Page 111 of Beautifully Wounded

“That’s weird.” Patrick frowns, and right as he opens his mouth to say something else, loud yelling from out in the warehouse has us moving quickly in that direction, guns raised.

“Put your guns down!” a voice booms, over and over, and as I step out into the warehouse where JD retreated with Trigger and Mule, I come face to face with some of the deadliest motherfuckers around.

Marx brothers.

“Lower your guns,” I order my team as I step forward, catching my mate Liam’s attention.

The cheeky fucker has the audacity to fucking grin as he points his gun at me, kissing the air and shooting me a wink.

“Hey Camy boy.”

“Fuck off, you prick. It’s Ringo to you.” I chuckle and the four Marx brothers, plus Riggs, their head of security, lower their guns as they chuckle too.

“Jesus, do you arseholes sleep in suits?” JD teases as he steps up to my side, and Kendrick shrugs.

“I was born in a fucking suit.”

“Speak for yourself,” Liam whines. “These fucking shirts choke me.”

“What the fuck are you complaining about? I heard you like to be choked.” Oswald, the youngest Marx present, snickers, and Liam rolls his eyes.

“Dude. I’m the giver, not the receiver.”

“Fucking hell.” Conrad Marx, the oldest Marx present, shoves past them and steps forward. “I swear I have no idea how he’s still fucking alive.” He holds out his hand to shake. “Ringo. Good to see you again.”

Taking his offer, I shake his hand before the other brothers step forward and do the same.

It’s more formal than what I’m used to. MC members don’t exactly shake hands.

Maybe a slap on the shoulder, a fist bump, or even a simple nod is how we typically greet someone, which is exactly the way Riggs greets me. With a nod.

Seth Riggs has been a part of the Marx crew for as long as I can remember. He grew up with Conrad. They were best mates, from what I’ve been told. When he was in his teens, Ewan Marx, the father and leader of the Marx family, recruited Riggs as one of his soldiers, and after years of loyalty, Riggs was bumped up to the head of the Marx security, watching over Ewan and his heir, Leo as they lead.

This guy doesn’t fuck around. He’s loyal to a tee, and fucking deadly in the blink of an eye, yet here, now, he re-holsters his gun, not at all finding us a threat.

We are, after all, working together.

“So what the fuck is happening? Why did we get an alert? And why couldn’t we access comms?” Kendrick asks, taking the lead on behalf of the family.

“We are trying to figure that out now.” I turn to Patrick, who starts filling Kendrick in on the surveillance issue.

Noise from behind us makes the Marx men stiffen, their hands on their weapons in an instant, but I hold up my hand to reassure them.

“It’s my men. They were checking comms and doing a security sweep.”

“Always got it all covered,” Liam chuckles, coming up to my side and bumping his shoulder into mine.

“Always,” I agree, watching my men approach.

“Please tell me we are gonna hit a club or two when this lockdown lifts. I could use some Ringo time.”

I chuckle, taking in my mate. “I don’t think your old man would be too fucking happy about that.”

“Nah, he’s too busy putting Leo up on a pedestal to notice my clubbing habits. Being child number eight has its perks.” Liam grins, wagging his brows, and I can’t help but grin back.

I have a feeling he’d like Abbey. Hell, I have a feeling she’d like him too.

My smile drops. Yeah-nah, I don’t like that fucking idea.

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