Текст книги "Devil's Game"

Автор книги: Joanna Wylde

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

I dropped back down, gasping.

Hunter blew up.

“What the fuck was that about?”

“I want him to know we’re armed,” I said. “Playing possum only works if they don’t know what they’re doing. I’ll bet a hundred dollars his orders are to make damned sure we’re dead, and I’m not just going to sit and wait for some asshole to put a bullet in my brain.”

“He could’ve shot you, Em.”

I stared at him, trying not to let out the hysterical laughter I felt bubbling up deep inside.

“Seriously, babe? That’s your argument? That’s a fucking bullet hole about an inch from your face, and let’s not mention the ear. Getting shot is almost a given at this point, more of a when than an if. We need to hold out for Dad, and now that our sniper knows we can fight back, he’ll have to be more cautious about approaching the truck. That’ll slow him down, which might make the difference for us.”

“So your solution is to play Whac-a-Mole with a murderer?”

“Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s done.”

“Fuck, but you piss me off,” he muttered. His body twisted, and then he kicked out, hard. “Fuck!”

Long seconds passed, and I started shivering as the icy rain soaked my shirt. Maybe I should shut the window? No … At least this way maybe we’d hear something if they got too close.

Hunter kicked the truck again, rocking it slightly.

“Well, let’s look on the bright side,” I said, deciding he needed a distraction.

“Don’t.”

“The good news is that we’ll probably be either rescued or dead before we have to worry about serious hypothermia. There’s always a silver lining, Hunter.”

He growled at me again.

Men.

Chapter Eighteen

HUNTER

I don’t think I’ve ever been so pissed off in my life.

Em frustrated me so much I wanted to strangle her, maybe save our sniper the trouble. I was angry with myself, too, because I should’ve been able to control the fucking truck. Now instead of protecting my woman, I was stuck watching her crouch over me with a gun, ice building up in her hair as her lips turned blue.

All because I’d been captured by a fucking tree.

Another shot rang out, although this time it didn’t hit the truck. At least that was something … Although if I died tonight without protecting her, I hoped to hell I’d find a way to come back and haunt Picnic Hayes. I’d use my ghostly powers to make him desecrate my useless fucking corpse.

More shots. Then shouting.

“Em!” I heard someone yell. She rose slightly.

“No,” I said, voice cracking. “Stay down until they find the shooter. Just call out. Let them know we’re okay, but under fire. Safer that way.”

“We’re safe!” she bellowed, so loud it hurt my ears. “The sniper hit the truck at least three times, so be really fucking careful. Also, I have a gun. Identify yourselves before coming too close, or I’ll shoot you myself.”

“Hang tight, kiddo,” I heard a deep voice yell back. “We’re comin’ for you.”

He sounded familiar … Then I placed him. Duck. Old guy I’d met when I negotiated with the Reapers for Em’s release.

“Do you think they’ll be able to find him?” Em asked. Her teeth started chattering. Shit, at least I had my pine needle blanket …

“No idea,” I told her. “If he’s smart, he’s already taken off. He could stay out there and try picking them off, but weather like this sucks for everyone.”

Then I noticed her hands had started trembling. From the cold or adrenaline—didn’t matter which.

“I think you should set down the gun.”

“Nope.”

“Don’t shoot me by accident, please.”

Em looked down and smiled, still gorgeous despite the icicles building up in her hair. In the faint light from the dashboard, I could see that her lips were blue, her nose was red, and her shirt was soaked through. Not the best time for a wet T-shirt contest, but her tits looked outstanding.

“I promise,” she said softly, biting her lip. “I will never shoot you by accident.”

I considered her response.

“That’s less comforting than you’d think.”

Several more shots rang out, and then we heard a high-pitched, agonized scream.

“Holy shit,” Em whispered, smile gone. Her eyes were huge, and she brought the gun back up, finger moving to the trigger. Then someone shouted through the darkness. Someone close.

“Em, it’s Painter.”

