“What about it?”
“One biker was killed, another is in jail with Brogan’s teeth marks where his arm used to be, and the girl… She’s the daughter of the Prez. She’s a rat, but she’s in protective custody.”
(I totes owe Brogan another freakin’ T-bone.)
My throat works as I think about the consequences of the shooting and what it might mean for us… God, when I talked about this with Zee, I didn’t think we’d be coming face-to-face with it forty minutes later!
“Please, be safe, Cody,” I plead.
“I’ll be fine so long as you keep your ass in the truck. Seriously, Tee?—”
Irritation pierces my anxiety. “I heard you the first time, Cody!”
“I know you better than you think. Don’t make me split my attention.”
“I won’t,” I grate out, but it’s hard to be annoyed at the lack of trust because if they hurt him, I’m not sure Icouldstay put.
(It’s so annoying he knows that.)
Keeping my fingers, tits, and toes crossed, I cringe when they force us off the asphalt and onto the dirt access road that runs parallel to the highway. They can’t yank them open because he locked the doors when I clambered into the truck, but the bikes shuffle downwind.
“Razer? What the fuck is going on?” he hollers once he’s lowered his window.
“Razer ain’t here,” a biker sneers. “We’d like to have a chat with you. Get out of the truck.”
“I will but she won’t.”
“Don’t.” My hand collides with his knee.
When I squeeze, he grumbles, “Bad knee.”
“Fuck.” I shift it higher on his thigh, clutching it as I rasp, “Please,don’t. It’s suicide.”
“That’s fine,” the biker yells. “Our beef ain’t with her anyway.”
As much of a relief as that should be, I’m still sweating buckets.
“Don’t, Cody. Please.”
“They’re not going to drop this until I do. It’s fine, baby.”
“It’s the opposite of fine!”
Sucking in a breath when I take him in, I register an unsavory truth—he’s not putting on a brave face. Heisfine.
In fact, he’s calm as fuck.
Ice cold.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is my man.
Except, he isn’t.
And he needs to be.
Officially.
Ring on his finger and everything?—