Page 92 of Ruthless Reign

No. Not in my head.

My phone rang loud in my inside pocket and I spat blood, gasping to get the words out. “Thirty s-seconds,” I choked out.

Pauly grabbed me by the front of my coat, shaking me, his blue eyes intent on mine, wide and red veined. “What have you done?”

I tasted the copper on my tongue as I smiled. “It’s too late to stop it.”

“Go!” Pauly hissed at the Son with him. “Disable it.”

“He won’t make it.”

And I doubted the poor bastard even knew how. He was running right into the grave and he hadn’t even thought about it. So willing to give his life for the cause. For Da.

Pauly lifted me from the floor, and I let him as the air returned to my lungs and the black spots cleared enough from my vision to see. “I’m taking you to your Da.”

When he went to drag my arm over his shoulder, I used his own momentum against him, fingering the blade from my belt to bury it between his second and third rib, angling the sharp edge upward.

He spluttered, releasing my arm, staring between me and the blade. “I’m sorry, Pauly,” I told him as he fell to his knees. “I can’t go back. Not anymore.”

I turned away, stumbling, half blind and half deaf, praying I could get far enough before the C4 tore this building to shredded metal ribbons and me with it.

Pope’s dead.

It was him. He was the reason Kaleb didn’t have a vest the night of the meet, and I remembered him being there, sitting on the porch the night before, guarding the house while I went with Dad to meet with Santa Clarita PD. He’d had unrestricted access to the Bronco. And the vest Kaleb always kept beneath the back seats.

He also had unimpeded access to the payment meant for Séamas the night of the meet. Pope made sure that payment was light. Pope was ready to let Kaleb die.

I wanted to tear him apart myself with my bare hands, but when I told Dad, he’d wanted to deal with it himself. Pope was practically family. He’d been with us since I was a shithead teenager with a bad temper and an ax to grind.

He didn’t even deny it. He admitted his betrayal when Dad confronted him. Said he never thought it would go so far. That the bastard Séamas promised to spare him and his family. And after what Séamas did to the Warden and his men and every other smaller gang in the area, I could forgive being?—

Nah. Nah I couldn’t forgive it.

And neither could Dad.

Fucking coward.

He called me back when it was done.

Pope only made one request before biting the bullet. Safe haven for his family if they needed it. Apparently, they didn’t know about his dirty dealings. And Dad being Dad agreed to take them in if needed. To cut them in on Pope’s usual take from the autobody shop until his wife could get back on her feet.

It was more than the fucker deserved.

Dad should’ve sent him to hell thinking the worst of the worst, but he’d offered the traitor a peaceful death. He should’ve let me have him.

I scratched absently on a pad of paper with a pencil, the blunt numb digging deep graphite grooves in the pages as I watched the newly installed camera feed surrounding the house.

Dad had Santa Clarita PD patrolling the streets in the area, but in my limited experience, they were absolutely useless. Uniformed dogs, easily distracted, highly caffeinated, and easily provoked when presented with a bone.

A couple soft knocks sounded at my bedroom door, and I glanced at the time. Nearly four in the morning.

She didn’t wait for me to answer her before coming in.

“Hardin?”

I tossed the spent pencil onto the desk with a sigh. “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

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