Page 23 of August 20

Jagger stepped back from the flames. Maverick slapped his president on the shoulder to get his attention and then pointed toward the building. He needed to get back home.

He'd had Brett, a new prospect, stay at the house. That alone made him nervous. He hadn't built any trust with the club.

Brooke and Skye had been asleep when he left, but he knew they wouldn't like seeing a stranger if either woke.

"Yeah, go ahead and clean up." Jagger met his gaze. "Thanks for your help tonight."

He jogged into the clubhouse. They all had extra clothes stashed inside for when jobs got dirty. He quickly took a shower, scrubbing his sins off his skin. Then he redressed in clean clothes from his duffle.

Bane came into the bathroom and gathered everything he had worn tonight. They, too, would go into the barrel.

Leaving his hair wet, he went outside and started his Harley. The job was only supposed to take a couple of hours, not five.

The security job got dirty as they often would.

Jagger jogged over to him before he could get out of there. "Meet with me tomorrow night."

"Where?" He coughed, tugging on his beard.

"Your house is fine. I need five minutes of your time." Jagger glanced at the building and then back at Maverick. "Around ten."

His throat burned, and he swallowed, trying to soothe the spasms to rest. Lately, ten o'clock was about the time Skye went to bed.

Each time he left the house or had someone else watch Brooke and Skye, he risked his plan failing. One mistake and his freedom would be taken away. He'd be sitting back in prison.

He ran his hand over his face. He'd need to make sure they were settled for the night. The last thing he'd want was Brooke to overhear club business.

It was getting harder to think of his end game. Brooke was a good woman. A good guardian for Skye.

He could find no fault with her. Except she'd go to the grave trying to keep him from his daughter.

There was only one way he was going to gain custody of Skye. And that was if Brooke was out of the picture.

"Tomorrow." He revved the bike.

Jagger stepped back. Maverick rode off. It only took five minutes to reach the house.

The lights were on in the living room. When he'd left, only the television lit the room. Brett had made himself at home on the couch before he locked the door. Brooke was asleep in the same bed as Skye, safe behind a closed door.

Something was wrong.

Alerted to something going on in the house, he parked and jogged to the front door. He let himself in using his key, only to find Brooke standing at the back of the room, near the hallway, and Brett standing by the front window.

Going by the look on Brooke's face, she wasn't happy. He glanced at Brett, who shrugged.

He moved between them and faced Brooke, motioning for her to talk.

Instead of explaining what was going on, she stepped forward. Her arm came up in his peripheral vision before her hand sailed through the air toward him. His cheek stung from the slap across his face.

She turned to leave the room, and he grabbed her upper arm, lifting her to her toes. He swung his gaze over his shoulder.

"Out." His throat screamed with tension.

Brett quickly exited the house. Maverick took Brooke to lock the door with him, then backed her against the wall. Nobody slapped him and got away with it.

He'd sliced the throat of his stepfather for laying a hand on him at the age of fifteen. Too bad the fucker lived.

His mom had run off with the asshole, and Maverick hadn't heard a word from her since. As far as he was concerned, they were both dead to him.

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