King gives us a nod when we approach the group, listening to what Mighty has to say.
“All in all, it’s swept for now,” Mighty tells the group. “As long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves, she can keep it buried.”
King turns his head my way. “Mighty’s just lettin’ us know what his good buddy at the DA’s office has managed to do. Ryan’s little shooting party is tied up in that much tape it would take a fuckin’ month to unravel, even if it were found.” His eyes coast across to her, and he smiles. “Congratulations, precious. You officially became more trouble than it’s worth for our boys in blue.”
“Thanks, man.” I extend my hand to Mighty, giving his a shake when he crosses palms with me.
Ryan threads her fingers in mine when I step back, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I’m forever in your debt, guys. Thank you.”
“Well, we’re still going to be hangin’ around for a bit lookin’ like half-sucked blackballs until Tuck gets in touch,” King advises, jamming his hands in his pockets. “Anybody else for a coffee?”
“I could go something stronger,” Vince grumbles.
“Don’t think old Maude in there would stock that.” King points through the window to the woman working the tables who has to be nothing short of ninety.
The boys chuckle, and head indoors. I go to follow with Ryan when she tugs on my arm and holds me back. “Hold up.”
“You right?” I ask. Maybe she’s not up to hanging out in public just yet. I never gave it much thought, but she’s still covered in spots of blood.
“Do I have helmet hair?” she says, fingers patting her squashed bun. “I need a damn mirror.”
“You look fine as hell, darlin’, but”—I hold up a hand and take a step back to strip my T-shirt off, leaving only my tank—“throw that on over yours.” I lean in close as I hand it over and whisper, “Don’t look now, but you’ve got a bit of blood on your shirt.”
She giggles, taking the offered T-shirt from me and lifting it to her face. “It smells like you.”
“I’d be fuckin’ worried if it smelled like someone else.”
She laughs and shakes it out, tugging the tee on over her head. The fabric pools around her hips, and she tucks it in on one side to lift it off her legs.
A rumble breaks from my chest, and I bite the side of my bottom lip as I look her over. “Fuck, that looks good. Better than any scrap of pointless lace could.”
She does a little twirl, a huge grin on her face as she says in her best southern drawl, “Why, thank you.”
I snag her mid turn and pull her flush against my front. Her eyes go wide as my obvious arousal presses between us. “Exactly,” I say with a smile. “You go causin’ that, the least you can do is hold on to me while I get it under control.” Although having her pressed against me—all tits and curves—isn’t really doing much to stop the blood flow.
Her lips tilt up on one side mischievously, her eyes hooded. “Can’t wait to crawl into a warm bed with you. Seems like the perfect end to a hell of a day.”
I tip my head back and growl. “Woman, are you tryin’ to kill me?”
“What?” she asks, all innocent as pie while looking wicked as hell. “You put suggestions like that”—her hips press into mine—“between us, I’m going to get ideas.”
“Carry on like that, and I can guarantee you’ll be fuckin’ begging me to slow down when you see how fast I ride when I’m in a hurry.”
She places a soft kiss on my lips and pulls back with her hand lingering on my chest. The flesh burns under her touch, the desire spreading like wildfire the longer she keeps us physically connected. I gently remove it, and give her a wink as I wrestle myself to a more comfortable position in my jeans. “Coffee first. We’ve still got a few things to wrap up before I can call it a night.”
“Killjoy.”
“Tease.” I give her a firm smack on the butt to get her moving. “Come on, git.”
I love seeing her like this—her old confidence returned enough to have her joking around. But I still worry. Before today, she’d never killed a man. Today, she’s taken down four. Most people wouldn’t be able to comprehend that, let alone get around acting as if it was no more of an inconvenience than having to change a flat. I’ve seen it before in returned vets with PTSD—the false confidence, and the determination to have the world think they’re happy as pie.
But they’re not, and I’m not entirely convinced she is, either.
Ryan slips in to sit beside Callum as I enter the diner and head for the men’s. The blond nuisance wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her in to nuzzle her neck, eliciting a squeal of surprise from her. The shithead’s doing it to wind me up, and as much as he has, I flip him the middle finger and turn away, knowing that at least for now she’s happy.
There’s not much more I’d wish for in life than knowing she’ll never have a reason to lose that smile again. Whatever the cost.
NEW WORLD
King
Ryan is safe, and Eddie is down—we’re halfway there. I swipe at my phone again, checking the messaging apps although none of them show any new notifications. The boys are oblivious to my compulsive habit, laughing amongst themselves as they run over the day’s events. I look up from the phone to find one set of clear blue eyes watching me with interest.
“Did you expect to hear from him by now?” Ryan asks.
I nod at her, spinning the phone on the tabletop.
She sighs and turns her head toward the waitress walking over with the coffee pot. The conversation dies while the old woman slides the hot drink onto the table, followed quickly after by clean mugs, sugar, and creamer. The waitress is barely two steps from the table before the boys are hollering over each other again.
I sneak a look at Ryan as she runs her finger around the rim of a mug, her eyes focused on the ceramic. “What will you do if you still haven’t heard from him in an hour or so?” she asks, her eyes still downcast on the cup.
“Not sure. Probably round up the extended family and head over to check things out.”
“Where is he?” she says. “What is he doing?”
Of course. I’m so used to only talking to people who are privy to the inner workings that I forget she doesn’t have a clue what our plan for tonight was. “I guess you’ll find out sooner or later, anyway,” I say to justify it to myself as much as her. Mighty caches my eye, passing silent approval before he dives back into conversation with the others. “Your old man’s gone to do the same as we did tonight—well, you mostly did. Only, it’s not Eddie; it’s Carlos Redmond he’s taking down.”
“Is that even achievable?” she asks quietly. “Bronx said he’s pretty crazy.”
“It’s achievable with the right mindset and experience,” I say, trying in vain to convince myself of the answer. “Harris is probably one of the best prepared for that kind of fight, plus I called in a secret weapon back when I sent Dog over with that message for him.”
“What?”
“Not what—who. Sawyer.”
She swallows, lifting her tired gaze to mine. “I’ve heard about him. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Yeah, except one’s rotten, and the other just thinks it is.”
“You think they have a chance, then?”
I stare down at my phone as I bring it to a stop from spinning with a finger on the screen. “I thought they did, yeah. Now I’m not so sure.” I push the damn thing aside, and reach for the pot instead, pouring a cup for Ryan and one for myself.
She adds sugar while I top up with creamer, and she stirs her cup, passing me the spoon when she’s done. I drop it in my brew at the exact same time as my phone starts ringing. The conversation between the other three stops, and in my haste to answer the call, I end up slamming my arm down on the handle of the coffee spoon, sending hot liquid spraying over the table and Callum.