Seriously? Fucking Painter was going to rescue us?

And right there I had it—proof that God’s a twisty bastard.

“Did you get him?” Em yelled back.

“We got one of them,” Painter said. “No way to know if there’s more. But we’re searching. Prez says to get you out, take you back to the Armory while we look for a second sniper.”

“We’re going to need a chainsaw or something,” she yelled. “Hunter’s trapped.”

“He alive?”

He sounded a little too cheerful when he asked the question.

“Yes, he’s fine,” she replied.

“I’m fuckin’ great,” I yelled out. “Get Em out of here!”

“Okay, I’m right by the truck now,” Painter called back. “I’m gonna climb up and look inside. Put down your gun, Em.”

Em lowered the gun, but I noticed she didn’t let it go. She gave me a quick glance, offering a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“What’s that about?” I asked quietly.

“Painter isn’t my dad,” she replied. “He hasn’t made any promises about your safety.”

“You’re going to hold a gun on Painter while he’s trying to rescue you?”

“No, I’m going to protect my old man while he’s stuck under a tree. Consider me your life insurance, babe. If I leave, Painter’s got no reason to keep you alive and nobody to witness what he does to you. I’m staying put until my dad gets here.”

The truck lurched and Painter leaned over the open passenger-side window, taking in the situation. First he gave Em a quick once-over, probably checking for blood or obvious wounds. Then his gaze turned to me, eyes predatory. I stared him down, wordlessly telling him that I saw right through his shit. He gave me a chin lift, then turned his attention back to Em.

“Take my hand,” Painter said, reaching toward her. “We’ll get you to the Armory. Ruger can go back and grab the tools we’ll need to cut out your boyfriend, but you need to get warm.”

She shook her head.

“I want Dad.”

“He’s kind of busy right now.”

“Nope,” she said, lifting the gun from her side and balancing it carefully on her knee with both hands. She wasn’t pointing it at anyone, but it wasn’t the friendliest of stances, either. “I’m staying with my old man until Dad gets here.”

Painter flinched. Heh.

I hated that cocksucker. I really did.

“Will you please go get him?” Em asked, her voice like very polite granite. She might be scared as hell, but she wasn’t showing any weakness. “I’m not going anywhere without my dad.”

“Screw this,” Painter muttered, shaking his head. “I’ll be back in a few. Enjoy the fuckin’ cold while you wait, Em.”

She relaxed visibly as he jumped down off the truck.

“You okay?” I asked. “I really wish you’d go with him.”

Em rolled her eyes, waving off my concern with one bluish hand.

“No fucking way,” she said. “I leave, you got no witnesses. Painter hates you. Ruger’s not too fond of you, either, and he’s the one with the chainsaw. Anyone decides to kill you, they’ll be going through me first.”

“Babe, I say this with all due respect. You scare the shit out of me.”

She reached down and touched my cheek, and I turned my head to kiss her fingers.

“Emmy, it’s Dad,” I heard Hayes call out. Then I felt the truck shift as he climbed up to look through the window. “Painter said you won’t put down your gun and go to the Armory.”

“Thank God,” she said, her voice full of relief. She’d been closer to the edge than I realized. “I’m so glad you’re here. I won’t leave Hunter with anyone but you. But I’m really cold … Not sure how much longer I can last out here.”

I couldn’t see his face well in the darkness, but I had a feeling I’d recognize the expression—the same mixture of love and frustration I’d seen in the mirror a hundred times since I’d met her.

“Emmy, nobody is going to hurt Hunter,” the Reapers president said. “I gave my word.”

“Would Mom have left you behind?” she asked, her voice a challenge.

He sighed heavily, then reached down to take her hand.

“Nope,” he said. “That’s why I wanted you with a Reaper, honey. We really can’t afford not to have you on our side. You remind me more of her every day.”

