Chapter 12
I started small.
A utensil holder.
Storage containers.
Baskets and jars for the pantry.
It was all shit that would catch my eye when I scrolled through social media posts; shit meant to turn an ordinary home into a place deserving a spotlight on The Home Edit; shit I didn’t have the luxury of buying. Until now.
An hour and a half later, I moved on to the bedroom.
Not the guest room but the primary, as I had no intention of moving into the spare room. His bed was far more comfortable than mine. Pistol could sleep at the clubhouse for all I cared.
I purchased a kick-ass linen duvet, a knitted throw blanket that was to die for, and the highest thread count sheets I could find.
Remarkably, I was no longer angry.
But I was on a roll, and I saw no reason to stop.
It was time to think bigger.
I bought a headboard and footboard for the bed that would soon be too well dressed to remain a mattress on wheels. The coordinating nightstands made it into the cart, too.
It was almost eleven o’clock and I was still in the house by myself when I considered the couch on which I sat. It took me approximately two seconds to decide—we could do better.
Couch.
Side tables.
Lamps.
Area rug.
I bought it all.
Then I thought I heard something.
I froze, holding my breath as I listened for another noise.
There was a scratch and a whine at the door.
Still, I didn’t move, sure the sound of a dog meant Pistol would walk in at any moment. I was so focused on shopping to my heart’s content, I didn’t really stop to think about what I would say to the man upon his return.
Except, as I waited for the knob to turn, for Pistol’s boots to announce his arrival, and for Reaper’s nails to click against the hard floor, it never came.
Reaper barked and scratched at the door again.
With a frown, I stood slowly and made my way toward the kitchen.
I found the light switch on the wall and flipped it up, causing the bulb outside to illuminate the back step.
Reaper’s head jerked and she barked once more. I opened the door, and she immediately raced inside and circled her way around my legs. She was whining again, and when she barked it sounded somehow desperate.
“What’s going on, girl?” I asked, peeking my head outside.
There was no sign of Pistol.
Another whine. Another bark.
Whatever high I was floating on a moment ago was gone.
Something was wrong.
I’d known Pistol for four days—which wasn’t saying much. Yet, in those four days, Reaper was always close by. Always.
Her, here, without him didn’t make sense.
“Hey there, pretty girl,” I murmured as I knelt down to her level.
I’d never touched her before, but I reached out hesitantly and stroked her back, wanting her to know I heard her. I wasn’t yet sure what she was trying to tell me, but I was sure she was trying to communicate something.
“Where’s Pistol, Reaper? Hmm? Where’s your dad?”
She lifted a single foot and pawed at my leg insistently.
I was at a loss, but my gut told me I couldn’t just wait for Pistol to show up. Not merely because I didn’t think Reaper would think kindly of me if I ignored her, but also because whatever separated these two couldn’t be good.
“Okay. How about we go find some help, yeah?”
Reaper barked and trotted around in a circle, evidently communicating she was thrilled I was finally catching on.
“Right. Okay. I’ll grab some shoes, and we’ll go.”
I was still dressed in hardly more than a pair of jean shorts and an oversized tank top, but I was in too much of a rush to care.
I grabbed the first shoes I could find—my favorite cowgirl boots—and shoved my feet inside.
After I had my purse and my keys, Reaper and I were out the door.
She didn’t hesitate when I invited her to climb into my Mustang, and we were pulling onto the compound three minutes later.
It was a random Tuesday night, and I wasn’t sure who I’d find inside the clubhouse, but I knew I’d find someone. The place was rarely empty.
Sure enough, when Reaper and I burst through the doors, a handful of Stallions were there—a couple at the bar, and a few more at the poker table. I spotted Cobra, and for the first time ever, I was actually relieved to see him.
“Hey. Something’s wrong. Reaper showed up a few minutes ago, but she was all alone.”
“What do you mean she showed up?”
“I mean—”
I didn’t get the chance to explain what I meant before the shepherd started barking. This time, there was a distinct aggression in her tone that wasn’t there before.
When the door opened behind me, I realized it was a warning.
A woman walked in. A woman I’d never seen before.
She was in a shiny, pink bodycon dress that barely covered her ass, and ugly, clear platform stilettos.
She was skinny. Too skinny. And while I could tell she tried to do something with her hair, the thin, bottle-blonde strands broadcasted the sad truth she was not in a good way.
