Reaper's Legacy (Reapers MC, #2)(81)

Hunter.

What was he doing here? Holy shit … Coincidence?

Or were Hunter and Liam the same person?

I opened my mouth to scream when someone shoved me from behind, knocking me out into the alley. I stumbled and nearly fell. Then Hunter’s arms caught me, swooping me up and carrying me toward the back of the van. I shrieked as loud as I could—kicking and fighting as he tossed me in—but the pounding music from the club next door almost guaranteed nobody heard me. Em lay on the floor, arms cuffed behind her back, a bandana gagging her mouth. Her legs were tied tight with what looked like white clothesline.

Hunter climbed in after me, wrestling me down and wrenching away my phone. Within seconds my own mouth was gagged and he’d closed another set of cuffs around my wrists. I lay facedown on the floor, eyes wide and staring at Em, who stared right back at me. I felt someone else climb in and heard a door slam, and the engine roared to life.

Hunter spoke, his voice cool and detached.

“Sorry, girls. Hopefully this won’t get too ugly and you’ll get to go home soon.”

The van started moving.

RUGER

His beer had gotten warm.

For once, there wasn’t a party at the clubhouse or a barbecue or anything happening, which was a f*cking shame because all he could think about was Sophie out dancing in Spokane with her slut of a best friend. He should be focusing on his trip to Portland tomorrow, but he really couldn’t bring himself to give a damn.

Jesus, he’d nearly shit his pants when he realized who she was going out with tonight. Kimber’s stage name had been Stormie, and the bitch was famous for having a mouth like a vacuum. Even he’d taken her home one night … It’d been okay, but not worth breaking his no-repeats rule.

Now he wondered if she’d been filling Sophie’s head with stories about him all along. Also explained why she’d been interested in working at The Line—Kimber had made a goddamned fortune there, one of their most popular dancers.

She’d been an even bigger hit in the VIP rooms.

He’d considered simply physically stopping Sophie from going, but figured that would do him more harm than good in the long run. She’d been dodging him since their night in the hayloft and he’d let it go. The first week of a new job was stressful, so he’d given her a break. This ladies’ night thing had caught him off guard. He’d only found out because Noah had a big mouth.

Kid was full of all kinds of useful information.

Picnic walked into the main lounge with a girl trailing him. She looked about sixteen, although Ruger knew she had to be older. No jailbait in the Armory—that was trouble they sure as f*ck didn’t need. Pic wore the look of man who’d gotten well laid, and he sent her on her way with a smack on the ass. Then he walked over to Ruger.

“What’s with you?” he asked, dropping into one of the mismatched chairs across from the couch.

“I’m bored,” Ruger said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And apparently I’m getting old, because my neck hurts from sitting at my bench today, taking care of that special order.”

“You’re f*ckin’ pathetic,” Pic said.

“That’s the truth.”

“I hear your girl moved out.”

“Yeah, we can talk about something else now.”

Picnic laughed shortly.

“First Horse and now you,” he said. “Whole damned place is turnin’ up *-whipped.”

“Fuck off, *,” Ruger replied. “The only reason I’m sitting here right now instead of f*ckin’ her face is I’m not willing to hand her my cock on a leash. And you should talk. Screwing kids younger than your daughter? Creeps me out, thinkin’ of your old ass doing a chick like that.”

“At least I got laid tonight,” Pic answered mildly. “Unlike some.”

His phone rang. He pulled it out and looked at the ID.

“It’s Em,” he said shortly, standing and ambling across the room. Then Pic froze, his body language screaming tension. Thirty seconds later, Ruger’s phone rang.

Sophie.

“You better not be—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Shut up and listen,” she said, her voice tight. Ruger sat up. “Those guys you met in Seattle? The Devil’s Jacks? They’ve got me and Em. We’re in Spokane and they—”

He heard her scream as someone grabbed the phone. Adrenaline slammed through him, taking him from relaxed to ready for action in a heartbeat. Instead of acting on it, he forced himself to stay calm and listen with everything he had. They’d need every clue they could to find Sophie … and Em? What the f*ck? Jesus, Em should know better than to go out without giving Pic a heads-up. How had Em gotten mixed up in this?

“Ruger,” a man said. “This is Skid. From Seattle. We got a bit of a problem.”

“You’re dead,” Ruger replied, his voice flat, and he meant it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Picnic grab a bar stool and smash it against the wall. Horse was on his feet, pushing a trio of girls out the door as Painter grabbed a sawed-off shotgun from behind the bar.

Slide wandered in from the bathroom and glanced around, brows rising.

“Yeah, we’ll talk about my death later,” Skid said, sounding bored. “Listen up. Your boy in Portland—Toke—he went apeshit on two of our brothers a coupla hours ago. Just broke into the damned house and started shooting. There’s cops everywhere, a couple of bitches who saw it all go down, total clusterf*ck. Girls are talkin’ to the cops, too, just to make things perfect. Docs are working on one guy right now, no idea if he’ll make it. Toke dragged the other off.”