Page 4 of Everest

Thor wipes sweat from his brow. “You gotta name, beautiful?” He cocks his head, flashing her a smile.

“That’s classified,” she says.

Thor places a hand over his heart like she just shot him. “Damn. Does that mean your number is classified too?” he teases, and she smiles a little.

“Afraid so.” She turns and climbs into the van, closing the door.

Cowboy snorts as the vehicle drives away. “You’d flirt with a rattlesnake if it batted its eyelashes at you,” he tells Thor.

“I thrive on danger.” Thor chuckles with a confident grin.

Riggs strides over to us. “Listen up, everyone! Just got off the line with Wick. He and Tequila are about to welcome their little one into the world.” He shoots a broad grin at Cowboy, Thor, and Preacher. “Ya’ll up for another trip?”

The three look at each other, and then Cowboy answers, “Let the good times roll!”

We all climb in the chopper and when we land in Louisiana, we’re running on fumes, but there is no time to waste. We tear through the streets toward the hospital, pushing speed limits and barely making stops.

When we hit the waiting room, Riggs makes a beeline for his woman, Luna, who is holding their daughter. The small space is filled wall to wall with family and friends. At that exact moment, Wick steps in, wearing a massive grin.

“I have a son,” he announces, his voice thick with emotion.

The room erupts, cheers reverberating off the walls. I lean back against the cool wooden door frame, letting the moment's sheer energy wash over me as Wick’s parents and Tequila’s dad are the first to rush forward, their faces radiating pride and joy that lights up the entire space. One by one, friends and family step forward, their voices merging into a blend of congratulations, laughter, and excited chatter.

I stroll over to Wick. “Congratulations, brother.” Gripping his shoulder tightly, I ask, “How’s Tequila?”

Wick grins. “Good.” His eyes sparkle with mischief. "She’s insisting on seeing the family.” He scans the room, relishing the moment and the love surrounding him.

Kiwi laughs. “Are they aware of how many of us there are?”

“Don’t care. I’m just followin’ orders, brother,” Wick says, leading the way down the hall with one hell of a following in tow.

We pack into the small hospital room like a can of sardines, pumped to see Tequila and the newest Kings of Retribution family member. Wick sits on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arm around his woman, and the other hand resting on the tiny bundle wrapped in a soft blue blanket cradled in Tequila’s arms. “Everyone," Wick says, and the room falls silent. He looks back down at his son. "I'd like you to meet Damien Dawson.”

From where I stand, my gaze drifts across the room to where London stands next to Promise and Nova. Something stirs deep within me. It feels like a wave that rises from the pit of my stomach.

Thoughts of someday having a family of my own spiral through my mind.

Thoughts I don’t need to feel while staring at London.

2

LONDON

For me, sitting in a courtroom is like a drug. I’m addicted to watching little bitches like Mitch Reeves sweat. Reeves is just as slimy as the client sitting to his right. Both men wear matching expressions of victory. The smug victory smirk is my favorite. I live for it. It makes grabbing imbeciles like Reeves and his client, Bradford Davis, by their balls so satisfying.

To recap, Mr. Davis blindsided his wife of thirty-five years with divorce papers six months ago. He tried to take the quick and easy route by claiming irreconcilable differences. At first, Mrs. Davis was going to accept it even though she was utterly devastated. But when Mr. Davis also announced he was leaving her with nothing but her personal items and the car he bought her five years ago, she decided it was time to fight.

I still remember the day Caroline Davis walked into my office. She was a wreck and lost. Mrs. Davis spent over thirty years dependent on her husband and was suddenly facing homelessness.Not on my watch.If I know anything, it's if a loving and devoted husband of thirty-plus years turns cold and distant out of the blue, you can bet your ass he’s dipping his funky wick where it doesn’t belong. Men are dogs, and they’reall predictable. At first, Mrs. Davis insisted her husband would never cheat, but after some convincing, she finally agreed to let me hire a private detective to see what her not-so-loyal husband had been up to. I wasn’t surprised to find out I was right.

Mrs. Davis, on the other hand, was devastated. I watched that poor woman’s heart break. Then, she turned it into anger and rage. Rage, I could work with. It meant nailing her cheating husband’s ass to the wall. Which is exactly what I'm about to do.

Yesterday, we sat and listened to Reeves’ lame attempt at painting Mr. Davis as a picture-perfect husband. Today, however, is my time to shine. As Mr. Davis makes his way to the stand, I cut my eyes over to Reeves. He flashes me a killer smile—one that he thinks can bring any woman to her knees, when it would have me covering my drink.

Ignoring Reeves, I uncross my legs and stand. With my eye on the prize, I casually stand in front of the judge and Mr. Davis. “Mr. Davis, per your testimony yesterday, you’d consider yourself a good husband and provider, wouldn’t you?”

Mr. Davis plasters on a fake smile. “Yes, I would say that’s correct. I’ve always prided myself on being a devoted husband and father.”

I nod. “And what about Mrs. Davis? Would you say she has been a good wife?”

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