Devil's Game (Reapers MC, #3)(34)

“Go lie down on the bed.”

We did what he said. Thankfully, he only cuffed one hand each, which was far more comfortable than having both stuck up over my head. I tried to ignore him as he leaned over me, tracing a finger across my cheek.

“I’ll bring you some food,” he murmured.

“I’m gonna buy a bright red dress to wear to your funeral, Liam,” I hissed. Shit. I needed to control my tongue …

“Yeah?” he asked. “Make sure it’s short and shows off your tits.”

“I hate you.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that,” he muttered, then walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I closed my eyes, trying to picture a dress bright and slutty enough to send just the right message as I stood over his coffin. Sophie cleared her throat.

“Don’t worry,” I muttered. “We’ll find our way out of this. We’ll escape somehow. Either that or the guys will find us.”

I wondered if she believed me.

Probably not. I didn’t even believe myself.





Chapter Six


HUNTER


I slapped together two peanut butter sandwiches, feeling strangely guilty because Skid and I had killed all six pizza pockets between us while we played Halo.

That left sandwiches and stale potato chips for the girls.

Why I gave a shit about what Em ate, I didn’t know. This wasn’t me—I didn’t worry about women, or take care of them. Feed them. Okay, so I kept an eye on my sister, but she didn’t count. I grabbed a couple handfuls of chips and dropped them on the paper plates next to the sandwiches, then tucked two bottles of water under my arm. Em was so not getting an energy drink. Fuck. Like I needed her more riled up …

When I entered the upstairs room, I felt like an even bigger dick because they were obviously hungry.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” I said, unlocking their cuffs. I frowned at Em, then pulled out a chair from the desk, spinning it around to straddle it. Both girls ignored me pointedly, tearing into the food like starving prisoners.

Then again, I guess they were.

“In a minute we’re going to call your dad,” I said. “Let him know you’re alive, and find out if he’s made any progress.”

No response. My mood grew darker as they finished their food, Em still refusing to look at me.

“Lie down again.”

I cuffed Sophie first, then walked around to Em. I leaned over, then felt something touch my back. Fuck, were there spiders in here?

Sophie shrieked and spat a mouthful of blood at me. The f*ck?!

“Jesus Christ!” I yelled, because I shit you not.

Bitch. Spat. Blood.

“Oh my God, are you all right?” Em screeched at Sophie, nearly taking out my eardrums in the process. “Hunter, you need to get her to a doctor!”

What was going on here? Blood and spit ran down Sophie’s chin, confusing the hell out of me. Her eyes were bright with some kind of emotion I couldn’t read. Something was off with this situation in a big way. Blood doesn’t just shoot out of people.

“I’m tho thorry,” she mumbled. “I bith my tongue and ith thcared me.”

I looked down at my arm again, which was covered with red spray. Just what I needed.

“You’re f*cking kidding me,” I muttered. “What the f*ck’s wrong with you? Shit, you got any diseases?”

“No, I don’t hath any ditheatheth,” Sophie mumbled, her tongue getting in the way. Then she seemed to bite it again. “Owth!”

Good. I hoped the damned thing fell off.

“Drive me f*ckin’ crazy. I’ll get you a piece of ice to suck on. Jesus, that’s f*cking disgusting.”

I left the room, slamming the door behind me.

What next?

Five minutes later, I scrubbed the blood and spit off my arm while frowning at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sophie and Em were up to something. I wasn’t sure what. Not that it really mattered … It was pretty clear to me by now that I was looking at a complete clusterf*ck.

I’d broken Em, or at least I’d tried to. I’d terrorized Sophie, who hadn’t done shit to deserve it. We weren’t any closer to getting Clutch back, and Burke was f*cked when it came to the election if we didn’t put a lid on things.

In a few minutes I’d be calling Picnic Hayes. I wasn’t sure if I’d be meeting with him to talk business or facing my own execution.

Good times.

I walked down to the kitchen and dug through the freezer, finding an ice cube. Then I wrapped it in a napkin and took it back upstairs, along with a disposable cell phone. I handed Sophie the ice, which she popped into her mouth.

“We’re going to call your dad again,” I told Em. “I’ll let you talk to him for a minute, then I’ll see where the situation’s headed.”

“What about Sophie?” she demanded. “Ruger will want to talk to her.”

“Ruger can f*ck himself,” I said impatiently.

“Pleathe?” Sophie whined, reddish drool sliding down her chin, making her look like a zombie. I don’t think she could’ve looked more disgusting and pathetic if she’d had a full Hollywood makeup team. “My boy—Noah—he’th got a prethcription he needth. Ruger doethn’t know where it ith. Let me talk to him for two minuteth. Pleathe.”