Devil's Game

Page 39

“That’s less comforting than you’d think.”
Several more shots rang out, and then we heard a high-pitched, agonized scream.
“Holy shit,” Em whispered, smile gone. Her eyes were huge, and she brought the gun back up, finger moving to the trigger. Then someone shouted through the darkness. Someone close.
“Em, it’s Painter.”
Seriously? Fucking Painter was going to rescue us?
And right there I had it—proof that God’s a twisty bastard.
“Did you get him?” Em yelled back.
“We got one of them,” Painter said. “No way to know if there’s more. But we’re searching. Prez says to get you out, take you back to the Armory while we look for a second sniper.”
“We’re going to need a chainsaw or something,” she yelled. “Hunter’s trapped.”
“He alive?”
He sounded a little too cheerful when he asked the question.
“Yes, he’s fine,” she replied.
“I’m f**kin’ great,” I yelled out. “Get Em out of here!”
“Okay, I’m right by the truck now,” Painter called back. “I’m gonna climb up and look inside. Put down your gun, Em.”
Em lowered the gun, but I noticed she didn’t let it go. She gave me a quick glance, offering a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.
“What’s that about?” I asked quietly.
“Painter isn’t my dad,” she replied. “He hasn’t made any promises about your safety.”
“You’re going to hold a gun on Painter while he’s trying to rescue you?”
“No, I’m going to protect my old man while he’s stuck under a tree. Consider me your life insurance, babe. If I leave, Painter’s got no reason to keep you alive and nobody to witness what he does to you. I’m staying put until my dad gets here.”
The truck lurched and Painter leaned over the open passenger-side window, taking in the situation. First he gave Em a quick once-over, probably checking for blood or obvious wounds. Then his gaze turned to me, eyes predatory. I stared him down, wordlessly telling him that I saw right through his shit. He gave me a chin lift, then turned his attention back to Em.
“Take my hand,” Painter said, reaching toward her. “We’ll get you to the Armory. Ruger can go back and grab the tools we’ll need to cut out your boyfriend, but you need to get warm.”
She shook her head.
“I want Dad.”
“He’s kind of busy right now.”
“Nope,” she said, lifting the gun from her side and balancing it carefully on her knee with both hands. She wasn’t pointing it at anyone, but it wasn’t the friendliest of stances, either. “I’m staying with my old man until Dad gets here.”
Painter flinched. Heh.
I hated that cocksucker. I really did.
“Will you please go get him?” Em asked, her voice like very polite granite. She might be scared as hell, but she wasn’t showing any weakness. “I’m not going anywhere without my dad.”
“Screw this,” Painter muttered, shaking his head. “I’ll be back in a few. Enjoy the f**kin’ cold while you wait, Em.”
She relaxed visibly as he jumped down off the truck.
“You okay?” I asked. “I really wish you’d go with him.”
Em rolled her eyes, waving off my concern with one bluish hand.
“No f**king way,” she said. “I leave, you got no witnesses. Painter hates you. Ruger’s not too fond of you, either, and he’s the one with the chainsaw. Anyone decides to kill you, they’ll be going through me first.”
“Babe, I say this with all due respect. You scare the shit out of me.”
She reached down and touched my cheek, and I turned my head to kiss her fingers.
“Emmy, it’s Dad,” I heard Hayes call out. Then I felt the truck shift as he climbed up to look through the window. “Painter said you won’t put down your gun and go to the Armory.”
“Thank God,” she said, her voice full of relief. She’d been closer to the edge than I realized. “I’m so glad you’re here. I won’t leave Hunter with anyone but you. But I’m really cold . . . Not sure how much longer I can last out here.”
I couldn’t see his face well in the darkness, but I had a feeling I’d recognize the expression—the same mixture of love and frustration I’d seen in the mirror a hundred times since I’d met her.
“Emmy, nobody is going to hurt Hunter,” the Reapers president said. “I gave my word.”
“Would Mom have left you behind?” she asked, her voice a challenge.
