Devil's Game (Reapers MC, #3)(98)

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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*ckin’ 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.