Page 133 of Ruthless Reign

With or without Ava Jade and her Crows.

With or without help from the majority of the other smaller gangs operating in this state.

Only one showed up when Damien put out the call. They were a local motorcycle club. Fourteen men in total. At least they looked like they knew what they were doing. These weren’t a bunch of wannabe gangsters with pistols and small-dick energy.

They were leather-clad, tattooed, stone faced men ranging from their mid-twenties to forty-five. Apparently their leader was a friend of Damien’s who owed him a favor from a long time ago. His MC—Sinners—had multiple chapters around Cali, too, and he’d called in the nearest ones to help but none of us had any hopes they’d get here in time to make a difference with the nearest one being a couple hundred miles away.

Sloane convinced him to contact the local PD, but they wouldn’t get involved. Not in the fight itself. But they did agree to shut down traffic going into and out of campus to limit the risk to civilians until this was over.

“Have you heard from Diesel at all?” I asked hopefully, searching the faces in the gymnasium for my guys, but they weren’t back yet from grabbing the vests from the Bronco.

Damien shook his head. “Nah. Nothing yet. I don’t think he’s going to make it. We’re on our own.”

I nodded gravely.

I flinched as his hand came down on my shoulder, snapping my head back up to find him staring hard into my eyes. “If you’re even half as strong as your mother was, you’re going to be all right.”

“She wasn’t,” I muttered, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“No,” he said with a sigh. “She wasn’t. But me and my boys are going to do everything we can to make sure the same thing doesn’t happen to you. When the fighting starts, stick close to them, yeah?”

“I will.”

As he dropped his hand, he pinched the collar of the shirt I wore, giving it a quizzical look. “Is this what you were wearing before?”

“Uh. No.”

I tried not to let my face heat as I looked down at the shirt. It was a sheer deep emerald blouse with a little black satin tie at the neck. I’d stolen it from the fancy ass pile of clothes in the lost and found after Aodhán ruined my other shirt.

I could’ve picked a plainer t-shirt. I probably should’ve.

But when I saw the St. Laurent blouse, I knew I had to wear it.

Toby would’ve loved it.

He would’ve scooped it out of the bin, eyes gleaming as he proclaimed what a score it was. Then he would’ve laundered it and sold it for a solid five hundred bucks like the absolute baddie he was.

“It’s nice,” Damien said awkwardly and I thought it might’ve been the first time he ever made an attempt to compliment something as trivial as a shirt. “Is it one of those fancy designer brands?—”

“We really don’t have to do this.” I winced.

He inhaled, looking relieved. “Thank fuck.”

Despite the heavy aura in the room, I let out a small chuckle that wasn’t fake at all. “We can bond over good whiskey instead—if we survive.”

“When,” Damien corrected, giving me a pointed look. “When we survive, I’ll hold you to that.”

I held out my hand, and he took it, giving it a firm shake. “Deal.”

“Hawk,” Hardin called, and I turned to find the three of them entering the gymnasium, each one wearing a bulletproof vest. Hardin held a smaller one in his right hand and jerked his chin for me to come over to where they were setting up some shit behind a stack of tires.

Damien went back to barking orders, and I rushed over to where the guys were in the semi-privacy behind the stacks of tires.

“What was that about?” Kaleb asked as I stepped into their group, letting Hardin slip the heavy vest onto my arms.

“What?”

“With Dad.”

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