Page 31 of Forsaking All Others

Before I can rush to his side, Theo’s little body lurches forward.

Everything ceases to exist in that moment.

The fight.

The anger.

It all just fades.

Chapter Nine

Maverick Burnside

It’sall hands on deck, which means every one with a reaper on their back has been working around the clock—including the fucking prospects.

After I left Holly’s, I went straight to the fucking clubhouse where Parrish and Linc were still working their way through my booze. I pulled the retired Knight turned miracle worker aside and told him I had secured the transportation, but he needed to get his guys up to Buffalo immediately. The only way this works is if his club intercepts the shipment at the funeral parlor.

Parrish didn’t waste any time getting on the horn and once he explained everything to Wolf, things started to move on their end. Parrish and Linc took off shortly after and I called a quick meeting with King, Shady, and Ghost, where I revealed Colt would be our transporter.

Shady and Ghost both gave me shit.

You’re fucking crazy.

If Holly finds out she’s going to kill you.

Both men had valid points, but Colt moving the guns was our only hope. We didn’t have time to figure out an alternative plan. I pushed their concerns to the back of my head and informed them that the rest of the club couldn’t know Colt was the one transporting the guns. The less people who knew, the slimmer the chance of Holly finding out.

I called church and gave the rest of the club a modified version of what the fuck was going down. We had our guns stashed all over North Carolina and they needed to collect every motherfucking piece. Hours later, when the sun was starting to rise, they started rolling in.

Now, I’ve got three hundred k in guns and a couple of coffins sitting in the clubhouse.

“I think I got it,” Ink calls as he backs away from the coffin on top of the pool table. I push off the wall and round the table. My gaze cuts to the lining inside the coffin. They’ve been at it for hours, ripping apart these coffins, trying to perfect how we’re going to hide the guns under the lining.

The first go was horrible, then Hawk suggested we add extra padding. That helped but there were only so many pillows lying around here, we had to send the prospects to the craft store for filler. You ever see a bunch of bikers inside a Hobby Lobby before? Yeah, that was an experience. Once they got back with all that fluffy shit, we tore the lining apart and started from scratch.

I smooth a hand over the satin.

“Can’t feel them,” I mutter.

“Can’t see them either,” King adds.

I pull the lining, but it doesn’t give—another win.

“Staple gun worked good,” I comment, lifting my chin. My eyes connect with Ghost’s and he shrugs his shoulders before tossing a silk pillow inside the coffin.

“Not just a pretty face,” he deadpans.

“So are we good?” Hawk asks.

My gaze cuts to King.

“Time?” I question.

He glances down at the timer on his phone and cringes.

“Ten minutes.”

Fuck.

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