Zeth comes to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “What do you mean?”
“She was shot with a Glock 22. A .40 calibre. You know who uses guns like that, huh? I’m sure you do. You’ve probably had a couple pointed at you in the past.” I shove him away from me, dragging my hands through my hair. Zeth narrows his eyes, staring me down.
“Yeah. Cops,” he replies.
“Not just cops. The FBI carry Glock 22s. The DEA carry Glock 22s. I see them on the hips of nearly every agent that walks through the hospital doors. If these friends of yours have that sort of attention already focused on them, if federal agents have been fucking shooting at people, then it’s likely they’re already looking for Julio and this fucking MC that’s just rolled up out of nowhere.”
“You’re exactly right, darlin.’”
The voice startles Zeth almost as much as it startles me. Our reactions are very different, though. I flinch back from the source of the voice—a short, broad guy standing in the open doorway—whereas Zeth pulls his gun.
The stranger doesn’t seem to mind. He takes a slow step into the room. “The cops are looking for us,” he says. He peers past me, looking at Lexi’s prone body, still lying in a pool of her own blood on the table. “Is she alive?”
My heart is in my throat. Who the hell is this guy? How long has he been standing there? And what the hell has he heard? Zeth looks like he’s about to shoot him in the face. I take a step forward, moving in between the two of them—one GSW victim in this kitchen is enough for one day. “Yes. Barely. She needs proper medical attention. Do you know her?”
The guy shrugs, leaning against the wall. He must be in his late twenties, early thirties, dirty blonde hair, and obviously not one of Julio’s men. He’s from the MC, then. He confirms this when he walks further into the room, going to stand by Alexis’ side, and I see the huge embroidered patch on his back. Widow Maker. The icon stitched to his leather is of a woman, head bowed, crying. She looks like some grunge version of the Madonna. “Yeah, I know her well enough,” he says. “I should do. She is the boss’s girl, after all.”
Alexis Romera has been dating the President of the Widow Makers. This information is admittedly more than a little surprising, but hey… Nothing should surprise me anymore. Carnie, the guy who nearly gave Sloane a heart attack with this news, informs us that Julio’s expecting us in his study. Outside the kitchen, a dozen people are leaning against the walls, sitting on the floor, all pale and anxious looking. A tall blonde beelines for Sloane as soon as she sees her, and grabs hold of her by the elbows.
“Is she okay? She’s fucking dead, isn’t she? She’s fucking dead!”
Sloane frees herself from the girl’s grip and guides her toward the kitchen door. “She’s not dead. Sit with her and come tell me right away if her breathing changes. Check for her pulse every few minutes, too.”
The blonde heads into the kitchen, gasping when she sees all of the blood. Carnie escorts us through the hallways, giving me the impression that Julio told him to make sure we came, or else he was to physically make us come. That thought is rather entertaining. I’d like to see the bastard try and move me. And if he even touched Sloane…
“In there.” Carnie jerks his head into Julio’s study; on the other side of the door, Julio, Michael, and Cade are waiting, sitting awkwardly around a large polished oak table. Cade and I barely got to speak before all hell broke loose earlier, but he did have time to tell me that Rebel is his friend. That he’s been a Widow Maker his whole life. I have no idea what to make of that. I’ve thought we were on the same wavelength, Cade and me, and yet this revelation turns that concept completely on its head.
“Come join us,” Julio says, gesturing to the empty chairs at the table. There are three of them, one each for Sloane and me, and then an extra one. “I hear you’ve had quite an eventful morning, Ms. Hawthorne?” Julio asks. He bridges his hands in front of him, spearing Sloane through with an arctic gaze.
“You could say that,” Sloane answers. She looks like something out of a fucking horror show. There’s blood all over her hands and up her arms, as well as speckled all over her face. It’s all down her shirt and in her hair, too. The clipped, dry response she shoots at Julio doesn’t hide the fact that she’s not impressed by his glib remark. “We’ll be leaving soon. To take the girl to hospital.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Ms. Hawthorne. Sophia’s a strong girl. She’ll be just fine.”
I was right. I knew he would say that, of course, but I’d perhaps hoped… I catch the look of fury on Cade’s face, and the sight of him cuts off all thought. He’s so angry that a tideline of crimson is slowly rising up his neck.