Reaper's Stand (Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 4)(119)

“No,” he answered quietly, although I hadn’t caught the question. You need to pull yourself together, figure out what happens next.

“Anything else I should know about?” I managed to whisper, the drug fog muffling me. He gave a humorlous laugh.

“Well, apparently someone hit five drug warehouses and eight safe houses belonging to the cartel last night. No idea yet about a body count, but the cops are sayin’ almost all the leadership was taken out nearly simultaneously. They’re tryin’ to figure out who might be behind it.”

“Did all of our guys make it out okay?”

“We lost three,” he said, his voice lowering. “One Reaper and two Devil’s Jacks. Nobody you knew. And here’s bad luck for you—the cops picked up Puck and Painter last night for speeding. Found some guns in the car, so now they’re lookin’ at a trafficking charge.”

“Shit. By ‘lost,’ do you mean . . . ?”

“Dead.”

“Who were they?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

“My brothers,” Reese said, his voice rough. “Even the Jacks—they earned it with their blood. Now isn’t the time for crying, though. Gotta get everyone home safe first. Then we’ll remember them.”

“What about Puck and Painter?”

“Lawyer’s on his way right now,” he replied. “But probably not lookin’ so good for either of them. Both have priors. You owe Puck, by the way. He’s the one who figured out where you were. Hadn’t been for him, we might not’ve found you in time.”

I frowned.

“Surprised he bothered. I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Doesn’t matter how he feels about you,” Reese told me. “Protectin’ club property. That’s his job.”

I had no idea how to react to that statement, so I decided to pretend I hadn’t heard it.

“Overall it was a big win for us—it’ll take years for them to recover,” he continued. “The boss down in Mexico’s already been in touch, askin’ for a truce. They’ve agreed to stay south of San Francisco, at least for now, and leave the local clubs alone. In exchange, we gave ’em a little token of our appreciation.”

“What was that?”

“Evans.”

I stilled.

“I thought you said if Jess made it through you were going to let him go.”

“No, we told him if she survived, he’d survive, and he was definitely alive when we handed him over to the Santiagos. But only an idiot thinks he can double-cross the cartel and keep breathing long term. He was dead already, just didn’t know it yet.”

Scary as hell, but I had to agree. Nate had made his own bed, and I didn’t feel particularly sorry for him at all. I yawned. Between the drugs and the drama, I was exhausted.

Reese probably was, too . . . But I had one more question for him. An important one.

“What about me?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

“Not sure I follow.”

“Has the club decided what they’re going to do about me?” I repeated, the words slurring. “Now that it’s all over. I’m really sorry. I know I keep saying that and it doesn’t change anything, but it’s true. What I did was wrong—you always tried to help me, and even after I stabbed you in the back, you still saved Jessica. I know you don’t trust me and you probably don’t believe me, but I’d do anything for you, Reese. For the club, too. I can’t ever thank you enough for rescuing my baby girl . . .”

“Babe, I think it’s safe to say you’re fine with the club,” he replied, and I heard a touch of humor in his voice. “You saved Em’s life, lied to the cops to protect us, and then killed Gerardo Medina—all in twenty-four hours. That’s impressive, honey. You know how many people have tried to take his ass out? Not only that, we all sorta got off on you kneecapping Deputy Dickhead. Don’t sweat it, okay? Fuck, Heather tried to kill me at least three times over the years. We’ll get through this.”

“I don’t think I understand bikers.”

“That’s okay, babe. You’ll figure it out.”





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN




Jess cuddled up next to me like a baby the entire flight home, tucked into my side with a blanket around us both. I hadn’t quite believed Reese when he told me she was fine. She was, though. At least physically. Sure, she’d lost a finger, and I knew recovering from that wasn’t going to be fun. But her shunt really hadn’t budged, there were no signs of infection, and even the concussion she’d gotten from hitting the floor was healing up like it should.