Page 51 of Hunter

“I’ll talk to her,” I promised.

“Remember, Hunter”—Wolf clapped my shoulder—“this ain’t up for discussion. I expect you there in an hour.”

“I hear you, Prez.”

Wolf nodded then moved back into the crowd of bikers, shouting orders and clearing out the house before Mallory became too overwhelmed.

Adair had calmed down by now, but Mallory still had him tucked against her chest where the little blond looked content to remain. Anna and Kay sat at the table with them, while Jax and Pretty stood right by her side. I nodded at the two of them when I approached, and they got up and made themselves busy, along with Anna and Kay.

I pulled out the chair next to Mallory’s, then grabbed the bottom of hers and turned it until she faced me. She looked a little startled by the movement, but I had her attention.

“Hey,” I said, leaning in close.

“Hey,” she whispered, a small smile tempting the corner of her lips. Then they fell again, along with her eyes, that soft and vulnerable expression catching back up with her. Fuck, I hated to see her this wound up.

I pulled back a little to look her in the eyes. “We’re gonna stay at the clubhouse until this blows over.”

Mallory’s eyes rounded, and she opened her mouth to no doubt object when I stopped her.

“There’s no way we’re staying here when they’re firing off rounds that break bulletproof glass. I don’t know what they want, Mallory, but no way in hell am I letting you or Adair stay here and risk getting caught in the crossfire.”

Mallory snapped her lips firmly shut. She cast her eyes down to the little boy in her arms, and then to the rest of the house, seeing the huge chunks of wall missing and the broken glass scattered across the floor. “Okay,” she whispered.

I had expected a little more of a fight from her, but as she glanced over to where Jax and Pretty stood by the door, I could see she understood.

After Pretty and Jax had come to her rescue, I hoped she was beginning to believe in me.

We would protect her. All the club would.

Chapter Eighteen

Mallory

You would think being shotat with high-powered guns would remove any insecurities about staying on a compound surrounded wall-to-wall with big, tough bikers who would jump in front of a bullet for you. But when you considered they were the same tough bikers who ran guns through the state, did drugs, drank a lot, and had sex wherever and whenever they wanted, following the principle “the dirtier, the better,” you shouldn’t be surprised at the fact I didn’t want to step through that door.

I stood in front of the threshold, my nearly empty bag wrapped in my arms, looking down at where the asphalt changed into long wooden strips.

“We’re not going to eat you,” Jax said, looking at me with a curled smile. “Well, not unless you ask for it.”

Over the last hour, I had come to know that Jax was, well, a manwhore. It wasn’t hard to notice the type. Of course, he had also written his number on the window when I first met him. However, he didn’t push boundaries, settling for making the odd pass here and there as if I might change my mind.

It looked like I was more likely to kiss Jax than move five feet forward.

“Seriously,” Jax said. “You’ll be safe here.”

I could see I was hurting his feelings and his club’s pride by refusing to go in.

“That’s not the problem,” I muttered.

“What?” Jax leaned down to my height. “Did you say something, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, fuck off,” Hunter growled from behind me.

Jax stepped back, raising his hands with my pink suitcase hanging from one arm. The suitcase was now filled with my new designer boxers and shirts labeled “Hunter’s.” What a fashionista I had become.

“Pink looks good on you.” Hunter smirked at Jax. “Come into your inner feminism?”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Jax scoffed, sarcasm rolling off his tongue. “You’re funny. Anyone ever tell you that?”

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