Reaper's Legacy (Reapers MC, #2)(82)

“You’re full of shit,” Ruger said. Toke might be a wild card but he wouldn’t ignore a vote by the full club.

“Process later,” Skid snapped. “It’s time for you to get your boy under control and our man back to us. Safe. Until then, we’ll take good care of—what’s her name again? Sophie? We’ll take good care of sweet little Sophie for you. She’ll be just fine once we clear this up. Our boy goes down? Her prospects don’t look so good. Got a real nice ass. Might tap it before I shoot her. Got me?”

He hung up.

“Fuck,” Ruger muttered, kicking over the coffee table as he stood up. Pic yelled as Horse and Bam Bam held him back. Ruger ignored the drama, striding down the hall, past the office, and into the large workshop where he did his special projects. He flipped open his laptop and pulled up the tracker, narrowing his search.

There they were—Sophie’s and Em’s phones were near the river, downtown Spokane. They’d be in the water soon. By the time he could get there, the Jacks would be in the wind, along with their girls.

Goddamnit. Ruger turned and punched the wall, smashing through the sheetrock. Sharp pain hit, helping him focus. He pulled an unregistered .38 semi-automatic out of his bench drawer and shoved it into his ankle holster, then grabbed extra clips. Then he turned and went back down the hall to find Picnic and the others arguing over what they should do. Pic wanted to ride now—Horse, Bam Bam, and Duck all wanted to take the time to make a plan, which Ruger knew needed to happen. Couldn’t do shit in Spokane until they had more info.

Toke had lost the vote but he’d won the battle.

The Reapers and the Devil’s Jacks were going to war.

SOPHIE

I don’t know how long we rode in the back of the van. It felt like forever. Then I heard the sound of a garage door opening. We pulled in and it shut behind us. Hunter and the driver stepped out of the van, coming around to open the back doors.

Hard hands—not Hunter’s—grabbed my ankles, pulling me out roughly. My cheek scraped, and if the kidnapping hadn’t fully sobered me, the pain finished the trick. He half carried, half dragged me into the house. Then he dropped me down on the couch and I struggled to sit up. Hunter set Em down next to me, far more gently. He stepped back and joined his friend. Guy number two was Skid—the other Devil’s Jack I’d met in Seattle. They stood over us, faces grim, and I knew we were well and truly f*cked.

My stomach twisted and I thought about Noah. Would I ever see him again?

“Here’s the situation,” Hunter said, his cold gray eyes flicking back and forth between us. Could he actually be Em’s Internet guy? She hadn’t been lying. He really was hot—even better-looking than I remembered.

Too bad he was a goddamned sociopath.

Or maybe he’d done something to Liam. For all I knew, Em’s online boyfriend was lying dead in the alley. Shit.

“You’re here as leverage. One of the Reapers down in Portland—Toke—made a real bad call tonight. He went to our house and started shooting, no warning, no provocation. He took a hostage when he left. One of our brothers is down and a second is probably getting tortured to death right now, so you’ll have to excuse us for being a little abrupt about this whole thing. Your daddy,” he nodded toward Em, “is gonna do what it takes to get our guy back for us. That happens, you go home.”

She glared at him, eyes full of betrayal. He leaned forward and pulled off her gag, whispering something in her ear. Em jerked away from him.

“You’re dead, Liam,” she said, her voice utterly serious. So that was one mystery solved … Poor Em. My heart hurt for her.

“My dad is going to kill you,” she continued. “Let us go now and I’ll try to talk him out of it. Otherwise it’ll be too late. I’m serious. He. Will. Kill. You.”

Hunter shook his head.

“Sorry, babe,” he replied. “I get that you’re scared and pissed, but I’m not going to let a brother die just because some Reaper had a tantrum.”

“Fuck you.”

He glanced at Skid, who shrugged. Hunter sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, looking tired.

“Okay, let’s go upstairs,” he said. He glanced at me. “We’ll take your gag off, but either of you starts screaming we’ll just have to put them back on. We’re in the middle of nowhere, so it’s not like you’re gonna get anywhere if you do. You two control how ugly this gets. Got me?”

With that, he pulled out a Leatherman multi-tool and cut the rope on Em’s feet. Then he started on mine. I heard a clicking noise and looked up to find Skid pointing a small, square pistol at us.

“You cause trouble, I’ll shoot you,” he said. “Hunter’s nice. I’m not.”

I swallowed.

Hunter pulled me to my feet and I rocked nervously, trying to get circulation back. It was hard to balance with my hands cuffed behind my back. He helped Em up and then they marched us up the flight of stairs off to one side of the living room.

The house’s second story was pretty typical, with a small landing at the top. Looked like there were three bedrooms, along with the bathroom, reminding me that I needed to pee in a big way. Hunter took Em’s arm and pulled her into a room on the right, kicking the door shut behind them.

“Over there,” Skid said, pointing to the door next to it. I walked in to find a queen-sized bed with a very plain wrought-iron frame, a battered dresser, and an old desk. There was a small window, which looked like it’d been painted shut. I wondered how hard it would be to get it open. If I did, could I manage a drop back down to the ground?