Ruthless Reign

Chapter 9

I tasted the coffee in my own mug before pouring Becca a cup. ApparentlyI’d been making coffee wrong for the last six or seven years of my life. I had to admit, it tasted a hell of a lot better now. The first sip didn’t make all the hairs on my arms stand up or assault my tongue like a fucking acid punch.

Sighing, I made hers the way she liked it, knowing it was probably only a matter of time before she won the fight and made us buy one of those fancy machines with all the knobs and steam nozzle shit on it. But then she’d have to stay for good because there was no way I was going to figure that shit out.

Hardin’sbedroom door wasn’t open yet, which either meant he was still asleep or wasn’t here. I assumed the former since he wouldn’t fucking dare leave without telling me. Not right now.

CarryingBecca’s coffee to my bedroom door, I slowed when I heard her voice on the other side.

Iwas about to call out to Hardin to get the door, thinking she was talking to him, but what she said next made me shut up.

“No, stay there Aves. Damien is handling it.”

Apause.

“I promise I’ll tell you if shit gets super bad, ’kay?”

Anotherpause while she listened to her best friend on the other end of the call. Dad had already fielded a few calls from Diesel up in ThornValley, but he wouldn’t accept the offered help. Not yet anyway. Diesel was still rebuilding after this shitstorm he had up there barely months ago.

AndI knew Dad wouldn’t want this psychopath near anyone else that he cared about. It seemed Becca was on the same page there. She needed no coaching from Dad or us to diffuse the concern from AvaJade, and I knew it was for the same reason. Becca might not be as physically vicious as her best friend, but she was just as viciously loyal.

“No, babe,” she said to something from AvaJade. “I’m not running. I need to stay here. I have to see this through.”

Myjaw clenched and twin sensations of pride and dread swelled and shriveled in my gut.

Hardin’sdoor clicked open, and I turned to find him looking at me, brow raised at how I was standing, two steaming mugs of java with my ear damn near pressed to the door.

“What?”

Hejerked his head toward the living room in a silent command to follow him.

Irolled my eyes but followed, setting the mugs down on the side table before my fingertips got burned right off the damn bone.

“What is it? Did you hear from Dad?”

Henodded.

“And?”

“And we have the Jackals, the RockSt. Boys, and the Langs. TheGunners and the Kells are out.”

Fuck. TheGunners would have been a big win for our side. They’re the biggest gang next to ours that Dad allowed to operate in the area. TheKellsI kinda saw coming. With their Irish roots they likely stayed loyal to Séamas out of a sense of misplaced patriotism—or maybe they knew him or at least of him. His exploits in the home country.

Thatintel was being slowly gathered by Pope for us from our international contacts and let me fucking tell you, it ain’t pretty.

“You think the Kells will tell Séamas?”

Hardinpushed a hand through his hair, the tattoo over his brow rising. “No, man,” he said as if it were obvious. “No one is going to risk Damien’s wrath if we win.”

“If?”

Hisfist clenched. “When,” he corrected. “When we win.”

“Any word on the senator? DidDad get in to meet with him?”

Hardinscoffed, lifting his haughty gaze to the heavens. “The coward took off. The official statement from his office is that he’s taking an extended vacation for his health. ToPanama.”

Isnorted. “Real fucking original.”

Wesat in silence for a minute, both of us thinking through the implications. FromPanama the senator could still make calls, write emails. He could still do Séamas’ bidding. But he knew if he did, he risked my father’s retaliation when he returned. Whenwe win.

Likelyhe’s there in hiding until this all blows over, doing nothing to aid either side. Coward was damn right. But he was better removed from the playing field than playing for the enemy team.

Dadnormally wouldn’t touch a politician. But in this case? In this case anyone was going to be fair game if many more of his Saints were taken from us.

Tinyfeet tiptoed into the living room and Becca cursed when she saw us, her hand snatching to her chest as if she’d had no idea we were here. “Fuck, sorry. Um. Morning.”

“Morning,” I answered, lifting her mug from the side table to bring it to her. “I was just about to bring you a coffee.”

Shetook it, muttering a thanks.

WhatI wouldn’t fucking give to see her smile.

Eversince Friday, when she came rushing out of her classroom with paint covered hands and ghosts in her eyes, she hadn’t been the same. Hardin went in to investigate and found a half ruined portrait she’d painted. He wouldn’t talk about what it looked like, just that it was wrecked.

Beccawouldn’t talk about it, either, and they’d barely said a word to each other in the two days since. I doubted she was planning to go to class tomorrow. Or ever again.

She’dtaken to sleeping in my room the last couple nights, but sleep was a generous term for what she did. I stayed with her, and even though I ached to reach out to her, to hold her, to touch her, I could tell she didn’t want it. She tossed and turned, hiking the covers high only to kick them all off in frustration again. I knew because I barely slept, either.

Howcould I? How could any of us with the threat of SéamasO’Sullivan hanging over our heads?

Itseemed at least that he laid the blame for his two dead Sons squarely at the Kents’ feet since there had been no retaliation against us. All we could do now was make sure they didn’t die for nothing.

“Hey, you good, Vixen?”

Shedipped her head, not meeting my eyes as she sipped her coffee, genuine surprise in her eyes when it didn’t taste like shit. That’s right, baby girl, I got you.

“Why don’t you go get ready, yeah?”

“For what?”

“We’re going out.”

Ifelt Hardin’s glare searing into my back and ignored it. We’d been locked up in this house for two days. It was time to get out. We needed air, space. We needed…

“I don’t know about you, Vixen, but I’dreally like to shoot some shit? You game?”

