Page 71 of Devil's Own: Roughneck

“Then please, Mr. Dunham, tell the court what happened with the ISIS woman.” the judge asks.

“She walked into the middle of the crowded town square, calm as you please strapped to the hilt with homemade bombs—though we couldn’t see them because they were under her abaya—and shouted, ‘Sinners must be punished.’ Then she set off the bombs, blowing herself and a mass of other people to smithereens. That was our last mission as a team. Several of us took bad hits. Me and Sarge, there, included. That was when I figured it out. Sinners like Emma needed to be punished. She willingly gave her body to Sarge to be used as he saw fit. Whores like her needed to die. Emma found that out when they finally released me from the hospital.”

The room seriously goes wired.

“If it pleases the court, I need a moment to confer with Mr. Dunham,” his former attorney begs. But even as the judge is giving permission, Jack won’t shut his mouth.

“It’s your fault she’s dead,” he says to Sarge. “Your fault she needed to be punished. I’ve spent the last several years punishing bad women in your name, waiting for the day I could bring you down. Got close a few times, but it got harder once you hooked up with the Horde. But if bringing down the Horde meant I got to end you, it was worth all the work. Every fucking bitch in that club will pay before I ruin yours. See how well you fare, then,Sarge.”

Bailiffs rush to drag Jack from the witness stand. He smiles at Sarge as they lead him out, and his ex-team of lawyers are escorted to another room off the courtroom through the back door. Before Jack exits, he turns to Vlad, not Sarge. “Shouldn’t have kept him in the club. Because of that, your whore sister will pay.”

The fuck?

It takes a second for it to click what he just said, but when it does, I spring from my seat and take off in a dead run from the courtroom for my bike, where I stashed my phone. They weren’t allowed inside. Sure as shit, Waite’s number shows up at least twenty times. I press his contact. He answers on the first ring.

“He took her,” Waite barks. “The clubhouse is on lockdown. Greer and the other women are inside. I have men at Dusty’s office. Fuck, Rough—he’s got my mom.”

“Who?” I’m finally able to ask when he takes a breath.

“Fucking Horace.”

Goddamn.Vlad and Sarge reach my side. “Horace has Gee.”

“Horace?” Vlad asks. “Horace is the fucking leak?” Then he opens the contacts on the phone in his hand and presses Duke’s number. The Brimstone Lords’ president answers. “It’s not over,” he snaps. “Our man Horace has been working with Jack Dunham. He’s got my sister—Rough’s woman. Need you again. And Detective Doyle. He can get Bentley and Middlesboro PD on the case faster than we can.”

My heart is in my stomach. We’re supposed to get married. This can’t be happening. Not to her. “Fuck,” I scream as I mount my bike. I start the engine and tear out of the parking lot, hellbent on getting my woman back safe, or I’ll die trying.

I hear a bike following close behind as we head for home. We’ve got to see what Waite knows. A full brother named Tread is at the gate when we reach the compound. He lets us in, and we speed for the clubhouse. I run inside, shouting Waite’s name.

“He’s not here,” Nic says while she holds a sleeping Tripp snuggled against her shoulder. “He’s at the hospital in Middlesboro.”

“Why?” I snap.

“He went after Horace. Horace shot at him, hitting his side and shoulder. Then he took out Waite’s tire. The bike flipped, and he crashed. Dusty says that Waite tried to go after him despite his injuries. When they wouldn’t let him go, he arranged all this from the hospital. Wouldn’t take any pain meds until he got ahold of you.” She whimpers. “Vlad,” that’s all she says. That’s all she needs to say. Her husband, not my president, goes to her.

And fuck—the kid had to still be running on an adrenaline rush when I talked to him. He didn’t sound like an injured man. Part of me hopes they got him on something good for the pain, while the other part hopes he can hold out until we talk.

“It’s almost over, baby,” Vlad whispers as he presses her head against his throat and kisses her hair.

“She’s family,” Nic continues. “He can’t…”

“He won’t. Going to Waite now.”

I’ve got to figure out how to play this. On the spot, I push Horace’s contact. He doesn’t answer, though I don’t expect him to. So I leave a calm-as-shit voicemail, hoping to lure him in. “Horace, just checking in. Couldn’t get a hold of Waite. Must be taking a shit or something. Movers get there okay? Let me know. We’ll be a while longer.”

Then I hang up. While on the road headed for Middlesboro, my phone rings. Fucking Horace. “Talk to me,” I answer.

“You outside?” he asks. Shit, I’m sure he can hear the noise of the traffic.

“Grabbing food.”

“Mover’s showed.”

“Good. Gee with you?” I ask. “She’s not answering her phone, either.”

After a beat of silence, he answers, “Yeah, she’s right here.”

“Rough,” she says, slow and calm—waytoo calm. “How’s it going? I miss you. Can you just hear the birds chirping? It’s a beautiful day.”

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