Page 10 of Utah

Just when the silence turned borderline suffocating, Marek finally spoke. “We’ll make them pay for what they did to Crash and to you.” Prez and Stone nodded, a unified front. “They’re done fuckin’ with us.”

“That means we’re going to Mexico to meet with Rafael?” I asked, attempting to sit up in bed. I made it halfway before giving up. “Demand payback for what his nephew did?”

“We’re going,” Prez said, pointing to himself and the other two guys. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Fuck that,” I all but shouted. “I wanna be there. Ineedto be there.”

Prez shook his head as Stone added to the conversation. “You’re no good to us or yourself in this condition. You’ll only hamper what needs to be done.”

“No way.” I could be as obstinate as them. “Right before that bastard put a bullet in his brain, Crash told me he didn’t want to die. He tried his best to be brave, but he was scared. I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t save him. Fuck… I couldn’t even give him any peace in the end. But I will be there to make sure Javier pays for what he did.”

There was no question in any of our minds that Javier Carrillo was behind everything, including following Emmy, running me, Crash, and Knox off the road, cutting the camera wires at Cloud Nine, and killing a member of our club. I wasn’t privy to any communication between Prez, Marek, and Rafael, but they’d been trying to set up an in-person meeting for months. How much the head of the Los Zappas cartel knew about his nephew’s antics, I didn’t think anyone knew yet.

I thought one of them was going to argue once more, telling me I couldn’t go to Mexico for the meetup, but after all three men shared a look, Prez’s gaze landed on me.

“We leave in a week.” Relief flooded my veins. “Do you have a follow up appointment with the doctor?”

“Yeah, in a couple days.”

“Ask him for extra pain meds. You’re gonna have to load up on them if you’re gonna be of any use,” Stone said.

“Okay” was my only response, thankful they weren’t going to make me stay behind.

6

As I pulled into the clubhouse parking lot, my stomach flipped with an emotion I couldn’t readily identify. Nervousness? Excitement? Apprehension? A blend of all three?

“Hey, sis.” Knox strolled toward me, his hair sticking up in several places. Something must be bothering him because his hair only looked like that when he was stressed out. Although, to be fair, losing Crash and almost losing Utah would be enough to unnerve him. Or perhaps my coming here to bring Utah back to my place to stay with me while he healed was the root cause. Either way, my brother was strong enough to deal with whatever came his way.

He’d been Evie’s and my protector since our dad died eight years ago. And while Knox drove us crazy with his overprotectiveness, deep down, my sister and I knew his actions were driven from a place of love. That didn’t stop us from arguing from time to time, though. I thought once Kyla came into his life, he'd focus more on her well-being and give his sisters a break, but no such thing happened. Apparently, he had enough annoyance to pass around.

“How’s everything?” I asked, slinging my purse over my shoulder before exiting the car. “How’s Utah feeling? I texted him to tell him I was on my way, but he didn’t respond.”

“He’s okay. I was just in his room.” Before I could mentally dive into the million reasons why he hadn’t responded to my message, Knox grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the clubhouse entrance. “Get out of your head, Ria. His phone died.”

It was both a blessing and a curse as to how well my brother knew me.

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” I lied, squeezing his hand.

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, flashing me a loving grin.

Once inside, we walked past several of the guys, the tension in the air palpable. Rez and Nash leaned against the bar, nodding in my direction when we made eye contact. Two men I didn’t recognize stood near them. One of them was slightly bigger than Utah with a skull inked in the middle of his neck, the face of the image looking like it was on fire from the inside. The other guy was older, possibly in his late forties or early fifties, with dark blond hair cut shorter on the sides and a beard longer than that of the man I was here to see.

Their cuts gave away that they were part of the club, but I asked the question anyway. “Who are they?”

“The big fucker is Brick, and the other guy is Stone, the VP of the California charter.”

“Why are they here?”

“Club business” was all he uttered, practically dragging me toward the hallway.

“Slow down.” I tugged my hand free, and he slowed his steps until I walked ahead of him.

“Don’t want anyone else to get any ideas about you,” he said.

“Ha ha.” My sarcasm dripped over both syllables.

His smirk relieved me of any thought he’d been serious. There was a time not long ago when I believed Knox would never be friends with Utah again, but he seemed to have come around. Perhaps my pregnancy had something to do with him letting go of his anger, or maybe it was Utah nearly being killed. Whatever the reason, I was grateful we could all move forward.

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