“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 ass**le 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.”