Reaper's Stand (Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 4)(102)

Horse carefully took off his cut, folding it and handing it to Bam Bam. Then he picked up a hammer and started toward Evans, whistling a familiar tune faintly. I tried to place it . . .

“The Wheels on the Bus.”

Fucked-up shit, but that’s sort of what we loved about Horse.

Seconds later he brought the hammer down hard on the good deputy’s right hand. The man started screaming like a baby.

“So, here’s the part where I tell you I changed my mind about making it fast,” Horse said, his tone friendly. “It’s just so much fun, you know? Now I’m going to break all the bones in your feet so you can’t walk ever again . . .”

Nate shrieked and babbled, tears running down his face.

“Oh, c’mon,” Bam Bam said, his voice heavy with disgust. “You f*cked that girl and sent her down there to die. You blew up London’s house. Then you blackmailed her into shooting Pic. Now you’re whining because of a broken hand? I thought you were hardcore and shit, but you’re just a little girl with a badge.”

Nate’s jaw started working, and we waited patiently until he managed to form words.

“I’ll do anything you want,” he gasped. “Just don’t hit me again. Don’t kill me. I don’t want to die.”

“How ’bout this,” I said slowly. “You call your friends down south and tell them me and London are dead. Murder-suicide, or some such shit. If they let the kid live, we’ll let you live.”

“How do I know you’ll keep your promise? You can’t afford to let me survive at this point.”

I sighed heavily, rubbing my temples with a thumb and finger.

“You know, I almost don’t want him to call,” I told Horse. “Jessica is a pain in my ass, and if she comes back home, I won’t get as much *. Doesn’t change anything in terms of the war if we save her. Why don’t you just have some fun with him, and then when you get bored we’ll shoot him?”

“Okay,” Horse said, shrugging.

“Wait!” Evans shouted.

I cocked a brow at him. “I thought we couldn’t afford to let you live? That’s what you just told me. What’s the holdup?”

“While he’s still alive, he’s still got hope,” Bam said, smirking. “So now he’s gonna do exactly what you tell him, because every minute he’s breathing means he could still get out of this. Am I right, Nate?”

“Get my phone,” Nate said, sweat breaking out on his forehead. “I’ll make the call.”

“We’ll dial for you, ’cause we’re helpful that way,” Horse said. “People don’t always give us full credit for our warm, fuzzy side, but it’s definitely there. We just love to help.”

“Fuckin’ Mother Teresa of the MC world, Horse,” Ruger chimed in. “Brings a tear to my eye.”

Gage snorted and tossed me the man’s phone.

“Who do I call?” I asked. “Remember, if you double-cross us, you die. If Jessica dies, you die. You got a lot more to lose here than I do, because I really don’t give two shits about the kid. Might be easier for me if she doesn’t live. Something to keep in mind.”

“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 . . .”