EM

It felt good to be back in the Armory again. Better than I expected. Of course, it probably didn’t hurt that I’d been met at the door by Dancer, Marie, Kit, and Maggs. Sophie was upstairs with the kids, who were constructing a mighty campsite in the game room on the second floor.

Horse had given me a ride home, stepping inside long enough to catch Marie and stick his cold hands on her stomach. She’d shrieked and swatted at him until he caught her close for a long, hard kiss. Then he’d headed back out into the rain, leaving me dripping in the center of the kitchen. Dancer wrapped a blanket around me, and Marie handed me a cup of hot coffee. I found myself shivering so hard my jaw hurt.

“So what the hell happened?” Dancer asked, settling me on a stool. “The guys ran out of here like the world was ending.”

“Someone shot out our tires,” I told her. Wow, saying it out loud made it sound so … insane. “Hunter was driving, and the truck started sliding on the ice. We went off the road. A tree pinned him inside the truck—he’s still there—and I called for help. That’s when whoever shot the tires started shooting at us.”

The women all stared at me, eyes wide.

“That’s some serious shit,” Kit said slowly. “But you’re okay? And Hunter, too?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, but they’ll have to cut him out.”

Kit tapped her fingers against the counter nervously.

“Did you know a Devil’s Jack has been seen around town?” she asked. “And I guess they spotted him earlier tonight, right after someone took potshots at Dancer and Bam Bam’s house.”

My eyes widened.

“They shot at your house?” I asked Dancer, stunned. “With the kids there?”

“Yes,” Dancer said, her face more serious than I’d ever seen it. “Em, I love you, but I don’t understand how you could be with a man who’s part of that club.”

I stiffened.

“The man who shot at your house wasn’t a Devil’s Jack,” I said firmly. “Hunter told me he wasn’t. He says that someone else is trying to set us all up for a war. They want peace—they need peace, or their club won’t survive.”

The women exchanged looks, and Marie coughed nervously. Great. Now they all thought I was a gullible idiot.

“Anyone want a drink?” Maggs asked brightly. “I could use a shot.”

“Grab the bottle,” Kit said, reaching out to take my hand. I tugged it away from her, frustrated.

“Just don’t make any judgments until we have the full story,” I told them. “You don’t know what happened out there. Remember, the sniper tried to kill Hunter, too.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Marie said. “It’s good to have you back, Em. The good news is we all brought food with us—whatever else happens, we can celebrate the holiday together instead of just canceling everything.”

Perfect, I thought. Just what I needed. Now everyone could spend tomorrow glaring at me and Hunter, blaming him for everything that’d gone wrong for the Reapers during the last twenty years. And with his truck all busted up, it wasn’t like we could leave. Maybe I could rent a car …

“Drink?” Maggs asked again, her tone forced. I shook my head. I already had a headache. The last thing I needed was to throw a hangover into the mix.

Grown-up life was complicated.

HUNTER

By the time they pulled me out of the truck, my nuts were the size of raisins. Fuckin’ cold out there. Despite that, I remembered to grab our bags from behind the truck’s seats. I also grabbed my Devil’s Jacks cut, folding it carefully over my arm before climbing up the bank. Hayes had an SUV waiting for me. At least, I hoped the SUV was for me. A black cargo van had been parked there, too, reminding me of the one we’d used to kidnap Em and Sophie.

Not the most encouraging of sights.

When I reached the top, I found Hayes. He eyed my colors but didn’t say anything. He also didn’t tell me which vehicle would be carrying me to the Armory. I knew he’d promised Em that he’d keep me alive, but it seemed likely that my comfort wasn’t part of the deal.

“You catch the shooter?” I asked him.

“Shooter’s in the van,” he said. “But you’ll ride with me. C’mon.”

I followed him to the SUV—score one for me. Hopefully it was a good sign. Horse and Painter joined us in the backseat. Nobody spoke to me on the short, tense drive to the Armory, which was just fine. The night was far from over, but I’d had plenty of time in the truck to consider my strategy. I’d been in situations like this before, although usually on the other side. I knew better than to show weakness or volunteer information.

