks, Rebel. He slits throats. Until my dying day, I’ll have flashbacks of Diane. It comes with the territory. How you gonna feel when I add flashbacks of you lying in your own blood? Oh wait. You’re not gonna feel shit. ’Cause you’ll be dead.”

Yikes.

“Get . . . out,” he clipped.

I thought of Hank.

I liked Hank. He was a good guy.

I thought of Eddie.

He was a little more abrasive, but it was because he wanted me safe.

So I liked Eddie. Because he was a good guy.

I thought of Rush Allen.

I stopped thinking of Rush Allen.

“I’ll consider it.”

“Thank fuck,” Hank muttered.

“I know you want me out, but it isn’t cool you gave what you guys gave to Rush Allen, Hank,” I shared.

“We didn’t give dick to Rush or Chaos. But whoever got the idea to land Chaos on your ass, I find out, I’m buying them a beer.”

With that, he hung up on me.

Oh yeah, sweetheart Hank was over it.

Shit.

It was the day after my hijacking.

Benito had come to the set.

I’d had that fun chat with Hank.

And now I was in my house, trying to chill out, my life was a mess . . .

And all I could think of was that I wished I’d met the man with the great hair and the crystal-blue eyes under different circumstances.

I went to my room, changed out of my jeans, shirt and boots into a jean skirt and a comfy top, and I wrapped a funky silk scarf around the top of my hair because I was going to go over to Essence’s.

Essence practically demanded you go funky in some way.

And she could chill anyone out.

I was about to head out when my phone rang.

I snatched it from where I’d tossed it on my bed, smiled, sat my ass on the end of my bed and took the call.

“Yo, D,” I said to my brother.

“Yo, sis. How’s it hanging?”

It was hanging low and saggy.

“Awesome as ever,” I lied.

“Cool, listen, Mol made her decision and . . . no bridesmaids. She doesn’t want anyone on the hook for a dress.”

That was Molly.

She wouldn’t put anyone on the hook for anything.

“If she wants attendants, it’d be my honor and I don’t mind buying a dress,” I told him.

I did, but my brother didn’t need to know that.

And I only did because money was running low.

The good money that was.

The porn money was not.

But I wasn’t buying a dress to stand up with my soon-to-be sister-in-law at her commitment ceremony in a dress bought with porn money.

If Molly changed her mind, maybe I could sell plasma.

“Rebel, baby doll, I think she just wants something simple,” D told me.

“I dig it, D. Whatever Molly wants.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, happiness in his tone.

He’d kill and die to give Molly what she wanted.

I closed my eyes.

I liked that.

I liked that he was looking forward to this. Free. Nothing holding him down.

Just love and joy and a good time to be had by all as we celebrated all the beauty they’d found.

Finally.

“So what’s goin’ down with you?”

I opened my eyes at Diesel’s question.

And thought again about Rush Allen.

Women were dying.

And I couldn’t bring Diane back.

Hank was now pissed (or more pissed).

And I’d met a guy I was attracted to, who I couldn’t go for because I was undercover and because he was very against me being undercover.

Not to mention, during our interview, he had not asked me out.

Bluh.

Oh!

And my brother had no idea this was all happening, and the longer it lasted, the more it felt like a lie, and not just me keeping something from him that would worry him.

“Not much,” I answered.

Yup.

A lie.

“Work good?”

“I’m keeping busy.”

“You should be in LA, not Denver.”

“Kevin Smith filmed Clerks in New Jersey.”

“Please do not aspire to Clerks,” he begged.

I grinned. “It’s funny.”

“Please do not aspire to Clerks,” my brother repeated.

“Okay, Blood Simple was filmed with cobbled-together funding in Austin and Hutto, Texas. Have you ever heard of Hutto, Texas?”

“Better,” Diesel grunted.

I kept grinning.

“You good?” he asked.

I felt my brows knit.

I wasn’t sure, but I thought I’d already answered that.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“You good, Rebel?” he asked.

Oh shit.

“Yeah, D,” I again answered.

He fell silent.

Okay, okay, okay.

My big brother was reading the sitch all the way from another state.

He put it out there.

Or part of it.

“Mom and Dad and Gunner leaving you alone?”

“Yeah, D,” I repeated, this time softly, but did not share this was because I’d blocked them.

And deleted all their email, unread.

And blocked that.

Oh . . .

And threw away the letter Mom sent, unopened.

“You do not have to take their shit for me.”

“I’m not,” I assured.