Page 56 of Filthy Devil

“You were stabbed. Of course, the rest is Dark Horse business, so I don’t know anything else.”

I snort, then moan because that shit hurt my side. Shawn isn’t stupid. She knows a hell of a lot, which is about club business, too. She’d never admit that, though, not to me or anyone else. She’s a great old lady. She’s who I would have chosen for King if I had a say in it. Which I didn’t, but I’m happy as fuck they found one another.

“Of course, it is. Club business. Where’s Elvis?” I ask.

She presses her lips together, rolling them a few times before she pushes away from the window and walks back over to me. She stops at the foot of my bed, tipping her chin slightly as her gaze takes in mine.

“He’s at the clubhouse,” she whispers, her tone low, her eyes focused on mine and looking nowhere else but at me. Sucking in a deep breath, she holds it for a moment and lets it out slowly.

“What aren’t you telling me, Shawn?”

She doesn’t speak right away, and since I know she isn’t an overly dramatic person, I am, without a doubt, sure that this is something bigger than I realize or maybe bigger than I want to know.

“Shawn,” I demand.

Shawn flicks her gaze down at the bed, then lifts it to meet mine again. “The clubhouse was attacked,” she whispers.

“Mine?” I demand.

She nods her head once. “A stripper’s body was dumped at the entrance to the clubhouse. We didn’t find her until everyone was running out to find James, who had stolen an SUV and Tommy G’s phone, to go rogue and find you.”

Shit.

“And the clubhouse?” I ask.

“While we were dealing with the stripper, a group of guys ran off to track down James. A fire was started.”

“A fire?” I ask. “The kids?” I demand.

She smiles softly, reaching for my hand. She wraps her fingers around it gently and squeezes. “The kids are good,” she assures me. “Everyone made it out. But then James found you, and there are still pieces scattered all over that everyone is trying to pick up and deal with.”

“The Southern fucking Mafia,” I grind out.

“Basically,” a deep voice growls.

Turning my attention toward the door, I watch as my son walks through, my grandchildren at his sides. Together, the three of them walk into the room. The kids’ eyes are wide as they stare at me. They look scared as shit.

“Dad,” Elvis murmurs.

And in this moment, my whole fucking world implodes. I am too goddamn old for this shit. Wars and killing. This is why I left it all to the younger generation. I am exhausted. Pushing myself up to a seated position, I can’t take my eyes off my son.

“End this,” I rasp. “We need to end this now.”

Elvis jerks his chin. “We’re already working on it. Southern Mafia and Demon Guns were at war with one another, leaving us alone for the most part except for this. This shit is all retaliation because they think we took what belonged to them. But James was always ours. Vixen’s kid was always under the club’s protection.”

“What happens now?” I ask. “Don’t pussyfoot around this shit, Elvis. Enough is e-fucking-nough.”

“Agreed. I’m done. We have a list of their bases. And I’ve already sent men out to them. They like to start fires. We’ll set bombs.”

“Good boy,” I mutter.

“Dad?” he asks. I don’t say anything in response. I jerk my chin slightly as I wait. He clears his throat and then continues. “We want you to come back to Pineville.”

“Pineville?” I ask. “I’m good here.”

“We don’t like you being so far away,” Shawn whispers. “This whole thing was scary.”

I almost laugh, but I can’t because I really do look like a fucking old man in this bed, so there’s nothing I can say about that shit. I snort, then focus my attention on my son.

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