Devil's Game (Reapers MC #3) (13 page)

“Not in front of the girls,” Dad muttered, and I knew the answer. So far as Dad was concerned, Skid was already dead. “Ruger, you and Painter take them, get them safe. Call the medic. He can meet you at the clubhouse. We’ll clean up here.”

I shook my head.

“Don’t kill him. You do that, there’s going to be even more fighting.”

“This is about the club, Em,” my dad said quietly. Translation—
Go home and be a good girl. Let the men do the thinking for you.

Suddenly I was sick of it.

I’d gotten kidnapped because of their bullshit, and I wasn’t even supposed to know why I’d nearly died. I’d gotten myself out of it, no thanks to them, and now I was expected to just nod and smile.

Fuck that.

I
popped up on my toes and whispered in Dad’s ear.

“Hunter told me about the truce and the cartel. If you kill this guy, we’re all going to suffer. I know you’re pissed, Dad, but we have to think of the club. Please. Think of me and Kit—I don’t want to live in fear.”

He stiffened.

I pulled away, looking up at him, begging with my eyes.
Don’t let your ego make this decision.

He shook his head, jaw rigid. Fuck. I crossed my arms and stepped back, my plea turning to a glare. How fucking typical—the king’s pride got hurt, so now we all have to go to war?
If anyone gets to make the decision, it should be me and Sophie.

Dad held my eyes for long seconds, then sighed.

“Okay, we’ll take him with us and dump him somewhere he’ll be found,” he said. “See if you can find something to bandage him up with, Bam.”

Relief crashed through me. I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tight.

“You’re doing the right thing, Daddy,” I whispered.

“This was club business, baby girl. You shouldn’t be worrying about things so much. That’s my job.”

His words cut through me and I stiffened. I wasn’t a fucking baby to be handed a sucker and told to go play.

Wait, where had
that
come from?

Dad wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t said a thousand times before, but for some reason this time it really pissed me off.
This is what it feels like to be Kit
, I realized, suddenly understanding her need to rebel. Oh, I didn’t like this feeling. I didn’t like it one bit.

I glanced toward the brothers. Nobody was paying attention to us. Perfect.

“Daddy, I love you, but this stopped being club business when I got kidnapped and cuffed to a bed,” I said quietly, making sure my voice didn’t carry. “That made it
my
business. I’m still trying to
figure out what happened and what it all means, but I have a right to worry about things that might destroy my life.”

He frowned at me.

“Let’s talk about it later, baby.”

Right.
I knew that tone. “Later” meant “never.”

I sighed, because I’d gotten as far as I would for now. That was okay—this wasn’t the kind of conversation you have in front of an audience, anyway. I was determined, though. I wasn’t going to just slide back into life as usual.

Everything had changed.

I’d been raised to let the men in my life tell me what to do, and look what that’d gotten me. It’d been so easy to follow Hunter away from my friends and into that alley. I’d been so fucking naive. Blind.

Never again.

From now on, I’d be making my own decisions and Dad would just have to deal with it.

I was right.

“We’ll talk later” meant “We won’t talk about it.”

To be fair, Dad wasn’t around much in the days following my rescue. He didn’t say where he was going, but I assumed he was off dealing with Toke and the Devil’s Jacks. I just hoped he hadn’t “dealt” with them permanently. Of course, I was expected to stay home and forget all about it.

That shit used to be okay. Not anymore.

Not that I would confront Dad directly or try to push my way into a club meeting to find out the real situation—nope, that wouldn’t accomplish anything, anyway. But it did confirm what I’d started to realize the day Sophie and I took down Skid. It was time for one Emmy Lou Hayes to get the hell out of Coeur d’Alene.

I needed to grow up and get a life.

Finding a place to go was the first challenge. I knew I could stay with Kit, but she only had a studio at school in Olympia. I didn’t think it was fair to put that kind of pressure on her. Nope, I wanted to find my own path. At least I had money saved … One advantage
to living with my father was I didn’t really have many expenses. I’d already applied to that aesthetician’s program in Portland. It was a great school, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to risk being in the same city as Hunter. On the other hand, it was a city—not a village. Wasn’t like I’d see him around all the time. Hell, I’d probably never run into him at all.

I even knew where he lived, so I could be sure to avoid him.

(Okay, so I’d done a little online stalking of my own by now. I still had his wallet, which I suppose I should’ve felt guilty over. Instead I used his credit card to order some really cute lingerie. I didn’t spend enough to bankrupt him, but it was enough to make him suffer a little. Oh, and I sprang for gift wrapping and overnight delivery, because why not? Just because I’d saved his life didn’t mean I’d forgiven him for what he’d done.)