He sighed heavily, then reached down to take her hand.
“Nope,” he said. “That’s why I wanted you with a Reaper, honey. We really can’t afford not to have you on our side. You remind me more of her every day.”
EM
It felt good to be back in the Armory again. Better than I expected. Of course, it probably didn’t hurt that I’d been met at the door by Dancer, Marie, Kit, and Maggs. Sophie was upstairs with the kids, who were constructing a mighty campsite in the game room on the second floor.
Horse had given me a ride home, stepping inside long enough to catch Marie and stick his cold hands on her stomach. She’d shrieked and swatted at him until he caught her close for a long, hard kiss. Then he’d headed back out into the rain, leaving me dripping in the center of the kitchen. Dancer wrapped a blanket around me, and Marie handed me a cup of hot coffee. I found myself shivering so hard my jaw hurt.
“So what the hell happened?” Dancer asked, settling me on a stool. “The guys ran out of here like the world was ending.”
“Someone shot out our tires,” I told her. Wow, saying it out loud made it sound so . . . insane. “Hunter was driving, and the truck started sliding on the ice. We went off the road. A tree pinned him inside the truck—he’s still there—and I called for help. That’s when whoever shot the tires started shooting at us.”
The women all stared at me, eyes wide.
“That’s some serious shit,” Kit said slowly. “But you’re okay? And Hunter, too?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, but they’ll have to cut him out.”
Kit tapped her fingers against the counter nervously.
“Did you know a Devil’s Jack has been seen around town?” she asked. “And I guess they spotted him earlier tonight, right after someone took potshots at Dancer and Bam Bam’s house.”
My eyes widened.
“They shot at your house?” I asked Dancer, stunned. “With the kids there?”
“Yes,” Dancer said, her face more serious than I’d ever seen it. “Em, I love you, but I don’t understand how you could be with a man who’s part of that club.”
I stiffened.
“The man who shot at your house wasn’t a Devil’s Jack,” I said firmly. “Hunter told me he wasn’t. He says that someone else is trying to set us all up for a war. They want peace—they need peace, or their club won’t survive.”
The women exchanged looks, and Marie coughed nervously. Great. Now they all thought I was a gullible idiot.
“Anyone want a drink?” Maggs asked brightly. “I could use a shot.”
“Grab the bottle,” Kit said, reaching out to take my hand. I tugged it away from her, frustrated.
“Just don’t make any judgments until we have the full story,” I told them. “You don’t know what happened out there. Remember, the sniper tried to kill Hunter, too.”
“I guess we’ll see,” Marie said. “It’s good to have you back, Em. The good news is we all brought food with us—whatever else happens, we can celebrate the holiday together instead of just canceling everything.”
Perfect, I thought. Just what I needed. Now everyone could spend tomorrow glaring at me and Hunter, blaming him for everything that’d gone wrong for the Reapers during the last twenty years. And with his truck all busted up, it wasn’t like we could leave. Maybe I could rent a car . . .
“Drink?” Maggs asked again, her tone forced. I shook my head. I already had a headache. The last thing I needed was to throw a hangover into the mix.
Grown-up life was complicated.
HUNTER
By the time they pulled me out of the truck, my nuts were the size of raisins. Fuckin’ cold out there. Despite that, I remembered to grab our bags from behind the truck’s seats. I also grabbed my Devil’s Jacks cut, folding it carefully over my arm before climbing up the bank. Hayes had an SUV waiting for me. At least, I hoped the SUV was for me. A black cargo van had been parked there, too, reminding me of the one we’d used to kidnap Em and Sophie.
Not the most encouraging of sights.
When I reached the top, I found Hayes. He eyed my colors but didn’t say anything. He also didn’t tell me which vehicle would be carrying me to the Armory. I knew he’d promised Em that he’d keep me alive, but it seemed likely that my comfort wasn’t part of the deal.
“You catch the shooter?” I asked him.
“Shooter’s in the van,” he said. “But you’ll ride with me. C’mon.”
