Reaper's Stand(53)

“I talked to Jeff Bradley,” Painter said. “Went to high school together, he’s one of the firefighters who was there tonight. He’s pretty new, but one of the older guys told him it looked wrong for an accident. I think we need to at least consider that this was a planned hit.”

“But why London?” I asked. “Wasn’t ’til today that I finally nailed her. Not like she’s an old lady.”

“No, but she belongs to the club,” Ruger said thoughtfully. “Works for us, been comin’ out to your place. From the outside, probably looks like you’ve been bangin’ her for a few weeks now.”

He raised a good point.

“So we assume it’s a strike at the club until we learn otherwise. Thoughts?”

“Wait and watch,” Horse said. “Smells like the cartel to me—they love blowin’ shit up. See if they tip their hand moving forward. Let the cops play with it for now, see how it goes.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep London out here with me until we know for sure,” I said. “Want her safe.”

“So it’s like that?” Ruger asked.

I shrugged. “Dunno what it is. But I know that I don’t want her caught in the crossfire, assuming this is about the club. I got a bad feelin’ about this shit tonight. Way too coincidental, doesn’t add up. Whatever happens between me and her, don’t want her hurt because she caught my eye.”

“Since when do you care?” Painter asked, his eyes sharp. “You in the market for an old lady?”

Tension filled the air, because the older brothers knew better than to suggest I’d ever replace Heather. I’d laid good men out for less. Somehow the question didn’t piss me off like it normally would. Probably because this time it made sense. I’d never moved a woman into my place before—he had a good reason for asking. I realized they had all stilled, waiting for an answer. Might as well clear it up.

“I’ll never have another old lady,” I said carefully. “I like London. She’s a good f*ck, handy around the house. Cute. But that doesn’t mean I’m keepin’ her long term.”

“Just don’t f*ck up so bad she drops the cleaning accounts,” Gage said, his voice serious. “I got high hopes for her at The Line.”

“No shit,” Bolt chimed in. “Best thing that ever happened to the pawn shop.”

“Since when we do let business come before pleasure?” I asked, cocking a brow.

“Since the night I had to scrub the f*ckin’ toilets because the old cleaners were stealing shit and I had to fire them,” Gage said bluntly. “Not a fan, Pic. Anyone can suck your dick, but a woman who stays on top of the toilets is a goddamn treasure. I’d protect her from whoever blew up her place on that basis alone.”

I snorted, shaking my head because he was right. Gettin’ my dick sucked on a regular basis wasn’t exactly a challenge, but London was a f*ckuva lot more than that.

And not just because she cleaned.

I liked having her under my roof. Sooner or later she’d talk to her insurance agent, maybe look into getting an apartment. To my surprise, I didn’t care for that idea much at all.

“Okay, so we’ll keep an eye out,” I said. “And I’ll keep her out here for the duration. She’s got a couple kids in tow, too—the girl who was at the house tonight and her little cousin. Guess they’ll be sleepin’ upstairs until we get this worked out.”

“Admit it. You hate living in a house that isn’t full of girls screechin’ and fighting over the bathroom, you f*ckin’ masochist,” Horse said, evil glee in his eyes. “Em and Kit are gone, so you’re auditioning replacement daughters. Seek professional help, bro. Or at least go for a son this time. Somethin’ wrong with a man so eager to get * whipped.”

I rolled my eyes and flipped him off, standing up.

“Okay, we’re good here,” I said, glancing pointedly toward the door. London was waiting for me, which meant fightin’ with Horse wasn’t exactly a priority.

“Painter stays out here tonight,” Gage said. “Don’t want to step on your toes, prez, but you need backup. If that really was the cartel, we can’t leave you uncovered.”

I sighed, because I knew he was right. As sergeant at arms, it was Gage’s job to worry.

“Okay, kid,” I said to Painter. “You take the guest room. Tomorrow you head home, grab some shit. Might be stuck here for a while. If Jessica comes back from California, the hands stay off. Don’t care how convenient it would be. Got me?”

Painter gave a sharp nod, and then the meeting was over. Shitty night, but at least I’d be bedding down with London soon. Not sayin’ I was happy her house had blown up, but I guess there’s always good with the bad. Probably best not to share my theory with her under the circumstances, though.

Women get all touchy and shit sometimes.

LONDON

I woke up in a man’s arms for the second time in twenty-four hours. Reese. His body surrounded mine, and I wore a T-shirt that was far too big for me. Not mine. Why was I here?

Then it came back to me.

My house was gone.

My clothing, my pictures, my books … All of it. Gone. For no good reason. I lay still in the early-morning light, wondering what the next move should be. What I really wanted to do was cry and feel sorry for myself, but I’ve always been practical. With my life, I’ve had to be—no point in wasting time whining when there’s work to be done.