Page 31 of Hendrix

“Nobody should cover for him,” I concurred. “If he’s caught doin’ the crime, he’ll have to do the time. Problem is, I can’t kick him outta the club for stepping out on his wife. That’s a fallout we’ll have to deal with if and when it happens.”

“Fuck Fletcher. We’ve got enough goin’ on. Tonight we roll.” Iceman’s eyebrows waggled. “And you get your hands on your woman again.”

A jolt of electricity hit my chest. Getting sidetracked with all the other drama took Anna off my mind, if only for a minute or two. Then somebody would mention her name, and the nerves would hit me out of nowhere.

My anxiety wasn’t about the mission. It was all about seeing Anna again after so long.

Had she changed?

How did she feel about me now?

Was she still the same woman I fell hook, line, and sinker for?

Was I about to go and kidnap a woman who hated the sight of my face and wanted to gut me with a blunt, rusty knife?

Fuck.

I squared my shoulders. “Yep, tonight we roll. Dunno what we’re heading into, but Tristan told me she’d had a hard time with her ol’ man. I’ll start by getting her head straight from that bullshit and then make it clear how it’s gonna go from there.”

“Oh Jesus.” Ice laughed.

Colt’s lips twitched, and he leaned forward. “I better call Freya and tell her to go out and buy some popcorn.” His mouth stretched into a wide smile. “’Cause if this shit goes down like it did back in Wyoming, I want a front-row seat.”

CHAPTER SIX

HENDRIX

Iraised my hand to signal at the tall, dark, menacing figure emerging from the main doors of Dulles International Airport.

The sight of Breaker in his classic jeans, beat-up sneakers, and tight black tee with a rucksack slung over one shoulder emerging from the curved, space-age-looking building hit me as a strange juxtaposition. The classic American Marlboro Man type sauntering toward me against the backdrop of modern architecture seemed ridiculous, but then Kit Stone always had been his own person and made no apologies for it.

The smile spreading across his face was wide but lazy, and his golden eyes sparkled with humor as he took me in on his approach. “You look like a man-bun toting commando on his day off,” he called over.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. Usually, I lived in my biker gear much the same as Breaker. Jeans, boots or sneakers, a tee if I could be bothered, and my cut, but today, knowing what lay ahead, I’d worn the standard commando garb of black pants, tee, boots, and Ray-Bans.

Grabbing his hand, I pulled him in for a man hug, clapping him on the shoulder as he got close. “How ya doin’, brother?”

“I’m good,” he confirmed, pulling back to study me, his eyes darkening. “How you feelin’?”

“Excited, terrified, and like I wanna shoot someone in the head in equal measure,” I admitted.

He leveled me with a look. “I’m under strict instructions to take Anna back to Wyoming.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Not gonna happen. Already told Tristan that.”

He let out a chuckle, his hand reaching for the door of the SUV. “Tristan’s losing his mind. He’s booked on the morning flight. It’s good to see you’ve finally got your head outta your ass. Saves me knocking some sense into ya—” he grinned “—again.”

A few years back, I lost my mind over Ace’s betrayal and losing Anna, and I started trouble at a club party over in Wyoming. Breaker kicked my ass, though all I remember is being so lit at the time that I saw three of him, so it wasn’t a shock I tried to hit the wrong one.

I barked a laugh, watching him slide into the vehicle. “The only way you beat me before was ‘cause I was wasted. You sucker punched me.”

He grinned. “Knocked you clean out, asshole. No sucker punches involved.”

Still chuckling, I rounded the hood and jumped into the driver’s side, glancing over at Breaker. “How’s Kennedy?”

“Get your thoughts off my woman,” he growled.

“Jesus,” I muttered. “Talk about whipped.”

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