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His Rebel (Rebel #1)
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Sylvia is part of the rebel group looking to overthrow the elites. When she’s hired to cause a scene on camera so the rest of the world can watch, she never expects her fist to connect with a man so sexy.
Brad Chalmers is a command leader for the elites. He thinks his life is supposed to go in one direction until one day a hot little rebel knocks him on his ass. Then his world is turned upside down.
Warning: We don’t get caught up in the details of a dystopian future…so come for the insta-love and stay for the steamy parts! We won’t let you down!
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The first time I got hard for Insurgent Number One was right before she cold-cocked me.
I was doing a live interview on the state-sanctioned Friday morning news when I spotted her. One moment, a pair of big tits in a tight tank top were scrambling my thoughts. The next, I was on the ground with an exploding headache, a bloody nose, and a view of her combat boots and fishnet stockings marching away from me, carried by long legs leading up to the nicest ass I’d ever seen in my life.
I felt like I was going to black out, but then I realized who she was.
She was my destiny, but she was also my enemy.
I wasn’t blacking out from the hit to my face, I was blacking out because I had found my other half and knew what that meant. My life was about to change in all ways.
I get up off the ground and try to fight the brain fog as I reach for my sidearm to make sure it’s still there—a habit for me whenever I come into contact with something or someone. When my hand hits the empty space there, confirming what I knew when I couldn’t feel its familiar weight, I grit my teeth. It’s gone. Insurgent Number One had somehow taken it from me, along with part of my dignity, on live TV for the world to see.
Shit. The press had seen everything. My mind races as I try to ignore the questions the reporters are shouting at me. This is bad.
Now there’s footage out there, and The Leader isn’t going to be happy. But then again, I can use the feed to track her little ass down. Teach her a lesson.
And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
No woman has ever made me feel like this, and I’ll be damned if I let her get away. Ever.
“You ready, Bo?”
I scratch my scruffy mutt behind the ears. His cocoa-brown eyes look up at me with pure sweetness as I chug the last of my contraband coffee. When it’s empty, I toss the paper cup out of my apartment window. There’s no need to worry about litter. Someone will pick it up within the hour and make use of it.
I go to my stereo and pick a song to get me fired up. I find a collection of classics that my grandmother shared with me from when she was a little girl. I blast the old-school punk anthem while Bo watches me stretch. I feel the beat of the music and nod my head as I lace up my scuffed boots. The Regime hasn’t outlawed this type of music yet, but it’s only a matter of time before it happens. I should be more careful, but it’s seven in the morning, and I need the adrenaline rush that the music gives me.
My studio apartment is small and I pace around, thinking about what I need to do today. I can walk from one side to the other in just a few steps, and though that thought should be sad, I’m thankful I’ve got a place to call home. Not everyone can say that, and it’s nice to have a place that feels somewhat safe.
It’s just me and Bo, but I’m lucky that I’ve got a bed, a bathroom, and a little kitchen that are all my own. I’m a few floors up, so I have a good view of the street below, and sometimes at night I can see the stars from my bed. It’s not much, but it’s clean and that’s more than I can say for most.
After the song ends, Bo jumps up and we walk out to the dark hallway. I go right past the elevator that’s been broken for about seven years now and hit the stairs, taking them fast to try to keep my adrenaline. Tenants have no recourse these days against landowners, and the dog and I prefer to walk instead of getting in a small space anyway. Fear of getting stuck in the ancient metal box is enough to make me thankful we don’t have to use a ladder.
Once we get on the street outside, we turn left to head toward downtown. Already there’s a picker on the street sorting my coffee cup into a large pile of scrap wood and paper for kindling. I nod as I walk past her and she gives me the secret greeting of The Insurgence. The sign is a left middle finger to the right ear. I return the secret gesture, though she should be more careful with it. There are cameras everywhere. I’m vigilant to disable every new device that emerges on the street, but no one can be sure. I always worry that some new technology may come out that I might not know about before it’s too late to catch it and disable it. If we use the secret greeting too often, or the wrong person sees us, the Regime would pick up on it sooner or later and that would be bad for all of us.