On the bright side, at least I wouldn’t have to waste any time looking for the asshole pretending to be one of my brothers. He was in the van, I was almost certain of it. Smart money said once they took him into the Armory, he wouldn’t be coming back out, which saved me even more time.

We passed through a gate in the building’s courtyard wall. Em was somewhere inside, hopefully snug and warm, surrounded by her girls. Just the thought of her exposed in that truck, the way those shots had blasted through the windshield, chilled my blood.

This love shit sucked.

Now it wasn’t enough I had to watch out for Kelsey, I had to keep Em covered, too. This was why I’d never had pets. Too much work. Hayes stopped the rig, turning it off and looking at me.

“Come inside?” he asked, as if I had a choice.

“Sounds good,” I replied, opening my door. I stepped out to find us parked next to a sunken stairwell leading under the building.

Nothing ominous about that, right?

They’d packed our bags away in the back of the vehicle, which meant I didn’t have access to my spare sidearm. At least they hadn’t searched me. I considered that a good sign, seeing as the hunting knife on my hip wasn’t exactly subtle.

I guess technically I was still a guest.

Hayes started walking toward the stairwell, but I paused to pull on my cut. Painter stopped cold, glancing back and forth between me and his president.

“You aren’t letting him wear his colors inside, are you?” he demanded. Christ, this guy was a drama queen.

“You’ll get them off my dead body,” I told him, my voice matter-of-fact.

At least five or six Reapers gathered to watch as Painter and I faced off. I unstrapped my knife, wrapping my fingers around the hilt loosely. Shitty way to go out, but with any luck I’d take the asshole with me. Then Picnic stepped in.

“We still have a truce, brother,” he announced. “At least until we prove they’re behind the attack. I don’t know if you got a close look at the cut our sniper friend was wearing, but it didn’t look quite right to me. Until we know better, Hunter is a guest of the club paying us a friendly visit.”

Yeah, ’cause all friendly visits happen in darkened basements.

Still, the look of frustration on Painter’s face was nice. I winked at him, then followed Em’s dad down the stairs. He unlocked the metal door, which scraped open onto a barren concrete hallway lighted by naked bulbs screwed into the ceiling.

“Nice place,” I murmured, and Picnic snorted back a laugh.

“We try,” he said. “I’ve got a room here that’ll work for you to wait in.”

He unlocked one of the doors lining the hallway. I peeked in. Room, my ass. This was a straight-up prison cell. I cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Thought I was a guest?”

“We’ll leave the door open, don’t worry,” he said, smiling pleasantly. “And I wouldn’t want you getting bored, so I asked Horse to keep you company.”

Horse. Could be worse, I decided. I’d met the man several times in the past few months. Seemed to be a straight shooter. Thorough, too. There’d been an incident with one of our guys back in Seattle around the end of August. Fucker was out bad and on the run. When Horse and Ruger came across him, they’d been sweet enough to call us for a pickup. They’d even wrapped him up as pretty as a Christmas present, all ready for delivery back to his old chapter.

The big Reaper stepped forward, offering me a cold smile.

“Why don’t you fill me in on what’s been happening in Portland while we wait?” he said. “I always love catching up on gossip.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” I told him, resisting the urge to flip him off. He gestured toward the room graciously enough, so I walked in, flopping down on the low cot. I might not have any serious injuries from the accident, but I figured I’d be plenty sore in the morning, assuming I lived that long. Might as well make myself comfortable for now. Horse followed me in, carrying a rusted metal chair from the hallway. He set it down facing away from me, then straddled it, leaning forward against the backrest.

“So what’s your story?” he asked. “I hear rumors about you and Em. You know she’s like a little sister to all of us. I’m real protective of my sisters.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten that vibe from several of your brothers,” I said, folding my arms behind my head. “She tells me Daddy doesn’t like it when she and Kit bring home their boyfriends.”

“You could say that.”