Unfortunately, ordering presents for myself online was the closest I could get to real shopping, because Dad put me on lockdown. And if that weren’t bad enough, Painter had appointed himself as my own personal guardian angel while Dad was gone. I couldn’t believe I used to crush on that guy—now all I saw when he walked into a room was a vision of him screwing some skank on a bathroom counter. Liam had been right. I
definitely
deserved better. Despite my hostility, Painter insisted on driving me to work every morning and meeting me for lunch. Then he’d drive me home and hang out at the house, spending the night on the couch or in Kit’s old bedroom.

To call this awkward was one hell of an understatement.

Thus I took to spending a lot of time in my room. That’s where I was on Friday night, exactly one week from the day I’d met Hunter for the first time. I had my TV on and I was playing around online when a private message popped up.

I blinked. I’d blocked his ass. How the hell did he get through?

I considered the little flashing message alert. Should I answer? What would I say? Direct confrontation, I decided. Call him on his shit, because seeing his message didn’t send a little thrill through me at all. No thrills allowed.

I giggled, then managed to cut it off. Didn’t need Painter bursting in to check on me. And why was I laughing, anyway? Still … I wish I’d seen Hunter’s face when he realized I was spending his money.

My breath caught. How did he know Painter was here?

I
stared at the screen. How fucking stupid did he think I was? I should turn off the computer. But I was also curious … After all, I’d betrayed my club for this asshole. Now I wanted to hear what he had to say.

I froze again. Shit. He couldn’t be serious, could he? I glanced at my window, relieved to see that the shade was tightly closed. Someone outside might be able to see that my light was on, but they wouldn’t be able to see inside.

Like hell I’d talk to him. I closed my computer and set it on the bed, grabbing the TV remote.
Of course
I wasn’t going outside. That would be incredibly stupid. I reached down and rubbed my leg lightly over the still-healing gash. Despite all the blood, Skid’s bullet hadn’t really caused any real damage—just a flesh wound. But even flesh wounds hurt like a bitch. I wondered if Hunter had ever been shot, and had the sudden urge to march out there and demonstrate to him just how painful a graze from a bullet could be.

I had excellent aim.

I flipped through the channels, trying to find a distraction. There was nothing on, of course. Just some creepy reality show about a woman who thought she was a squirrel.
Life with Cara
, or some such shit. My phone buzzed. Another message from Hunter …

I dropped the phone and flopped back on my bed. The clock next to me said it was one in the morning. I should just turn off the light and go to sleep. That was what the old me would’ve done. But I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said. We had been starting something—something good. Because despite everything between our clubs, I’d spent hours talking on the phone to this man, sharing jokes and telling stories. We’d laughed together and that hadn’t been fake.

Remembering all that pissed me off, too. He’d killed
us
, whatever the hell “us” had been growing into.
He should pay for what he did.
I got up and pulled on a pair of ratty sweatpants. A hoodie and my favorite pink Converse completed the outfit.

Yeah, I know. Sexy.

I had a flash of déjà vu as I tiptoed down the stairs past Painter, who was sleeping on the couch, TV still flickering in the darkness. I stopped off in the dining room, grabbing a tiny pistol from behind a plate in the china cabinet. It was full of stuff my mother had collected—stuff we never used but wouldn’t consider throwing away in a million years.

I gave it a quick check, making sure it was loaded (it was) and ready for action (damned straight). Then I tucked it in the pocket of my hoodie right next to my cell, and slipped out the back door. The moon was full, and as I walked away from the house, the night’s beauty startled me. There were crickets singing all around, and while the stars were faint in the bright moonlight, they were everywhere.

Keeping my eyes sharp, I looked around carefully. No sign of anyone, but I knew just how sneaky Hunter and Skid could be. My hand tightened on the gun. Now what?

My
phone buzzed again.

I glanced up, spotting the small building nestled back in the trees. Once upon a time it housed workers on the ranch that used to surround us. The land had been divided up and sold off years ago, but the old outbuildings still stood. Kit and I used it as a playhouse, and now it was full of random junk my dad had collected over the years. I fingered the gun again, the slight pain in my leg a constant reminder that this asshole had gotten me shot. Time for payback?

I couldn’t quite decide.

I heard Em before I saw her. She stumbled over something in the darkness and started cussing. Cute. Then she peeked around the corner of the building, her face shadowed and unreadable.

