Page 29 of Ryder

“I’m afraid so.” She gave me a grin before getting to her feet, Stone watching her and rushing right over. I thought it was adorable how much he fussed over her.

“Damnit, woman, you need to go lie down.”

“Wanna come with me? Finish where we left off before?” Marek overheard their conversation and lifted his chin toward his VP. “We have your friend’s approval. Now help me back to your room.”

Stone just shook his head as he picked up his fiancée, carrying her down the hallway instead of allowing her to walk.

After briefly chatting about her own pregnancy, Reece and I soon followed suit and went back to our respective rooms.

The more I slept, the sooner Ryder would come back to me.

Ryder

My mind raced with everything I still wanted to tell Braylen, but I knew I had to focus on what was going to happen as soon as Breck, Jagger, Tripp and Cutter arrived. I had no doubt they’d snag the Reapers and bring them to us to be dealt with.

Hawke and I were in the basement of our club’s safe house, which was only an hour away from our compound. It was located in an average-looking residential area—hiding in plain sight, so to speak.

The room was soundproof, which made it perfect to do what we needed to and remain inconspicuous with our neighbors. I was sure they often wondered about who lived there, but they never saw any of us long enough to inquire. We visited mostly at night, pulling directly into the garage and sealing out the rest of the world until our job was finished.

That night would be no different.

“I can’t take this much longer,” Hawke complained, pacing while driving the both of us crazy.

“If you don’t stay still, I’m gonna put you on your ass, brother,” I threatened, his anxiety increasing my own.

“Fuck you.”

“No, thanks. I got a woman for that.”

“Yeah, a woman those fuckers attacked.”

He just had to go and throw that back at me, didn’t he? I advanced on him, shoving him against the nearest wall, my hands clutching his cut and barely keeping him still.

“I know exactly what they did to her, one bastard in particular. Don’t forget that shit.” I drew my hands back but stayed planted in his personal space. “I know you want revenge for what they did to your woman. I only have a sliver of an idea of the rage flowing through your veins, but you need to rein it in. And do it before they get here. Otherwise you could do something that’ll blow back on all of us.”

Hawke’s expression was blank, his eyes glazing over before becoming glassy. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought he was about to cry, and I knew it would have nothing to do with him being scared or sad or any of that crap. I knew it was because the fury ricocheting through him was almost too much, and his body needed some sort of release.

After several minutes of the both of us standing toe-to-toe, the silence both our friend and enemy, he gathered himself and nodded, the glassiness of his eyes disappearing as if it never existed.

My phone dinged a half hour later with a text message. Looking to Hawke, I said, “They’re coming down the street now.”

I should’ve been used to blood-curdling screams from these bastards, but I wasn’t. It took me a few minutes after Cutter started in on one of the two Reapers they’d ambushed at the Overbrook to regain my steel composure. The smell of blood, piss, and vomit filled my nostrils and turned my stomach.

Breck had been keeping watch in the dark across the street from the strip joint when a man fitting the description of the one who attacked Braylen pulled up on his bike, two more of his buddies flanking him on his right side. More of them had arrived after his initial call to Marek. I was sure if anyone saw Breck, they would’ve thought he was some sort of creeper, hiding in the cage—aka van—with a large pair of binoculars attached to his face.

Once backup had arrived in the form of his father, Jagger and Tripp hid in the back until Breck told them their opportunity had arrived. Two stumbling Reapers appeared outside and briefly argued, their scene enough of a distraction to allow our men to swoop in and snatch them. Jagger had explained it had been easy—a few punches and both of the enemy’s men had been rendered unconscious.

Now they were both strapped to chairs, their hands and feet bound so they had no chance of escape. They’d die in this basement, their bodies never to be discovered. Their disappearance from the Overbook would be speculated over, but no one would be able to prove what happened to them. Much like their president, Psych. They all figured we had something to do with him vanishing, but they had no proof.

And they never would.

The guys had put trackers on all of the Reapers’ bikes sitting outside the joint. We knew their club would recover their rides and take them back to their relocated compound. The night Psych had Zip killed, kidnapping Adelaide and Kena, we’d called in reinforcements from our Laredo chapter, wiping out the Reapers’ clubhouse, killing as many as we could during the battle and setting their compound ablaze.

Circling the two men, reveling in their distress, I cracked my neck from side to side, thinking about exactly what I wanted to do to them. The one with the jagged scar more than the other fucker.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” one of them cried. “Please just stop.” Cutter had detached a few of his fingers and was preparing to take off his right thumb when he pleaded with us to cease the torture.

“Man the fuck up,” Breck yelled. “You knew what you were getting into when you joined that cesspool of a club.” He landed a harrowing punch straight to the guy’s nose and blood spurted everywhere. “We don’t need to hear anything you wanna tell us.”

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