“No, we got shit,” Duck said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. “Here’s what you need to know. Toke—”

“Toke slashed Em with a knife,” Hunter said. “I saw the damage. He’s out of control, and not just with us. Am I right?”

“How did you see that?” Picnic demanded. “Why the f**k was her shirt off?”

“Shut up,” Hunter said. Picnic lurched to his feet, but Horse caught him, pushing him back down.

“Not now, Pic,” Horse murmured. “Hold it back.”

“Why was her shirt off?” Picnic repeated. Ruger felt his own temper rise, but he kept his mouth shut and his eyes open.

“I think a better question is, why she did she get cut in the first place?” Hunter asked, his voice full of carefully leashed anger. “Or maybe, why was she meeting a strange man in a bar without any kind of backup? You f**ked up, old man, and I’ve got her now. Looks like she needs someone new to protect her anyway.”

Fuck me, Ruger thought. He’s got a thing for Em.

“Let’s get back on track,” Duck said, his tone smooth and dangerous, which wasn’t like Duck at all. Usually he had a big mouth and a short temper, but the crisis seemed to have brought out something more calculating in him. He’d told them stories about Vietnam, about patrols in the backcountry and sneaking behind enemy lines, but Ruger had always thought he was full of shit.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

“We can’t give you what you want,” Duck told Hunter. “Believe me, we want to. We’ve been looking for him all week. And this shit—this goes against our whole club. We voted on the truce and the decision was made. He’ll answer for that to the national officers. But don’t go hurting two innocent girls trying to force us to do something impossible. I promise you, either of them gets a scratch and your life will end. Got me?”

Hunter sat back in his chair, studying each man in turn.

“You seriously expect me to believe you can’t track down your own man?” he asked, cocking his head. “Sounds like the Reapers got some problems of their own.”

“That may be,” Horse said. “But it’s a fact—we can’t tell you where he is. I can’t make you believe that, but no matter what you do to Em and Sophie, it doesn’t change reality. We’ve had guys looking for him all week.”

“Let me guess, his brothers in Portland? Deke?” Hunter asked sarcastically. “Because they’ll cover his ass.”

“Not just Deke,” Horse replied. “And trust me, they want his ass as much as you do. This isn’t just about you—he broke faith with all of us. We voted. We made a truce.”

“Seriously, Hunter. We know jack shit about Toke,” Ruger said, somehow staying calm and matter-of-fact, despite the fact he wanted to jump over the table and cut the prick’s heart out. “I think you get we’re lookin’ at a war starting, right here, right now. Toke’s out of control and we all know it. Whatever happens to him, he brought on himself. But you takin’ our girls? That’s different. When we come after you, we’ll bring the whole damned club with us.”

“Em and Sophie are safe,” Hunter said. “And I promise they’ll stay that way, at least for now. But you aren’t getting them back.”

“How ’bout giving us one?” Duck asked. “Sophie’s got a kid. Send her back.”

Picnic stiffened, but he kept his mouth shut. This wasn’t part of the plan. Ruger saw where Duck was going with it, though. One was better than none, and if Hunter had a thing for Em, he’d be motivated to protect her. Not only that, Em would definitely want Sophie back with Noah. Ruger glanced over at Pic and saw understanding written on his face.

Fuck … He couldn’t even imagine what Picnic was going through right now. It was bad enough they had Sophie. If somebody tried to take away Noah, he’d lose his shit all over the place. Rain goddamn hellfire on them.

“What’ll you give me if I let her go?” Hunter asked. “I want something to take back to my club.”

“How about a hostage?” Painter said suddenly. “They’ve got one of your brothers—you take one of ours and let both girls go.”

Hunter gave a short laugh.

“Fuck that,” he said. “Your ugly asses aren’t worth shit to me. We want a Reaper, we’ll pick one up in Portland.”

He leaned forward, his eyes intense.

