Reaper's Stand (Reapers MC, #4)(86)

“Julia Strauss,” he said. “That’s the number.”

I scrolled through the contacts, finding the name. Then I hit the call button and put it on speakerphone. It picked up, but nobody spoke.

“It’s me,” Nate said, eyes darting quickly around the room. I wondered if he’d warn them. Probably not. The man was too much of a coward to sacrifice himself for a cause. For once I agreed with him—the cartel wasn’t worth a sacrifice, and they sure as shit wouldn’t appreciate or reward one. “It’s done.”

There was a pause, and then a man with a deep voice and faint Spanish accent replied.

“You sure? We didn’t hear anything on the scanner.”

“No police report,” Nate said. “London called me after she shot him, and I went out there. Now she’s dead, too, made it look like a murder-suicide. I left them—we’ll let someone else find the bodies. You can let the girl go now.”

The man gave a harsh laugh.

“I’ll authorize the transfer to your account,” he said, and the line went dead.

Nate’s face fell, the hope in his eyes fading.

“They’re going to kill her,” he said. “Always knew they would. She’s a good kid . . .”

I punched him in the face so hard his chair fell over backward. His head hit the floor with a hollow-sounding thud and he started crying again. Standing over him, I cracked my knuckles, choosing my words for maximum effect.

“While she’s alive, you’re alive,” I told him. “So if you have any idea how to find these f*ckers, now is the time to talk. If we get her out because of information you give us, the deal stands.”

“I thought you didn’t care if she lived or not?” he asked, blinking in the glare of the work lights hanging from the ceiling. “You’re going to kill me and we both know it. Why should I help you?”

Painter stepped over, nudging the man’s shoulder with one booted foot. He’d only just gotten back to the Armory, after settling Melanie in at the house. Perfect timing—he had his own scores to settle with Evans.

“How’s this?” he asked, the words soft and feral. “Let’s throw in a little more motivation. How ’bout you help us get Jess out safe and I won’t kill your parents.”

I glanced at him, impressed because he’d really stepped up his game. Painter was still young, but the past year had changed him. Nate’s mouth gaped and Painter laughed, reaching down to grab the front of his uniform shirt, jerking his body up—chair and all—and setting him upright again. Then he leaned down, right into Evans’s face.

“I don’t get off on old bitches, but I’ll make an exception for your mom,” he whispered. “This is my promise to you. I’ll f*ck every hole she has before I slit her throat, and I’ll be sure to tell her it’s all from you.”

“I can give you an address,” Evans moaned, his entire body shaking. “I don’t know for sure if he’s there, but he has a warehouse. I saw it once. It’s the perfect place to hold her—that’s all the information I have.”

“Well, aren’t you just the reasonable little man?” Horse asked, grinning at him. “I just knew we could work this out. Now let’s take care of some more business. I think you need to call in sick to work—you just don’t look quite right. Maybe it’s your time of the month or somethin’, so you’d best let them know. Wouldn’t want ’em worrying, would we?”

“Gee, you’re always so thoughtful,” Bam Bam said to Horse.

“I try,” Horse responded, his tone modest. I snorted back a laugh, then nodded at Painter to follow me out of the room.

“That was a new level of twisted shit, little bro,” I said quietly as we walked down the hall together toward London’s room. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but what the f*ck?”

Painter shrugged.

“If Jessica dies, Melanie will cry.”

I studied him, wondering if I wanted to go there. Nope, I really didn’t.

“Fair enough. Go let the others know we’re riding to Portland. Deke called in a favor, so we’ll be hopping a cargo flight south from there.”

“’Bout time we took the war to them,” Painter replied, that feral gleam in his eyes again.

“Don’t get too excited. There’ll be bodies before this is over.”

“Can’t live forever. You decide what you’re doing with London yet?”

I stopped in front of her door, frowning thoughtfully.

“No goddamn idea,” I said. “Takin’ her to Portland with us. We’ll make a decision there. She might be useful to us down south—don’t like the idea of leaving her alone here. Someone might go vigilante on her ass.”

“Sounds good, prez,” he said, then started toward the stairs. I grasped the bolt, sliding it open, then reached for the handle to open the door, wondering what exactly the f*ck I was going to do about London.

Heather, if you’re actually out there somewhere, I could sure use your advice right about now.

She didn’t answer, which shouldn’t have surprised me, seein’ as she was a figment of my imagination. Still, bitch always chimed in fast enough when it wasn’t convenient for me. Probably sittin’ up in heaven right now, drinkin’ a beer and laughing her ass off.