“We know they want Pic dead,” Ruger said.

“Yeah, ’cause that’s a big fuckin’ surprise,” Horse said. “And here I thought they loved him, up to this point. Who knew?”

“Dick.”

“Asshole.”

“Christ, you’re like two-year-olds,” I muttered, glaring at him and Ruger. “You need a fuckin’ time-out?”

“Painter’s in,” Gage said quietly. We watched on the tiny screens as he went upstairs to talk to Melanie, who apparently needed some time to get ready. This wasn’t a huge surprise to me, seeing as I raised two daughters. Painter went down to the kitchen and chatted up London while Mel was primping, then guided her gently out of the house to his bike.

“I think Painter’s got a little crush,” Horse said. “Isn’t that sweet? We should all congratulate him on that, make real sure he knows we’re pullin’ for him. He’ll love that.”

Puck snorted again.

“Shut the fuck up, prospect,” Duck said. “No respect.”

“I’ll take that as my cue,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Horse? You come with me, along with Puck and Bam. Ruger, I want you keepin’ an eye on things until we finish with her. Then get your ass down to the house and tear it all down. Tonight. No more fuckin’ cameras in my shit. And I want everyone ready to leave for Portland by midnight, got me? No point in makin’ things easy for the bastards if they’re spying on us.”

“You got it,” Ruger said. “Sooner we get this done the better. Make our move before someone in the Devil’s Jacks decides they don’t want to play nice with the rest of us.”

“Unlikely. They’re fucked,” I said. “So are we, come to think of it. This is it, brothers—we either smack these cartel cocksuckers back now or we get ready to start followin’ their orders. Not a whole lot of ground in between.”

For once, neither Horse nor Ruger had a joke.

“Ready for a beer?” London asked brightly as she opened the door for me. I studied her face for a hint of something—guilt, evasion … Hell, even hostility.

Nothing. She was like a pretty, blank blow-up doll going through the motions. Completely checked out.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” I said, reaching out and catching the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. She didn’t respond, which wasn’t exactly a surprise under the circumstances.

“I’ve got chili cooking, and some corn bread,” she told me when I let her go. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the dining room? Food’ll be ready soon, I’ll bring it out to you.”

As she walked me toward the table, I decided there’d never been a more incompetent assassin in history. I hadn’t really believed she was deliberately working with the cartel from the start, but now I had proof. Nobody who knew what they were doing would be this stupid about it.

She’d set a magazine out for me in front of the chair at the head of the table. Facing away from the kitchen—wasn’t that convenient? That way she could just walk up to me and shoot me in the head.

“I’ll just check on the corn bread,” she said without meeting my eyes. I watched as she drifted away. Fuck. Guess it’d been too good to be true.

Sorry, baby, Heather whispered.

Yeah, whatever.

I grabbed my magazine and walked around to the far side of the table. Knowing my luck, she’d ditch the gun and go after me with a rolling pin. Never turn your back on a woman with a weapon—I’d learned that from Heather. Come to think of it, she’d tried to kill me at least three times over the course of our marriage … ’Course, only one of those was serious.

Ten minutes later London came back into the dining room, something heavy pulling down one side of her sweater. Christ, but she was clueless. It would’ve been funny, but pretty fuckin’ hard to laugh when the woman you love tries to kill you.

Love?

Now that was probably takin’ it a bit far, I mused. But whatever I felt for her, it was a step up from lust. Pisser, because that was a gun in her pocket, and from the determined look on her face she was definitely planning to use it against me. I decided to throw a Hail Mary anyway.

“Something you want to talk about?” I asked her. Her mouth twisted as she bit her lip, clearly startled to find me in a different place than where she’d left me. Yeah, ’cause I always made it as easy as possible for people to kill me. I’m a giver that way.

Last chance, London.

“No,” she said quietly, sticking her hand down into the pocket with the gun. She caught me watching, and her face actually turned white.

“Babe, you look like you could use a day off,” I told her, wondering if there was a way to get through to her. Couldn’t decide how I felt about that … Duck had been right. I wanted things to end happy, for her to fall into my arms and let me take over and fix everything. But I was also fuckin’ pissed, because I could no longer deny that this woman truly meant to kill me. Hard not to take that personally. “Have you considered hitting the spa? Maybe get a massage?”

“That costs too much,” she said automatically. I frowned at her, wondering how such a smart person could be so stupid. Talk to me before it’s too late.

“I wasn’t suggesting that you pay for it.”

“I don’t want your money—”

“Yeah, I know, you’re totally independent and you like it that way. Blah, blah. Just let me do something for you, for once.”

She looked like she might throw up, and then her eyes started turning red. Tears. London knew what she was about to do was wrong, and she knew she didn’t want to do it … yet it still didn’t occur to her to reach out for help. I got that she had to protect Jessica—I’d do the same for Em or Kit. I even got that she was confused and frightened. But what really sucked in this situation was that she didn’t trust me to save her.

Had it been anything but sex for her?

No. Time to face reality. I was just a booty call to her, proving once and for all that karma’s one hell of a bitch. And so was London.

Fuck.

“The food won’t be ready for another ten minutes. You look sort of tense. Want a neck rub?” She started to walk around the table toward me, clearly planning to blow out my brains. Now I felt a wave of fury hit. How dare this cunt use me for sex and then try to shoot me in my own home? I’d have done anything to help her, but she couldn’t even bother asking.

“I think you should stay back.” Otherwise I might strangle you.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’d hate to make it too easy for you, sweetheart.”

She smiled weakly. I wanted to slap the smile right off her lying face.