“I want peace,” Hunter continued. “Even with all this, I still want peace. Nothing in our situation has changed, and if you’re tellin’ me Toke is rogue, give me something to take to my club and maybe we can still save the truce.”

He pulled out his phone, glancing down at it.

“Back in five,” Hunter said. He stood and walked away, holding it to his ear.

“This is a waste of time,” Picnic said. “Deke was right—no point making peace with these f**kwads.”

Ruger nodded, and he heard his brothers murmur agreement. The entire club needed to reevaluate their decision, no question. Didn’t excuse Toke going rogue, but Ruger understood his motivations.

Hunter hung up his phone and turned back toward them. Almost immediately it rang again and he answered, studying their table the entire time. While his face stayed carefully blank, Ruger caught a hint of something wild in his eyes.

Then the Devil’s Jack hung up the phone once more and walked toward them.

“Good news and bad,” he said slowly. Ruger tensed.

“What’s that?” Duck asked.

“Clutch is alive,” he said. “At least for now. We don’t have much information on him yet. They took him to the hospital. That’s the good.”

“And the bad?” said Picnic.

“It was cops that found him and Toke,” Hunter replied. “Someone heard something and called it in. They caught Toke hiding in a hotel, our guy chained up in the bathroom. The girls who were in our house when he attacked are cooperating, so the cops have witnesses. They’ll put Toke in protective custody. Out of our reach, for now. The brothers won’t be happy about that.”

“You gonna give us back Sophie and Em?” Ruger asked.

The question hung heavy between them as Hunter leaned back and took another drink, face blank.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m doin’ it to prove we’re serious about the truce. Toke’s situation still isn’t resolved. But I’m willing to accept he wasn’t acting on behalf of the Reapers, pull that out of the equation.”

Ruger felt the band around his chest loosen for the first time since he’d gotten that panicked call from Sophie.

“When?” Picnic asked.

“Soon,” Hunter replied. “But I’m getting out of here alive first, I think. I’m sure you’ll see my concern?”

Duck snorted, almost a laugh.

“Yeah, I’d be concerned in your place, too,” he said. “We won’t forget this. Not sure that truce is gonna last after this little adventure.”

“Me neither,” Hunter admitted. “I’ll do my best. Hope you will, too. Skid’ll let the girls go once I give him the word. Won’t happen until I’m sure I’m safe, so you start trailing me, your girls stay locked up longer.”

“Understood,” Picnic said. “Make it fast.”

“One more thing,” Duck said. “The Toke situation—you got any pull with those witnesses? We’d like to handle this within the club as much as possible. Toke’ll keep his mouth shut, sure your boys will, too.”

Hunter shrugged.

“We’ll see what happens.”

“Right,” Duck said. “Keep Em and Sophie safe, got me? Otherwise I’ll personally skin you and use it to make lamp shades for the Armory.”

SOPHIE

Sometimes your brain tells you to do something and you know it’s wrong.

My brain told me to run faster when I heard Skid’s gun go off, to follow Em’s plan like a good little girl. I was supposed to get out and get help. No turning back. My son needed me … We agreed on it.

Not only that, saving Em was Picnic and Ruger’s job.

This wasn’t my fight.

But somehow I knew—in my gut and in my soul—that if I kept running, Skid would kill Em. Maybe he already had.

I couldn’t leave her behind.

So I stopped running and turned back toward the house, creeping up on it as quickly as I could, taking cover underneath a window on the living-room side. I listened for a second, hearing the muffled sound of Skid’s voice. Em answered him, her tone pleading. I figured that meant he was distracted, so I popped up for a quick peek.

Em lay on the floor, pressing against the outside of her left thigh with both hands. Bright red blood seeped between her fingers. Skid stood over her, gun pointed and ready, and the look on his face wasn’t friendly. This guy would be happy to kill her.

Fuck.

