Chapter 2

Rebel’s POV

The problem with nights in the clubhouse is that they don’t really end.

The music stops, the laughter fades, the bikers wander off to bed or to someone else’s—but the energy lingers like heat after a storm. It hums through the walls, through the floors, through my bones.

And tonight, something feels wrong.

I’m curled on my bed reading a dog eared book, the one Fang always pretends he doesn’t know I stole from his room years ago. The air is thick with the scent of oil and steel from the garage below, comforting in the way only home can be.

But underneath it, something prickles my skin, something familiar and sour.

I set my book aside as voices echo down the hallway too sharp and tense.

Then,

“GET THE HELL OUT OF MY CLUBHOUSE!”

Fang’s roar shakes the walls, vibrating all the way down to the soles of my feet.

My chest feel tight because I know that tone, know exactly what or who could pull it out of him.

I’m halfway to the door when a second voice answers smooth and controlled like it’s rehearsed.

“Fang, please. We aren’t here to fight.”

My stomach twists, I know that voice even if I lived over a hundred years, my mother.

I freeze, fingers curling around the doorknob. My wolf bristles beneath my skin, a low, warning growl vibrating in my heartbeat. Memories flash of her grip on my arm, her cold eyes in the mirror, her demanding voice telling me who I was allowed to be.

Then another voice joins hers.

“Let’s all calm down,” my father says. “We came here for Rebel.”

The knob turns uselessly under my fingers. My palms go slick.

Fang snarls something I can’t make out, the kind of sound that promises violence. Heavy footsteps follow that are his, pacing, filled with fury.

I crack the door open just enough to peek out into the hallway.

The lights are dim, only a few wall sconces casting gold onto the scuffed floors. But the air feels charged, thick with aggression and an old, complicated fear.

I slip into the hall quietly as Fang’s voice echoes from downstairs near the front entrance.

“You don’t get to say her name,” he growls. “You lost that right the day you locked her in that goddamn room.”

My breathing stutters as I inch closer to the stairs, staying in the shadows.

“I understand you’re angry,” my mother says. “We all made mistakes—”

“Mistakes?” Fang bellows. “You abused her. You hid her. You made her pretend she was something she wasn’t!”

I flinch even though none of it is directed at me.

My father’s voice is thin with false patience. “That’s all in the past and we want to make amends.”

A bitter laugh rips from Fang. “Bullshit.”

“We’ve changed,” my mother insists.

Another lie, I can smell it. Sweet. Rotting. Familiar.

I creep down a few steps, heart hammering in my throat. From here I can see three silhouettes in the foyer Fang’s broad figure in front, blocking the door, and my parents standing stiffly just inside.

My mother looks polished, hair in place, makeup flawless. My father looks the same as always emotionless, too calm, like he’s analyzing the situation rather than feeling anything.

“I want to see her,” my mother says suddenly.

My body tenses so sharply the wooden stair creaks beneath me.

Shit.

Fang’s voice drops to a deathly rumble. “No.”

“She’s our daughter.”

“By blood only,” he snaps. “You don’t love her. You don’t even know what she is.”

My mother presses a hand to her chest, like she’s wounded. “We want to.”

My father steps in, his tone shifting, too gentle, too smooth. “Rebel deserves to hear from us. She deserves the chance to heal.”

The audacity nearly knocks the breath out of me.

Heal? From what they did?

My wolf snarls. A pulse of heat rushes through my limbs.

Fang jabs a finger toward the door. “You’re not here for her. You’re here because you want something so spit it out.”

My mother hesitates for too long.

Then she smiles, a small, careful thing that doesn’t touch her eyes.

“We want to start over,” she says. “We want to be a family again.”

I grip the railing so hard my knuckles ache. My chest tightens, air strangling in my lungs.

A family, as if I ever had one.

Fang’s laugh is rough and disbelieving. “You expect me to buy that? After a decade of silence?”

My father steps closer, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. “We made terrible choices. We know, but we’re trying to fix them.”

My mother nods, her voice softening in a way that always preceded something cruel. “Rebel deserves guidance. She deserves parents involved in her life.”

The twist in my gut deepens, that tone, manipulation wrapped in maternal concern.

I’ve heard it too many times.

Fang takes a step forward, shoulders tense, ready to break something.

“You think I don’t see through this?” he growls. “You want her because she’s valuable, because she’s an omega.”

Silence slams into the room like a slap, my breath freezes.

They knew?

My mother folds her arms, gaze sharpening. “Her nature is rare, powerful, it shouldn’t be left unchecked.”

My father chimes in, voice colder now. “She needs to be mated to the right pack, one that can manage an omega properly.”

Ice slides down my spine, not cared for, not protected, but managed.

Like a tool. Like livestock.

Fang sees red. I see it in the way his posture shifts, in the crackle of his aura snapping through the room. “You bastard,” he snarls. “You want to sell her off.”

“To secure her future,” my father says calmly. “And ours.”

My wolf lunges inside me, furious, claws scraping at my insides.

Fang moves so fast I barely catch the blur, he grabs my father by the front of his shirt and slams him into the wall so hard the pictures rattle.

“You come near her again,” Fang growls, “and I will rip your throat out.”

My mother gasps, reaching for my father, but she doesn’t try to pull Fang off not really, she just watches, calculating.

My father remains infuriatingly calm. “You can’t keep her forever, Fang.”

“Watch me.”

They stare at each other for a long, heavy beat.

Then my mother smooths her hair and lifts her chin. “We’ll be back,” she says, whisper soft but venomous. “Rebel deserves better than a life in this den.”

Fang shoves my father toward the door. “Get out.”

My parents leave without another word, but their scent lingers like smoke long after the door slams shut.

Fang stands there for a moment, chest heaving, fists clenched, wolf pushing at his skin.

I swallow hard, stepping down one more stair.

“Fang?”

He spins, eyes bright gold, wild for a second then softening when he sees me.

“Shit,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. “Rebel, you should be asleep.”

“Kind of hard with all the yelling,” I say quietly.

He sighs, shoulders sinking. “I’m sorry, little wolf. They just, they have no right.”

I step off the stairs fully, feeling small and too exposed. “What did they want?”

“To use you,” he says bluntly. “Again.”

My throat tightens. “Figures.”

Fang crosses the space between us and grips my shoulders, grounding me. “Listen to me. You don’t owe them anything, not forgiveness, not a conversation, not a goddamn second of your time.”

I nod, but the ache in my chest doesn’t ease. “They said they changed.”

He snorts. “They haven’t, They’re hungry and they think you’re the meal.”

My stomach twists at the metaphor. “They won’t stop, will they?”

“No,” he admits. “But they’ll have to get through me first.”

I swallow, leaning into the comfort of his presence.

“Rebel,” he adds, voice dropping lower, more serious, “things are shifting. I need you to stay alert. Stay close. Don’t wander off alone.”

A chill slides down my spine. “Why? What’s happening?”

Fang’s jaw works. “Your parents aren’t the only ones who found out what you are.”

My heart stops.

“What does that mean?”

He squeezes my shoulders, expression grim.

“It means,” he says, “tonight was just the beginning.”