“I don’t understand.”

Yeah. You understand. And now you’ll understand what it means to be afraid.

“I’m assuming you’re planning to shoot me in the back of the head,” I said, forcing myself to stay calm. “That’s a bad idea. You shoot that close, you’ll be all covered in blood spatter. Means you’ll risk tracking more evidence out of the house or taking time to clean up. Either way, complicates things.”

That clear enough for you, bitch?

She pulled out the gun slowly, raising it carefully to aim at my head. Little idiot. A gun like that wasn’t exactly a sniper’s weapon. Even at this close range, she should be going for the biggest target—my chest.

“Go ahead, do it,” I said, smirking at her. I wanted to scare her. Hurt her. Make her pay for not trusting me … “Show me what you’re made of.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and those tears building in her eyes started spilling out, running down her cheeks. Behind her I saw Horse step up quietly, waiting. Puck and Bam Bam would be in the kitchen, and I knew they’d do whatever I needed, up to and including disposing of London’s body for me. “You’ll never know how much I wish this weren’t happening.”

“Then don’t do it,” I told her, catching and holding her gaze because I’m a fucking fool. Even now I’d forgive her if she just opened her mouth and told me what was going on. Trusted me. “Whatever it is, we can work through it. I’ll help you.”

“You can’t …”

I sighed, because that was it. Over. Goddamn waste, tryin’ to connect with a woman. Heather had been one in a million—I’d already had my time.

Fuck it.

I gave Horse a tip of my chin, letting him know wordlessly that I’d had enough of this shit. London would have to pay for what she’d done, which was just too fuckin’ bad. That’s what you get for tryin’ to kill the man you’re sleepin’ with.

“It’s over, babe,” Horse said. I saw shock all over her face, but I had to admit, the bitch had balls, because she pulled the damn trigger.

I sighed again as Horse reached around the woman I’d fallen for, grabbing her wrist and squeezing hard as he threw her down on the table face-first. London dropped the gun, crying openly. I stood and strolled over to her, dropping down on my haunches to study her. Her eyes caught mine, expression full of pain and despair.

Appropriate, because she was well and truly fucked.

“You’d really benefit from one of the handgun classes down at the gun shop,” I told her quietly. “Learn all kinds of good stuff there. For instance, they’d teach you to check and make sure nobody’s tampered with your weapon when it’s out of your control. They’d also teach you to check and make sure it’s loaded.”

She closed her eyes and bit her lip.

I’m a sick bastard, because the sight of her laid out on that table, held down and crying? That should’ve bothered me. It turned me on, though. Even now I wanted to fuck her.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. Horse shot me a glance, and I considered the question.

“Haven’t decided yet,” I finally admitted. “First we’re going to get information from you. I’d suggest you cooperate, because otherwise we’ll have to convince you, and the fact that you’ve been in my bed isn’t going to help you out of this.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. The life had gone out of her completely … But just when I wondered if she’d roll over and die, she opened them again, forcing herself to reengage.

“You need to know something,” she said quietly.

“Yeah?” I asked, waiting for her to start going on about love or some other bullshit, trying to save her ass.

“They have Jessica.”

“Yeah, we kind of figured that out,” I told her, my voice dry. “Forgive me if I don’t give a shit. I don’t care why a person tries to kill me. I’m all about the end result.”

“Jessica is going to die if she doesn’t get help,” she said, ignoring my sarcasm. “Like, help in the next twenty-four hours. She’s got a shunt, Reese. Born with hydrocephalus.”

“The fuck?” Horse asked, frowning at me.

“Water on her brain,” London said. “Her cerebrospinal fluid doesn’t drain right, which means she has a little tube running down from her skull through her neck to drain the fluid. If that tube gets blocked or infected, she’s dead. Head trauma is particularly dangerous for people with shunts—I watched them throw her down. Her head hit the concrete and then she had a seizure. I know I messed up, and it was wrong to try to shoot you, Reese. But please—if you have any mercy at all—please try to find a way to help her. It’s over for me and I’m fine with that, but you have children. You’d do anything to keep them alive, wouldn’t you? Please …”

With that she seemed to fold in on herself. I glanced at Horse.

“You know about this?” he asked.

“Knew the kid had medical issues, not the details,” I said slowly. “Bills came up on the background check. This shunt shit is news, though. Fuck, London—why the hell didn’t you tell me she had a tube in her head?”

“Jessica doesn’t like people to know,” she whispered, her voice miserable. “She says it makes her feel like a freak, so we don’t talk about it.”

“None of this matters,” Puck said, stepping into the room.

“How do you figure?”

“It’s over for your girlfriend. We all know it—sucks for the kid, but there’s nothing we can do for her. You can’t let her get to you.”

“You’re a cold fucker, aren’t you?” Horse asked. Puck shrugged.

“Practical. It is what it is. You can’t let the woman who tried to kill the president of the Reapers MC get away with it.”

Horse and I exchanged quick looks. London stayed silent.

“Let’s get her out of here,” Horse said finally. “Figure out what to do with her back at the Armory—we don’t even know how useful she might be to us yet. Burn one bridge at a time, brother.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LONDON

Relief.

That’s what I felt, more than anything else.

I think I was supposed to be afraid, maybe cry and beg for mercy. Instead I wanted to cry with relief just because it was finally over. Jessica would live or die, but there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it at this point.

The instant I pulled the trigger, I’d known that I’d made the worst mistake of my life. They say God shows mercy on drunks and fools. That I believed, because despite my resolve, the gun didn’t fire. I wasn’t entirely sure why and I didn’t care—if they killed me, so be it.