“Back here,” I called softly. I sat leaning against the wall, holding my hands up so she could see for herself I wasn’t up to anything.

For once in my life, I wasn’t.

Go figure.

I just wanted to see how she was and make sure she knew about the truce. No, that was a flat-out lie. I just wanted to see her. Period. For all I knew she was about to shoot me, and I couldn’t really blame her if she did. Didn’t change how bad I needed to be near her, even if it was just so she could hate me in person.

Not only that, I didn’t trust Hayes to fill her in on the changing situation. She shouldn’t have to live in fear for the next year, wondering if the Jacks were out for revenge. Not that Skid was her number one fan … But he wanted the truce as much as the rest of us, not to mention she’d kept her club from killing him. He’d been
drifting in and out of consciousness at the time, but he remembered that part.

Unfortunately, the Jacks’s leadership was still up in the air. Our current president, Mason, had rallied. Now the doctors said he had a few more months. I thought we should just get the elections over with while we had the votes, but Burke was holding off. He felt like he couldn’t really count on the full support of the club while Toke was still alive.

He was probably right about that.

The good news about the situation was that Clutch was expected to make a full recovery—eventually—despite the fact that Toke had taken a baseball bat to his leg. In the end, it hadn’t been either MC that found him. Some Good Samaritan heard him moaning through a hotel room wall and called the cops. They’d come bursting in to save Clutch and they’d caught Toke when he came back to the room with food.

“Liam?” Em called, her voice cool in the darkness. Christ, I loved the way she said my name. Nobody else called me Liam, it felt like something special, just from her. Went straight to my cock, which wasn’t so good because tonight wasn’t about getting her naked. Chances were, that’d never happen again.

“Over here,” I called softly. She walked toward me, pulling out a small gun and pointing it at me. Of course she’d taken me up on my suggestion. The fucking thing looked like a toy.

I’d bet my bike it wasn’t.

“Did you like the presents I got you?” I asked.

She looked blank.

“The shit you bought with my credit card,” I continued, cocking a brow. I still couldn’t believe she’d picked my pocket. Pissed me off, but I had to admire her for it. “I shut it down, by the way. No more shopping.”

She smiled and a wave of lust smacked straight through me. Fuck, I’d forgotten how beautiful she was. I really, really wanted
that beauty wrapped around my dick, screaming my name. How did she do that to me? A cunt was a cunt, but not Em … Christ.
Unsexy thoughts
, I told myself.
Slugs. Athlete’s foot. Skid.

“Sorry,” she said lightly, in a tone that clearly wasn’t sorry at all. “I suppose you could report me to the cops.”

I had to smile.
Cops.
Yup, that was unsexy enough to do the trick.

“I guess you earned it,” I admitted.

“Oh, I earned more than that,” she said, the gun unwavering. “You kidnapped me, you fucked me over, and then you took pictures of me naked. Gonna take more than pretty panties to make that right.”

“I’ll concede the point,” I said, considering the photos. I might regret everything else, but damned if I’d regret those. “Anything I can do to make it up to you? More shit from Victoria’s Secret sounds perfect to me, but I’m open to suggestions.”

“You know, I’ve given this quite a bit of thought over the past week, and I keep coming back to one idea … How about I shoot you in the balls? Payback seems only fair, right?”

My eyes widened. Em laughed, the sound delicate in the darkness. Then she shook the gun at me like a little finger “tsking” me for being too loud in a library.

“Hey, you asked,” she said. “I’m going back inside now.”

“No, stop,” I said quickly, holding up a hand. “I have shit to tell you. About the situation between our clubs.”

She frowned.

“Why should I trust you?”

I shrugged.

“You don’t have to trust me,” I said. “But I owe you my life. Thanks for that phone call, by the way.”

She flinched.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, well, assuming you
had
done something for me—theoretically,
of course—I’d want you to know how much I appreciated it,” I said softly. “I’d also want to tell you what’s happening with the truce, maybe make sure you know you’re safe now.”

I reached toward my pocket. She straightened her arms into a shooting stance.

“I’m just grabbing some weed,” I told her. “Been a hell of a week, could use a smoke. You want some?”

She shook her head, but when I pulled out the joint, I saw her relax a little.

“Go ahead, sit down,” I told her. “Keep your gun on me if it makes you happy. But I’d rather you didn’t. Knowing my luck, a spider will fall on you or something and the fuckin’ thing will go off.”