Page 37 of That Girl is Trouble

Decker only rolls his eyes at the threat. Because that’s all it is. A threat. Much as I hate to admit it, we need him. Having a cop in my pocket, even though I forced him there, has its benefits.

“Couldn’t help but notice a couple of the corpses in there are wearing Sinner cuts,” Decker says with a smirk. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Mind your business.”

Decker scoffs. “You made this my business, asshole. What’s coming, Axe? This have anything to do with those fires out in Eden Hills this morning?”

When I don’t answer, he shakes his head, his lip curling in disgust.

“You’re fucking lucky I got here when I did. That prick would have fucked Triss six ways from Sunday if I hadn’t blown his fucking head off. Everything you touch turns bloody. You and my goddamn brother. Always pulling good people into your shit.”

It’s a rare thing, the good and honest Officer Decker referring to Graves as his brother. Half brother. Same piece of shit father and a whole lot of bad blood between the two of them. I suppose Decker isn’t really all that good and honest. Not anymore. He’s no Sinner, but he’s deep in debt with us in ways that can never be repaid. And I put him there. Once upon a time, I saw an opportunity to get the upper hand, and I took it. I may have him on my payroll to keep him pliant, but as far as I’m concerned, he’s stuck there.

I don’t exactly expect the guy to put his life on the line for me, but he’ll certainly keep my secrets to protect himself. We go down, we bring him with us.

“You done? I want this mess cleaned up before sunrise.”

He glares at me. “Do you even know who Reno and his band of assholes were working for?”

“Why? Your useless brothers in blue gonna fucking do something about it?”

He snorts. “Make no mistake, Donovan. They’ll let you burn. Every last one of you. But I’m not interested in letting a war break out in my town. Handle it. And do it quiet. If this shit goes sideways, I’ll make sure you’re the one answering for it.”

“Don’t threaten me, Decker,” I say, dropping my voice. “You may not be one of us, but you got plenty of blood on your hands. Don’t forget that.”

“I’ll never forget it,” he snarls, his words dripping with venom. “I’ll be paying for it the rest of my life. You saw to that.” He takes a step forward, his hand twitching over the gun at his hip.

Before I can reach for mine, Preacher is between us, slamming his hand hard into Decker’s shoulder.

“Easy, Deck,” he murmurs. “Don’t need any more bodies. Why don’t you go wait at the road? Van will be comin’ soon to clean this up.”

Decker’s jaw flexes, and he gives me one last hate-filled look before he pushes past Preacher and stalks off towards the road.

“You really should let me kill him,” Bane says, watching Decker as he disappears into the dark.

“No one’s killing Decker. You kill a cop, and people notice. Can you two handle the rest of this?” I jerk my head towards the barn. “I gotta deal with the Jesse shit.” And Kat. I gotta deal with her too.

The door behind us opens, and Brick appears, his massive frame outlined by the dim light spilling from the barn. Head shaved, all muscle, knuckles bloody from pounding into Reno’s face. “All wrapped up here,” he grunts.

Behind him, bodies are piled in a heap at the centre of the room. Tex lies beside them, arm perched behind his head as he puffs out a ring of smoke.

“We done?” Brick asks me. “Bex is blowing up my phone.”

I nod. “Yeah, all good. I’ll hop in with you. Need to get Kat.”

My chest tightens at the thought of seeing her face. The look she gave me before I left, begging for me to fix things, to bring Jesse back, to hurt the people who’d taken him from her, who’d hurt her sister, is burned into my brain. I didn’t fix shit, and I certainly can’t bring anyone back from the dead. But I know how to hurt. At least I can give her that.

The ride out is quiet. I don’t glance back at Decker as we pass him, but when another set of headlights illuminates the road ahead, I tense, waiting for another fight, the sound of another gunshot, the stench of death. It doesn’t come. The van that passes us is unmarked and white and comes to a stop as Decker flags it down. Brick slows, his focus in his rear-view. He’s watching for trouble too. But after a moment, Decker jumps in, and the van disappears down the laneway towards the barn.

The snow starts just as we’re pulling onto Brick’s street. His porch light is on, and before we’re even in the driveway, his front door is opening, and his woman is barrelling out into the icy night. Brick is only halfway out of his Jeep when she jumps into his arms, wraps her legs around his waist, and pulls him into a tight hug.

“I’ve been calling,” she says.

He lets out a sigh into her neck. “I know, babe. Shit got dangerous, and I couldn’t risk answering.”

She nods and slides down his massive body as I push out of the truck. “Triss okay?”

“Back home,” Brick says. “Was pretty banged up though.”

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