Page 121 of The Wild Charge

When Pongo grinned, both cheeks dimpled. “I’ve got spots.” He gestured to his freckles.

“And too much energy, most of the time,” Maverick said, earning another sound of protest, which he ignored. “I left guys in the parking lot and in the lobby, too, and there’s a team circling the block, looking for anything suspicious.”

Ian lifted his brows. “Did you bring your entire chapter?”

“Most of them. Ghost says this is where shit’s gonna go down. After what they did to my club, I want in on it,” Maverick said, gaze hardening.

He’d lost men in the bombing, Ian recalled, including his president, which had thrust Maverick into the leadership role.

“We’re taking every precaution,” he went on. “I brought my best and brightest. One of my guys was run out of the bratva years ago, so he knows how they operate. My VP used to wait tables for old man Moretti, so he’s got insider knowledge there.”

Alec whistled. “Impressive. But…their loyalty lies with the Dogs completely, right?”

“Absolutely. I’ve got no doubts about any of them.”

Ian very pointedly didn’t glance toward Pongo, but Maverick smirked anyway.

He tilted his head toward him. “This one’s moonlighting as a CI. He’s got a Vice detective on the hook.”

“And by hook, I mean…” Pongo made a crude gesture, and laughed.

Maverick silenced him with a quick slice of his hand. He met Ian’s gaze again, his own grave and determined. “Every chapter of this club knows why we’re operating in the black these days. Ghost has made it very clear that you’ve helped us step up in the world.”

Ian swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat.

“And he says you’re family.”

The lump got bigger.

“He said to let you take point on this, so whatever you need, we’ve got you.”

Ian had to take a slow breath before he could respond. He couldn’t maintain his formal tone, though. “Thank you. The first order of business is to ensure that Phillip Calloway’s sisters are secure.”

“That would be us,” Raven said from behind him. She stepped into the room with an arm around Cassandra’s shoulders, formidable and lovely again; there was no sign she’d been crying.

“Raven Blake and Cassandra Green,” Ian said with a gallant gesture toward them.

Pongo tilted his head and let out a wolf whistle. “Damn.”

Maverick smacked him upside the head.

Raven’s smile was thin and dangerous. “A pleasure, gentlemen,” she said, dryly. “Less whistling, more ass-kicking, hm?”

Maverick shot Ian a look, and Ian smirked. “You expected less from this family?”

The tiniest smile lifted one corner of the man’s mouth. “Nah. I sure didn’t.”

Thirty-Three

When Maggie cracked her eyes open, she realized two things:

One, it was morning, judging by the pale, early light slanting through the gap in the curtains.

Two, she was no longer in the worn leather chair in Ghost’s office, but lying on her side on a bed. Alone.

With a pulse of worry as to Ash’s whereabouts, she hit the en suite for a hasty toothbrushing, stepped into her boots, and went in search of her family.

She found Ash first. Harry had him, holding him like a pro in front of the TV while he sipped coffee with his free hand. It was quiet, most everyone else still asleep, she supposed, but Tango was at Harry’s side, eating a granola bar, and Emmie was in the recliner, in robe and slippers, sipping from her own steaming mug.

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