Page 188 of The Wild Charge

“We can’t trust him. You know that.”

“Nobody could trust us, either. But the club gave us a chance to change. He deserves that chance, too.”

The words hit him like a punch. He let out a slow breath. “Well. Fuck.” He stood and set the boots and jacket in front of Reese. “Can you get dressed on your own?”

Reese nodded, and one corner of his mouth twitched in the smallest of pleased smiles.

“Brat,” Tenny accused, and leaned down to haul a spluttering Grayson up by the back of his jacket.

~*~

Oh how quickly having a gun to the back of one’s head shifted the balance of things.

“Please,” Jensen begged, face streaked with tears and snot. He was blubbering, really. “Please, my dad has money. He can–”

“Shut up.” Walsh smacked him across the ear and he flinched, but fell silent.

Jensen and all his half-wasted friends sat in a row in the theater seats inside their box. All were either staring at their own reflections in the glass in disbelief, crying, begging, or some combination of all three. Walsh had produced a second gun for Evan, and they stood behind them, waiting forwhat, Evan wasn’t sure.

Walsh didn’t seem set on enlightening any of them.

“What are we–” Evan started.

“Sh. Look.”

He did, after a beat, through the big viewing window, down at the stage – in time to see the guard currently escorting the girl there go toppling forward off the edge; he landed in a boneless tangle, neck bent the wrong way. Two men swept from behind the curtain, guns raised, scanning the area, dressed like Walsh was, their waiter getups made bulky by the bulletproof vests they wore beneath their jackets.

“That’s Maverick! And Michael?!”

“Stellar observation skills, mate,” Walsh muttered. “That’s our cue.”

Maverick got an arm around the swaying girl and turned to walk her back through the curtain. Michael remained, dead-eyed gaze surveying the dark room and its walls of viewing windows.

“Alright,” Walsh said. He gestured down the line of bent heads with his gun. “All of them participated?”

Suddenly, Evan realized what was about to happen.

He also realized he didn’t have a problem with it, whatever that said about him. “Yeah.”

Walsh started firing, quiet little puffs of suppressed rounds.

Evan helped.

When they were done, and the room was quiet, Walsh shot out the window, and they went over and down, into the shadows, toward the stage.

~*~

From the corner of his eye, Ian saw Walsh and Evan clamber up onto the stage and disappear behind the curtain with Michael. Another piece falling into place.

“Now, Jack,” he continued, focusing on Waverly again, “you were just about to tell us all about your little operation here. Have you hand-selected the girls you’re selling to the highest bidders? Or have you outsourced that job?”

Waverly glared up at him. “Eat shit.”

With a fast flick of his wrist, Ian lifted his sword and drove it straight into the meatiest part of Waverly’s gut.

His eyes bugged, and he doubled over as Ian drew it out, coughed and sputtered, hands clutching at his rapidly-staining shirt.

Nikola screamed.

---