“Well, I’m not her boyfriend. I’m her old man and I’m not gonna let anyone get between us. You could get around that by killing me, but until then, consider Em taken. How’s that for gossip from Portland?”

He raised a brow and nodded thoughtfully.

“To be honest, it’s more interesting than what we usually hear from Deke,” he said. “He likes to talk about pesky little Devil’s Jacks moving in like they have a right to exist on our territory.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of this?” I asked, considering how many different versions of this conversation I’d heard over the years. “You insult the Jacks, we insult the Reapers, someone gets shot and then we all pout for the next decade?”

I’d caught him off guard, and he laughed.

“Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but I kind of like you. Hope I don’t have to bury your body tomorrow.”

“Well, I have to admit,” I said, sitting up and leaning forward on my knees. “I’m kinda hoping you don’t have to bury my body tomorrow, too.”

A scream cut the air, and Horse cocked his head.

“Think that might be your club brother,” he said, studying my reaction.

I shook my head.

“Not one of ours,” I said flatly. “Let me lay it out for you … If that was my brother, I’d be fighting for him right now. I’d rather die than let a Reaper torture a Jack. But him? That’s the cocksucker who tried to kill my woman. One of his bullets missed her head by a couple of inches at most. Hell, he grazed my ear. The only problem I’ve got with this situation is I’m in the wrong room. I should be in there with him, making sure your boys don’t kill him too fast.”

Another scream wailed out.

“Mind if I take a nap?” I asked, catching and holding Horse’s gaze. “Sounds like it could take a while.”

Horse laughed again.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

Chapter Nineteen

I actually managed to drift off for a while, which says something about how tired I was. I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me so much—I hadn’t gotten much rest the night before, most of which I’d spent in Em’s driveway. I woke up when someone kicked the cot, instantly alert. Horse stood at the foot of the bed.

“Apparently our friend has finally decided to talk,” he said. “Oh, and good news. He’s not a Devil’s Jack.”

“No shit,” I muttered, rubbing my face. Felt like a cheese grater. When was the last time I shaved? “I told you he wasn’t.”

“Glad it was the truth. Get up, Pic wants you in on the interrogation. Says you need to hear what this asshole has been saying. Some pretty serious shit coming to light.”

I followed Horse into a room significantly larger than the one we’d just left. A hint of bleach hung in the air, along with the acrid scent of urine mixed with the copper of blood. Work lights hung from the ceiling from extension cords, and the floor sloped downward toward a drain in the center.

Convenient.

Right over the drain sat a bloodied, dark-haired man in a metal chair, arms and legs tied down tight. His face was a mass of bruised flesh, eyes swelling shut, and his lips were both split wide open. His shoes were off, showing the smashed remains of his toes. Blood dripped from his fingernails, too—or rather, from where his fingernails used to be.

Someone had had a long night.

“This our guy?” I asked, taking a quick glance around. The room held Ruger, Duck, Horse, and three men I didn’t recognize. One seemed to be the designated bad guy, because blood still covered his hands. I shot a quick look at his name patch. Bam Bam.

Picnic came over to stand next to me, his face grim.

“Yup,” he said. “He’s not one of yours.”

It took everything I had not to roll my eyes.

“Yeah, we covered that before,” I said politely. “So whose is he?”

“Cartel,” Pic replied. “Of course, this one’s not important or valuable. They sent him up here to parade around in fake colors, set things up. Cut’s over there, you can take a look in a few … But that’s not the interesting part.”

I cocked a brow in question. I found someone wearing fake Devil’s Jacks colors pretty damned interesting.

Pic walked over to the chair and kicked it. The man moaned.

“Tell my friend here what you just told me,” he ordered.

The man lifted his head, although I had no idea if he could see me through the swelling.

“I’m just a halcone,” he whispered, his English faintly accented. Mexican, I figured. Of course, not a huge leap, given where the cartel was headquartered. Men like this—poor and desperate—made up most of their cannon fodder.