“Kaleb?”

Iinhaled deeply to temper my frustration as I turned to my brother. “We agreed,” I reminded him. “She needs training. I’d feel better if she carried a weapon and had at least half a clue about how to use it, wouldn’t you?”

Hischeekbones flared, but he said nothing.

“Don’t you have a meet today with the police force?” Becca asked, and it was the first time in two days she’d looked me in the eyes. In them I saw something like hope, and I grinned, tugging her close to kiss her cheek.

“We have time, Vix,” I told her, spinning her around to swat her on the ass, earning myself a blush and the whisper of a smile. “Now go get ready. We leave in twenty. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Since when do you cook?” Hardin grumbled from his chair.

“Since today, jackass. Now get up and help me.”

The drive to the private gun range had more tension than a goddamned courtroom on conviction day. I tried to lighten the mood. Twice. But neither Hardin nor Becca seemed to be having it. SoI settled for the radio to drown out the silence. I’d have rolled down the windows to let some air into the soul sucking vacuum of the cab, but it was fucking pelting rain outside. So hard Hardin had to give me a hand reattaching the hardtop to the Bronco.

Nowthat it was back on, I doubted we’d take it off, either. I liked having the wall of metal between Vixen and the outside world as we drove. It was better than nothing but empty air.

Ibarely got the Bronco into park right up close to the range door when Hardin stepped out, shutting the door behind him as he flipped the collar of his jacket up and stalked inside.

Beccaundid her seatbelt, her face falling as she scooted to the door closest to the entrance to get out.

“Hey, hold up a sec, Vixen.”

“Hmm?”

Shelooked so damn sad. I hated it.

“Was the omelet I made you that bad?”

Anotherattempt to make her smile crashed and burned and the impish look she gave me added insult to injury, telling me everything I needed to know about the inedibility of my cooking.

Isighed. “What’s up with you and Hardin. You haven’t said a word to each other since Friday.”

“He’s not exactly chatty. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

Igave her a look. “You know what I mean.”

Shethrew her hands up. “I don’t know what the fuck his problem is, why don’t you ask him?”

“I’m asking you.”

Shecrossed her arms over her chest, knocking her back into the seat. She wasn’t leaving though, and I was taking that as a win. I remembered Ma telling me girls needed friends. People to talk to. Talk shit out with. Otherwise they just simmered until their bottles overboiled. ThatI did not want to see her overboil. She told me that right before slamming the door in my face and going back to talk to Tammy about some shit my dad said.

Iwasn’t a girl, but I wished Becca would see that I was her friend. She could talk to me.

Itried to work it out for myself while she stewed, thinking back over the last few days before I remembered Hardin storming out of her apartment after we dragged her there to pack a bag.

“Wait, you’re not still mad that he called you Hawk, are you?”

Hereyes narrowed to slits as she glared down at the floor of the Bronco.

“Call it what it is. Hawkmoth. He thinks I’m weak.”

Shelooked away, out the window into the rain. “I am weak.”

“You are not weak, Vixen. Far fucking from it.”

Shescoffed.

“AndI don’t think he meant the nickname in the way you’re thinking he did.”

Sherolled her head back to me, giving me a look that had more sarcasm than anything she could possibly say out loud.

“Ask him,” I encouraged her.

“Why bother? He’s clearly pissed at me for some fucking reason.”

Ithought about that, too. He definitely was. It could just be that he could tell she was pissy with him about the nickname, but it seemed like more than that. Becca might’ve dropped the stick with the nickname already if he wasn’t being such a detached grouch the last two days.

“You didn’t make a real ugly painting of him by chance, did you?”

Herface screwed up and even though now was not the time, I couldn’t help noticing how fucking adorable she looked when she was pissed off and confused at the same time. Like a snubbed kitten with her angry winged eyeliner and her small nose all wrinkled up.

Ifought the urge to grin because clearly this was all very serious and she was very seriously upset. No smiling. Easy.

“He went into your art class trying to see what had you so pissed off when you ran out Friday. He’s been even more quiet and brooding than usual since. I thought maybe…”

Thesour look on her face broke, and her lips parted on a curse. “Fuck.”

“What is it?”

Shemuttered something to herself and looked out the window again into the rain like she could see into the building. See through the walls to where Hardin was no doubt still moping.

“You painted him with horns and a tail, didn’t you?”

“No,” she said, exasperated. “No, it wasn’t him. It was…a self-portrait.”

Shewinced.

“Maybe explain a little more because I’m not following.”

Shebit her lip, unable to meet my eyes as she spoke. “It was a really fucking morbid self-portrait.”

Morbid?

Morbidhow?

“I didn’t even mean to paint it like that. Not really. I didn’t mean to, it just sort of came out and when I saw it…”

“What did you paint, Vixen?”

Sheswallowed. “Myself. WhatI’ll look like if things don’t go our way.”

Ifelt myself go rigid, my brows pinch.

Shefucking painted herself what?

Wounded?

Bloody?

Dead?

JesusH. Christ.

Iwouldn’t be doing so hot if I had that image seared into my brain, either.

“Whatever you painted, Vixen, it’s not going to happen, okay? Hey, look at me. It’s not.”

Shenodded tensely, but I could see the doubt in her eyes and wished I could pluck it out and burn it. I reached back and took her hand, holding it tight, needing her to see that I meant it.

“We’re going to do everything in our power to keep you safe.”

Herchin quivered and she squeezed my hands back, her next words thick and watery. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”