I followed him to the SUV—score one for me. Hopefully it was a good sign. Horse and Painter joined us in the backseat. Nobody spoke to me on the short, tense drive to the Armory, which was just fine. The night was far from over, but I’d had plenty of time in the truck to consider my strategy. I’d been in situations like this before, although usually on the other side. I knew better than to show weakness or volunteer information.
On the bright side, at least I wouldn’t have to waste any time looking for the ass**le pretending to be one of my brothers. He was in the van, I was almost certain of it. Smart money said once they took him into the Armory, he wouldn’t be coming back out, which saved me even more time.
We passed through a gate in the building’s courtyard wall. Em was somewhere inside, hopefully snug and warm, surrounded by her girls. Just the thought of her exposed in that truck, the way those shots had blasted through the windshield, chilled my blood.
This love shit sucked.
Now it wasn’t enough I had to watch out for Kelsey, I had to keep Em covered, too. This was why I’d never had pets. Too much work. Hayes stopped the rig, turning it off and looking at me.
“Come inside?” he asked, as if I had a choice.
“Sounds good,” I replied, opening my door. I stepped out to find us parked next to a sunken stairwell leading under the building.
Nothing ominous about that, right?
They’d packed our bags away in the back of the vehicle, which meant I didn’t have access to my spare sidearm. At least they hadn’t searched me. I considered that a good sign, seeing as the hunting knife on my hip wasn’t exactly subtle.
I guess technically I was still a guest.
Hayes started walking toward the stairwell, but I paused to pull on my cut. Painter stopped cold, glancing back and forth between me and his president.
“You aren’t letting him wear his colors inside, are you?” he demanded. Christ, this guy was a drama queen.
“You’ll get them off my dead body,” I told him, my voice matter-of-fact.
At least five or six Reapers gathered to watch as Painter and I faced off. I unstrapped my knife, wrapping my fingers around the hilt loosely. Shitty way to go out, but with any luck I’d take the ass**le with me. Then Picnic stepped in.
“We still have a truce, brother,” he announced. “At least until we prove they’re behind the attack. I don’t know if you got a close look at the cut our sniper friend was wearing, but it didn’t look quite right to me. Until we know better, Hunter is a guest of the club paying us a friendly visit.”
Yeah, ’cause all friendly visits happen in darkened basements.
Still, the look of frustration on Painter’s face was nice. I winked at him, then followed Em’s dad down the stairs. He unlocked the metal door, which scraped open onto a barren concrete hallway lighted by naked bulbs screwed into the ceiling.
“Nice place,” I murmured, and Picnic snorted back a laugh.
“We try,” he said. “I’ve got a room here that’ll work for you to wait in.”
He unlocked one of the doors lining the hallway. I peeked in. Room, my ass. This was a straight-up prison cell. I cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Thought I was a guest?”
“We’ll leave the door open, don’t worry,” he said, smiling pleasantly. “And I wouldn’t want you getting bored, so I asked Horse to keep you company.”
Horse. Could be worse, I decided. I’d met the man several times in the past few months. Seemed to be a straight shooter. Thorough, too. There’d been an incident with one of our guys back in Seattle around the end of August. Fucker was out bad and on the run. When Horse and Ruger came across him, they’d been sweet enough to call us for a pickup. They’d even wrapped him up as pretty as a Christmas present, all ready for delivery back to his old chapter.
The big Reaper stepped forward, offering me a cold smile.
“Why don’t you fill me in on what’s been happening in Portland while we wait?” he said. “I always love catching up on gossip.”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” I told him, resisting the urge to flip him off. He gestured toward the room graciously enough, so I walked in, flopping down on the low cot. I might not have any serious injuries from the accident, but I figured I’d be plenty sore in the morning, assuming I lived that long. Might as well make myself comfortable for now. Horse followed me in, carrying a rusted metal chair from the hallway. He set it down facing away from me, then straddled it, leaning forward against the backrest.