“I follow orders. They told me to go with some gringo boss, come up north. Wear that vest, go to bars, talk to people. Do whatever the boss says. Tonight he said to shoot at people, so that’s what we did.”

“We?” I asked.

“Soldier,” he muttered, his words slurred. “Called himself Sam, don’t know who he really is. He came with the boss, maybe.”

“White?”

“Sí. American.”

“Who was shooting at the truck?”

“Sam shot the tires,” he said. “Then he told me to kill the people in the truck and he disappeared. I don’t know where he went.”

“Do you know anything about the other shootings?”

“I was down south until last week, when they sent me here,” he said. “Nothing to do with any of this. Are you going to kill me?”

I glanced at Picnic. His face was blank.

“Burke will want to talk to him, if you’re willing,” I said. “This isn’t just about your club—the Jacks need all the information we can get, too.”

“Holding him for a couple days is no problem,” Ruger said. He pinned me with a hard stare. “We have plenty of room down here, could keep someone prisoner forever, if we wanted to.”

I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the bloody pawn sitting in the chair.

“Take him out and get him cleaned up,” Picnic said to Horse. The big man stepped forward, nodding to one of the others I didn’t know. Together they lifted the man—chair and all—and carried him out of the room. I looked down at the blood on the concrete, considering my own situation.

Fuck it. Now was as good a time as any to play this through.

“I’d appreciate it if you could give Burke a call,” I said to Picnic. “I’m fresh out of phones.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. He turned to leave, but I caught his arm. Ruger stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes again. Yeah, I get it. You’re gonna protect the prez, kill me with your bare hands, et cetera … So fucking predictable.

“We need to talk,” I said. “Might as well get it over with. Can’t do it in front of Em.”

“No offense, but you’re not my favorite person,” Pic replied, narrowing his eyes. “Just because we called you in to witness for your club doesn’t mean I feel like chatting. Better be damned important.”

“I think it is. I figure you’ve spent a fair amount of time and energy considering different ways to kill me over the past couple months?”

Pic gave a harsh laugh, nodding.

“You would, too, in my shoes.”

“Can’t argue with that,” I said. “Here’s the thing … I don’t want to spend the next twenty years waiting for you to shoot me in the back. I love your daughter and I won’t give up on her, so if that’s a deal breaker, you should kill me now. Otherwise you need to back the fuck off me and my old lady.”

That caught his attention.

Picnic studied me. I waited for him to say something, but Ruger stepped forward, his face cold and tight.

“Let’s put him in the ground,” he said. “Sophie went through hell because of this asshole. I nearly lost her.”

I held Hayes’s eyes, ignoring the other man. This was about me and Pic, about determining—once and for all—whether he could tolerate me as Em’s man. I raised my hands, palms empty, and turned around so my back was to him.

“I’m ready,” I said. “Go ahead and do it. Good timing, too—you can say the cartel got me. She’ll never know the truth, and neither will my club.”

“Why?” Pic asked.

“Because she deserves a man with a future,” I said, stretching my neck to one side. Already getting sore from the accident. “I want that man to be me. I love her and I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe and happy. But I’m a realist, too. If the Reapers are determined to kill me, I’m dead already. Might take you a while to make your move, which means it’ll hurt her even more when it finally happens. I’d rather end it now than set her up for something worse down the line.”

They stayed silent behind me. I wasn’t stupid—the timing wasn’t perfect. A smarter man wouldn’t have pushed, but if Pic planned to do it, he might as well get it over with. We needed to get out from under this shadow or it would eat us alive.

“I should shoot you,” Pic said slowly. “Because you know what? I think you’re gonna hurt her. You won’t mean to do it, but it’ll happen and then I’ll have to pick up the pieces.”

That wasn’t promising. I braced myself, waiting for a bullet. Would he do it fast, or drag it out?

“Turn around.”