I looked around frantically, trying to think of a plan. I needed to stop him, and I needed to do it in a way that wouldn’t end with someone dead. I crawled quickly around the side of the house, where the open front porch held two wooden chairs and a small table. I tried peeking in the front window to see what was happening, but shades covered it.

Then I heard Em scream.

No more time.

I grabbed one of the chairs, pleased to find that it was solid wood and had a nice heft. Then I rang the doorbell and waited, holding my chair ready.

“Who’s out there?” Skid called.

I stayed quiet—I mean, what the hell was I supposed to say? Please come out so I can hit you? Using my elbow, I rang the bell again. My muscles started to burn from holding the chair. Hurry up, ass**le.

“Fuck off!” Skid yelled. Em must’ve done something to mess with him because I heard a crashing noise. I rang the bell five or six times in a row with my elbow like an annoying kid.

Skid threw the door open.

I clocked him hard in the face with the chair. He staggered and the gun went off, thankfully missing me. I ignored the ringing in my ears and swung the chair around and hit him again. He shuddered, then lunged toward me, blood running down his face from his smashed nose. I screamed as he grabbed the chair by its legs, jerking it away and raising it high.

Then Em was on him from behind.

She attacked like a rabid ferret, arms tightening around his neck as she bit and scratched and kicked. He lurched forward and I joined in, grabbing the second chair and swinging it at his knees. He gave a high scream as he pitched forward off the porch, Em riding him down into the dirt. I jumped after them, landing between his legs and kicking him in the crotch over and over again. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any little Skidlets in his future to carry on the family legacy.

Skid screamed like a baby the whole time.

And Em? I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying.

Ten minutes later, we’d handcuffed Skid’s bruised, bleeding body to a porch pillar. He’d passed out from the pain, which was probably a good thing. I didn’t want to look into his evil eyes or listen to whatever bullshit he might spew.

Now I sat in one of the porch chairs, his confiscated gun carefully braced against my leg, cocked and ready to shoot. I didn’t want to kill him, but I’d do it if I had to. I didn’t doubt that for a second.

Em hobbled out of the house, her leg bandaged in strips of sheet from the bedroom. Thankfully, the bullet had just lightly grazed her thigh. Still, her face was white and drawn from the pain.

Despite it all, she managed a small smile, holding up a cell phone in triumph.

“Dumbass has Google maps installed,” she said. “I know exactly where we are. I’m calling Dad to come and get us.”

She dialed.

“Hey, Dad? It’s me. We’re okay. Could use a ride, though.”

Her eyes flickered toward Skid as Picnic’s muffled voice burst out of the phone.

“No, it’s all good,” she answered. “But you might want to bring the van. We may need some cargo space.”

She gave them directions and hung up.

“They’ll be here in about twenty minutes,” Em told me. “They sounded pretty happy to hear from us.”

“Was Hunter with them?” I asked. As soon as the question left my mouth, I regretted it. Did I really want the answer? Em swallowed and looked away.

“No,” she said. “The meet was already over. I guess we missed him by maybe five minutes. He’s got good luck.”

I raised a brow, but kept my mouth shut. Em dropped the phone to the ground, then stomped on it, and I heard the crunch of glass and plastic.

“What the hell?” I asked, startled. “Why’d you do that?”

“GPS,” she said shortly. “I don’t want the Devil’s Jacks tracing us with it, and we can’t leave it here.”

“What if we need it again?”

“We won’t,” she said. “Dad and Ruger will find us. Don’t worry. By tomorrow it’ll be like this never happened. In fact, I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want to think about it. Got me?”

“Got you,” I said, narrowing my eyes. Em grabbed the second chair and dragged it over toward me, sitting down.

“Want me to take the gun for a while?”

“Thanks,” I said, handing it over. It was surprisingly heavy, and after the first few minutes my hand had started cramping. I stretched my fingers, looking out across the long gravel driveway into the trees.

“No offense,” I said slowly. “But that was the shittiest girls’ night out ever.”