Reaper's Stand(89)

Taking a deep breath, I hit him again, this time on the other knee. He gave another piercing screech, then started a low, steady keening in pain.

“That’s for f*cking things up with me and Reese.”

I paused to consider the situation. I wanted to hit him again. I’d planned one blow for each thing he’d done to ruin my life, which meant I still owed him for lying to me and for blowing up my house. Instead I dropped the two-by-four, because no matter how much the man deserved to suffer, a part of me realized I was sinking to his level.

Turning toward Reese, I spoke. “I’m good. Thanks for that.”

He raised a brow.

“Sure? You might not have another chance.”

I shrugged.

“He’s like a vicious dog,” I told him softly, realizing it was true. “No point in torturing a dog, even one that’s a killer. Best to just shoot it in the head and dump the body.”

Nate made another noise and I heard the chair scrape against the concrete floor. Ignoring him, I focused on Reese, holding those ice-blue eyes of his steadily, savoring the sight of the little wrinkles at the corners as he gave me a strange little smile. In the background, I was vaguely aware that Gage watched us curiously. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

“You ready to go?” Reese asked me quietly. I nodded. Whatever happened next, I wasn’t lying or playing games. I’d made my decision and it filled me with a weird sense of peace.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


By the time we hit Portland, I was exhausted but still absolutely determined to do whatever I could to help the club—not only were they my best hope for saving Jessica, they were also my best shot at some sort of revenge for what those cartel f*ckers had done to my life.

I needed sleep first, though. In a big way.

The short rides I’d taken with Reese hadn’t come close to preparing me for this. My ass had started to hurt, growing slowly worse until finally it went numb. Even if I hadn’t been sleep-deprived the trip would’ve killed me. Just to make things more pleasant, not one of the fifteen men riding with us would talk to me, or even look me in the eye.

Good times.

When we finally pulled down a narrow alley into a residential neighborhood, I didn’t quite register that the ride was over. We stopped in front of a great big old carriage house with huge wooden sliding doors on the back. They opened slowly and the men rolled their bikes in, leaving just enough room on one side for the battered gray cargo van that had trailed us from Coeur d’Alene. They had a prospect driving it, but I had no idea what was in the back.

No way I’d be asking, either.

I’d learned my lesson about questions.

The heavy doors slid shut behind us, blocking out the light and sound. Some seriously solid walls in this place. As my vision adjusted, I looked around in the gloom to find Hunter, Em’s boyfriend, watching the activities with a proprietary air.

His gaze caught on me standing next to Reese, and he strolled over to join us.

“What’s the story there, Pic?” he asked quietly, ignoring me. “Not a trip for women.”

Reese shook his head, face grim.

“We had an unpleasant incident yesterday,” he said. “I’ll tell you all about it later, but the quick and dirty is she tried to kill me. Cartel was behind it.”

Hunter’s face hardened.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said. “We were all hopin’ it would work out.”

“Shit happens,” Pic said. “Fuckers have her cousin—she did it to save the kid’s life.”

“Sounds like an interesting story,” Hunter said, his jaw tightening. “So she’s a prisoner?”

Reese nodded sharply.

“Haven’t decided what to do with her yet, but figure the Portland prospects can babysit her just as easy as the Coeur d’Alene ones. Didn’t want to leave her behind. We haven’t had time to make any decisions, you know how that goes.”

“I got a strong room we can put her in,” Hunter said.

“We’ll need that for someone else.”

That caught my attention, and I glanced back at the van. Had they hauled Nate across the state, too?

“How about the storage room upstairs?” Hunter asked. “It’s not as secure, but the window’s high enough she won’t be able to climb out and she’ll have to pass through the chapel to leave the building. Should be safe enough for the afternoon.”

“Sounds good,” Reese answered. He gave me a nudge and I followed Hunter upstairs through a big, open space with a broad wooden table and then down a hallway to the storage room.

“Don’t touch anything,” he told me, his voice grim. “You wouldn’t wanna learn what happens if you break something. And if you find something in here you can use as a weapon, don’t. This is my place, and I don’t give a damn how much Pic likes f*ckin’ you. You pull any shit, you’re dead.”

I nodded, studying the room after he closed the door behind me. Dusty boxes lined three of the four walls. The last wall had a garage sale couch pushed up against it, and above the couch was an old leaded-glass window. I climbed onto the cushions and looked out to find a fenced backyard hidden behind the carriage house. The house attached to the yard was two stories, with a high porch off the back. It looked to have been built about a hundred years ago—obviously one of those not-quite-Victorians littering the older neighborhoods in Portland.