Drugs. Prostitution. You name it, it looked like she’d done it.
“Who the fuck are you?”
I recognized Spurs’ voice, but it was the scraping of his chair across the floor that made me look back at him as he stood. Cobra, Buff, and Crow all followed suit.
“Doesn’t matter who I am. I’m here to deliver a message,” she said, sounding more lucid than she appeared.
“Out with it then,” demanded Cobra.
“One of the Kings has gone missing. Now, one of yours is missing too. They’re willing to make a trade. Yours for theirs. No harm, no foul.”
“We don’t know dick about a missing King.”
She shrugged, like it didn’t matter to her. “They said you’d say that. But if you want your guy back, they want theirs.”
The woman turned to leave, but Spurs crossed the distance between them in two strides, grabbing hold of her elbow before she could so much as reach for the door handle.
“Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”
“Let go of me,” she griped, trying to wrench her way out of his grasp.
I couldn’t tell whether or not she was truly committed to freeing herself, but Spurs didn’t lose his hold as he looked back at Cobra.
“What now?”
Cobra, whose attention was already aimed down at his phone, was quick to reply, “Now I call Nighthawk.”
The VP and the president were on the phone for less than thirty seconds. I only heard one side of the conversation, but it was enough. I knew as well as anyone else in the room that missing King wasn’t going to make it home for a nice easy trade, which meant a whole lot of trouble.
Trouble that included Pistol in King territory.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
By the time Cobra disconnected the call, I understood things were about to get messy.
Or, I guess, messier.
“She stays here,” said Cobra, signaling at the woman with his chin. “Buff, Crow, stay put. Watch her. Spurs, you’re with me. Prez’ll meet us there. I’ll get Nomad there, too. Let’s roll.”
“We’re coming, too,” I declared, realizing for the first time Reaper hadn’t left my side.
Cobra glanced at me and then shrugged. “Won’t stop you.”
“You can’t keep me here,” argued the woman as Spurs handed her off to Buff. “I got a corner to work, and we all know you boy scouts aren’t buyin’ from me. Unless, of course, you want somethin’ else. Charge by the hour. Might cost you extra, you plan on ridin’ me with that kutte on.”
“Don’t know how they do it in King territory, but around here, we can wet our dicks for free. And our bitches are a whole lot prettier.”
I didn’t miss the smirk on Spurs’ face as he turned for the door. Cobra ignored the whole exchange, his phone to his ear as he trailed after Spurs. While Reaper and I followed, I heard him relay a message with only the relevant details.
“It’s begun. They got Ri. We’re rollin’ on their turf now.”
He said nothing more before he hung up, but I had no doubt the message was received with the same urgency we all felt.
Reaper and I were in my Mustang and ready to go when both Cobra and Spurs mounted their hogs.
I idled while I waited for them to tear out of the parking lot, then followed close behind.
It wasn’t that I needed directions to the Copper Kings’ clubhouse.
It had been a while, but I knew exactly where it was.
However, given the circumstances, I figured it would be better to follow rather than lead.
It took us fifteen minutes to travel across town, and my stomach was in knots as we pulled onto the compound.
The rivalry between the clubs was a well-known fact for anyone who cared—but other than a few pointed stares across the diner, or a silent stand off when two men in opposing kuttes found themselves in neutral territory, I’d never actually seen the full effect of a confrontation.
Aside from the beat down that was the entire reason I found myself parking my ride on forbidden ground, of course.
It wasn’t until I killed my engine that I truly took a moment to process what I was doing.
I hadn’t been inside the Kings’ clubhouse in years.
If Carmy was in there and he saw me, I was screwed.
But more than that, I risked him finding out what I’d done.
I knew I had to tell him eventually, but I was still dealing with it myself.
Adding him to the mix made it all the more complicated, and I wasn’t sure how much more of that I could take.
Reaper let out a muffled bark, reminding me why I was there in the first place.
Pistol.
While I didn’t exactly feel any type of loyalty to him, it was hard to deny his pup.
I didn’t know the whole of it, but I was sure Pistol didn’t surrender himself willingly.
For Reaper to find her way back home in search of help, it was remarkable and brave, and an act filled with a loyalty bred from love.
It was downright heroic, and I couldn’t ignore her worry.
I wasn’t heartless.
But I wasn’t stupid, either.
“You stay here, okay? If he’s in there, we’ll get him out—but he’d kill me if anything happened to you.”