I swiveled to find him closing in on me, fists clenched. I tried to force myself to relax as the first punch caught my face, to roll with it. Pain exploded through me, radiating out from my cheekbone. A second hit came from another direction, and I realized Ruger had joined in on the action.

Just what I needed …

I lost all sense of time after that. At some point I fell to the ground, which made it easier for them to kick me. I handled it pretty well, I think, considering my entire body had turned into one great raging wave of agonized torture. I managed not to scream, although I couldn’t stop myself from moaning when someone got in a particularly good shot. By this point I hurt so much I figured it couldn’t get much worse.

Then I felt a rib snap …

It was worse. Motherfucker.

“Enough,” I heard Hayes say, his voice sounding distant. Someone rolled me onto my back, and I squinted against the bright lights on the ceiling. Then a face looked down into mine.

My least favorite face on earth. Fucking Painter.

He was saying something, but I couldn’t quite make it out through the ringing in my ears. I shook my head, focusing my eyes on his lips. He said it again.

“Can I take his cut?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Did this man not learn? I rolled to the side, pushing up slowly with my arms until I was on my knees. I took a few seconds to recover, vaguely aware that more men had filtered into the room. They were talking but I couldn’t quite make out the words.

I pushed to my feet—swaying—every breath a slice of hell as my broken ribs shifted and grated in my chest. Painter stood right in front of me, smirking like a playground bully. I spat out a tooth and offered him a hate-filled smile.

Then I grabbed his shoulders and slammed my forehead into his nose.

He dropped like a stone, blood flowing freely. I swayed again, stepping back. It took everything I had to stay on my feet, although the beating I’d just had gave me a bit of an advantage. I already hurt so damned much that the pain in my forehead blended right in.

I took a deep breath and answered Painter’s question.

“I already told you. You’ll take my fucking cut off my dead body and you’ll leave my woman alone. Fuck with me again and I’ll put you in the ground.”

I staggered back, raising my head to find Picnic.

“We done here?” I asked, reaching up to test my ribs cautiously. Jesus, the pain was incredible. “Because this is your last shot. Kill me now or leave us alone.”

“We’ll put you and Em in a room upstairs,” Pic said, his face grim. “I don’t like it, but I’ll accept it. I can respect a man who’ll fight for my girl.”

He glanced down at Painter one more time, then turned and walked out of the room. I staggered after him, hoping to hell someone in this place had some fucking Vicodin.

“So what story do you want to tell Em?” Hayes asked as we walked slowly down the hallway. He didn’t push me, which I appreciated. Just staying upright was a goddamned miracle at this point.

“No story,” I said. “My balls are the one place that hasn’t been kicked tonight, and I’d like to keep it that way. I’ll tell her it’s business, so we can’t talk about it.”

“You’ve never been in a real relationship before, have you?” he asked. I shook my head. We stopped in front of the steps and I looked up. Fuck. I didn’t want to climb those.

“How did you know?” I asked him, pausing to catch my breath. He gave a sharp laugh.

“You’ll find out.”

EM

It was after two in the morning when Dad walked into the darkened kitchen. I’d been getting more and more nervous about Hunter’s safety, especially when I’d seen several of the guys going back and forth to the basement.

I wasn’t an idiot.

I knew what was down there—hell, Kit and I practically grew up in this building. There weren’t a lot of secrets left, although I’m sure my father was clueless about how much we’d seen and heard over the years.

Hours ago, I’d listened as the vehicles pulled into the courtyard, so I knew Hunter had to be down there with them. Horse even came in to tell us they’d found the shooter, and that we could stop worrying.

That scared me more, because if they’d found the shooter, why wasn’t Hunter back with me already? Around eleven, I considered a rescue mission, then decided the odds of that backfiring on Hunter were way too high. As much as I hated to admit it, interference from me wouldn’t help him. Not under these circumstances … It was one thing for me to protect him in the truck, when he’d been pinned down. But barging in on him now? That’d make him look weak in front of my dad and his brothers, and Hunter couldn’t afford to look weak.