Page 122 of Price of Angels

“Did your old man put you up to this? Is this some kind of plan–”

“No!” Tears sprang suddenly to her eyes.

His expression became dark and furious. “Are you pregnant?”

She gasped. “No–”

He stalked across the floor toward her, the energy rippling off him like steam. “Jesus Christ, I wasn’t even careful,” he snarled, catching her by both arms, shaking her gently. “Are you trying to get knocked up?”

“No.” The tears began to spill and she didn’t try to stem them; she knew it was useless. “I’m on the pill, not that you even asked. I’ve been on the pill since I was sixteen, and Abraham started forcing them down my throat.”

Another shake. “Are you lying to me?”

She kicked him in the knee. Hard. As hard as her little leg could kick, and when he let go of her, she whirled for the door.

Just as she reached it, his body closed over hers from behind; she caught herself against the door with her hands, and his arms closed around her, hemming her in, his hands resting on the painted wood beside hers.

His face landed in her hair and she heard him take a deep, ragged breath.

“Why are you asking me this?” she whispered. “You know it’s true. You know. You knowme.”

“I know,” he said.

They stood for a long moment, as she wrestled with her tears and he struggled for breath. When his hands closed gently on her shoulders and he turned her to face him, she complied, her hands finding his chest, the rapid pulsing of his heart beneath his shirt.

Holly rested her head back against the door. “Your friends think I lied to you.”

“They’re not my friends.”

She pressed her fingertips into his pecs as her hands flexed. It meant so much to her, his sentiment, but her heart broke for him, because he was a member of the club, and it wasn’t as simple as friendship and differing opinions.

“I never wanted to get you in trouble.”

“You didn’t.” He sounded like he meant it.

She took a deep, sniffling breath. “What are you going to do?”

He shook his head. “I’ll figure something out. Right now, I’ve got to get you safe.”

“Michael–”

“Don’t argue with me.”

And she didn’t.

He watched her packing her meager things into a beat-up leather suitcase as he held his cellphone to his ear and listened to the other end ring. He was amazed by the lightness in his chest, just how much he didn’t care about the consequences anymore. There was no threat any of his brothers could lever against him that would change his mind in this case. If they thought he cared about his own safety, his pride, his reputation, then they were woefully mistaken. Let the slings and arrows come. Let there be judgment laid against him. Holly would be safely away, and that was all that mattered. To the club, he was nothing but a knife. To her, he was everything.

Wynn finally picked up. “Hello?”

“Uncle Wynn.”

Some vibrating note in his voice caused his uncle to pause a second, before he carefully said, “Michael, son, what’s wrong?”

Holly glanced up, a sweater in her hands, her eyes huge and wet and brimming with sympathy.

Michael swallowed. “I need a very big favor, and it’s very important. And it has to be now.”

Wynn didn’t hesitate. “Tell me what you need. I’ll be there.”

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