Page 19 of Choices

“We know, sweetheart. You’re a good girl,” Pres assures her. Her head continues to bob up and down. “Now, say it back to me: what are you going to do?”

“Go to your office and don’t stop for anyone. Lock the door and switch off the camera for this room.”

“Which room?”

“The game room. Then wait for you to come get me.”

“That’s right.”

“Here,” I tell her, slipping out of my cut and dragging my shirt over my head. Walking to where she’s standing, her body trembling, I place my shirt over her, and she pokes her arms through.

Callan goes to the door, unlocks it, and peers out to check the hallway is clear. Claire brushes her hands through her hair and wipes her eyes and nose again. Swallowing and blowing out a couple calming breaths, she nods, confirming she’s ready.

Shutting the door behind her and relatching the lock, Callan looks grim, frowning at his old man. “What are you going to do about her?”

“What I have to.”

I didn’t just kill the kid. I may have killed Claire too.

“Do we know if he had a cell phone on him when he arrived?” Pres asks, locking eyes with Callan.

Callan digs into his pocket and holds up a small black device. “It’s dead. Diamond said it was when he handed it over.”

That’s good. The chances of no cell signal placing him here just got greater.

“Do we know where Kitty met him?”

“She said a card game.” I let out a sharp exhale.

“Michael said Nicolas got into some trouble with the Redwings and they barely got him back in one piece. They’re planning on dealing with them, giving them a warning about fucking with Nicolas.” Callan’s dark eyes harden.

Pres nods. “So, we use this to our advantage.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Callan states, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares down at the kid.

Walking over, Pres kicks Nicolas’s leg. “Kid looks ill.”

“He looks dead,” Callan grunts.

“Don’t be a fucking wise-ass. We need to get him in a bag before he starts leaking fluids all over the floor. That smell doesn’t come out of wood.”

“I’ll get a bag and have Monster take the body to the incinerator.” Callan grimaces.

“What about dumping him on the Redwing turf?” I suggest, leaning my ass against the pool table. My head throbs like a hammering in my skull, and my eyes blur.

Shaking his head, his mouth twisting into a sneer, Pres says, “No, we need to keep this contained. Only we three can know. No Monster—and we can’t dump the body.”

“You mean us four? Claire’s waiting in your office,” Callan edges, trying to get a feel for Claire’s fate.

The pres looks at him through his lashes, his lips pinched. “Cutter’s blood is all over the kid, and God knows how much of Kit and Claire’s DNA he has on him. We can’t risk that shit being found and tracked back to us. We burn him and dump the phone at a Redwing hangout.”

“You can’t track it if the battery is dead,” Callan notes.

Pres scoffs, shifting his eyes between us. “When those fuckers find an expensive phone, they’ll charge it and sell it.”

“Incriminating themselves,” I surmise. There’s a reason he’s the pres.

“Exactly.”

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