Reaper's Stand (Reapers MC, #4)(93)

The cop stared at me without speaking. We’d been through this whole story three times now. Each time he made it clear he didn’t believe I was telling the truth. Each time I made it clear I didn’t care what he believed.

In some ways I had to appreciate what he was trying to do—all too many police officers turned a blind eye to abuse, which was obviously what he thought was happening here. He was trying to save my life, and if staying alive were my top priority I’d be all over that.

But rescuing Jessica was my top priority, followed closely by killing the men who’d hurt her. Survival was a distant third.

“You aren’t going to change your story, are you?” he asked, his voice tired.

“It’s not a story,” I replied softly. “It’s what happened.”

“Here’s my card,” he said. “I’m putting my personal cell number on the back. Call me if you decide to talk, or you need help. We both know something’s wrong here, and sooner or later it’ll come crashing down around you. Don’t be afraid to reach out, okay?”

“Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine.”

He shook his head and walked away, leaving me alone in the small private room they’d given us. There were lots of tissue boxes placed in strategic spots—I had a feeling this was one of those places they put families right before they told them someone had died. I hoped very much that Reese wasn’t sitting in another room just like this somewhere else in the hospital, mourning his daughter. I needed to find him, or at the very least find someone who could tell me what the hell was going on with Em.

Standing up hurt, although none of my bruises or cuts were serious. They’d given me a couple of stitches on my forehead, disinfected me, and called it good. I was supposed to keep a close eye on the puncture wound in particular, and see a doctor asap if there were any signs of infection, blah blah blah.

I grabbed the bag holding the remains of my clothing and clutched it to my chest. (Although I wasn’t sure why they’d bothered to give them back to me, because I’d never be able to wear them again. At least the scrubs they’d given me were comfortable.) I’d already been discharged from the ER, so I was able to just walk right out into the waiting room. No sign of Reese, but I spotted Painter. His expression was grim.

I walked over to him, scared of whatever news had put that look on his face.

“How is she?” I asked, not bothering to say hello.

“Not good,” he said, standing up and facing me. “I guess the baby wasn’t right. They called it an octorpic pregnancy, or some such shit.”

“Ectopic?”


“Yeah, that sounds right. The baby wasn’t in the right place. Instead of growing in her womb, it was in one of the tubes to her ovary, and then it busted the whole thing open. That’s what started all the bleeding. They’ve got her in surgery right now, but she’s lost a f*ckload of blood, London. They said she might die. The baby never had a shot.”

I swayed, and he caught me, still holding my eyes.

“Reese and Gage put me here to watch for you,” he said slowly. “Gage said you were talking to the cops.”

I shook my head, trying to catch my breath.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” I told him quietly. “I didn’t give them any information. I’m not trying to get away from the MC, Painter. I want to go to California and save Jessica, and the only way that can happen is if I stick with the club. But right now I need to find Reese. He must be terrified.”

Painter nodded his head.

“Pretty sure he is, though he’d never cop to it. I can take you up there . . . But I need to tell you something first.”

“What?”

“Just because you saved Em, and you didn’t talk to the cops? That doesn’t mean you’re safe with us, and Pic isn’t necessarily the one who’ll make that call. You need to understand what you’re doing here, London. If you go upstairs and find Pic, there’s still a chance the club won’t forgive you. Even if they do, that trip to Cali might be one way—this isn’t a game. Give me the word and I’ll go take a piss, let you walk right out that door. Got about two hundred bucks on me and it’s yours. That’s the best I can do.”

I reached my hands up and cupped his face, smiling at him sadly.

“That’s one of the most beautiful things anyone’s ever offered me,” I said softly. “But I need to go find Reese, and then I need to go to California to find my girl. Whatever happens, happens, and I’m okay with it. Now where do I need to go—can you show me?”

“I’ll point you in the right direction, but I shouldn’t go in with you,” he told me.

“Why not?”

“Hunter doesn’t need to be seein’ my face right now. We got history, me and Em. I’ve come to terms, but he and I aren’t exactly friends. Don’t wanna stress him out more than I have to.”

Pieces fell together in my head, and I patted his arm, startled at how different he seemed from the young man I’d met just weeks ago. Painter put up a hell of a front, apparently.

Then again, so did Reese.

? ? ?

He escorted me as far as the corridor outside the surgical waiting area. I walked in, spotting Reese and Hunter immediately. Waiting with them were Horse, Ruger, and Bam Bam. There was also a young man wearing Devil’s Jacks colors I didn’t recognize. He was covered in tattoos and looked vaguely hipsterish with his skinny jeans.