Page 32 of Ruthless Reign

Another pause while she listened to her best friend on the other end of the call. Dad had already fielded a few calls from Diesel up in Thorn Valley, but he wouldn’t accept the offered help. Not yet anyway. Diesel was still rebuilding after this shitstorm he had up there barely months ago.

And I knew Dad wouldn’t want this psychopath near anyone else that he cared about. It seemed Becca was on the same page there. She needed no coaching from Dad or us to diffuse the concern from Ava Jade, and I knew it was for the same reason. Becca might not be as physically vicious as her best friend, but she was just as viciously loyal.

“No, babe,” she said to something from Ava Jade. “I’m not running. I need to stay here. I have to see this through.”

My jaw clenched and twin sensations of pride and dread swelled and shriveled in my gut.

Hardin’s door clicked open, and I turned to find him looking at me, brow raised at how I was standing, two steaming mugs of java with my ear damn near pressed to the door.

“What?”

He jerked his head toward the living room in a silent command to follow him.

I rolled my eyes but followed, setting the mugs down on the side table before my fingertips got burned right off the damn bone.

“What is it? Did you hear from Dad?”

He nodded.

“And?”

“And we have the Jackals, the Rock St. Boys, and the Langs. The Gunners and the Kells are out.”

Fuck. The Gunners would have been a big win for our side. They’re the biggest gang next to ours that Dad allowed to operate in the area. The Kells I kinda saw coming. With their Irish roots they likely stayed loyal to Séamas out of a sense of misplaced patriotism—or maybe they knew him or at least of him. His exploits in the home country.

That intel was being slowly gathered by Pope for us from our international contacts and let me fucking tell you, it ain’t pretty.

“You think the Kells will tell Séamas?”

Hardin pushed a hand through his hair, the tattoo over his brow rising. “No, man,” he said as if it were obvious. “No one is going to risk Damien’s wrath if we win.”

“If?”

His fist clenched. “When,” he corrected. “When we win.”

“Any word on the senator? Did Dad get in to meet with him?”

Hardin scoffed, lifting his haughty gaze to the heavens. “The coward took off. The official statement from his office is that he’s taking an extended vacation for his health. To Panama.”

I snorted. “Real fucking original.”

We sat in silence for a minute, both of us thinking through the implications. From Panama the senator could still make calls, write emails. He could still do Séamas’ bidding. But he knew if he did, he risked my father’s retaliation when he returned. When we win.

Likely he’s there in hiding until this all blows over, doing nothing to aid either side. Coward was damn right. But he was better removed from the playing field than playing for the enemy team.

Dad normally wouldn’t touch a politician. But in this case? In this case anyone was going to be fair game if many more of his Saints were taken from us.

Tiny feet tiptoed into the living room and Becca cursed when she saw us, her hand snatching to her chest as if she’d had no idea we were here. “Fuck, sorry. Um. Morning.”

“Morning,” I answered, lifting her mug from the side table to bring it to her. “I was just about to bring you a coffee.”

She took it, muttering a thanks.

What I wouldn’t fucking give to see her smile.

Ever since Friday, when she came rushing out of her classroom with paint covered hands and ghosts in her eyes, she hadn’t been the same. Hardin went in to investigate and found a half ruined portrait she’d painted. He wouldn’t talk about what it looked like, just that it was wrecked.

Becca wouldn’t talk about it, either, and they’d barely said a word to each other in the two days since. I doubted she was planning to go to class tomorrow. Or ever again.

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