Devil’s game

Chapter Nineteen

I actually managed to drift off for a while, which says something about how tired I was. I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me so much—I hadn’t gotten much rest the night before, most of which I’d spent in Em’s driveway. I woke up when someone kicked the cot, instantly alert. Horse stood at the foot of the bed.
“Apparently our friend has finally decided to talk,” he said. “Oh, and good news. He’s not a Devil’s Jack.”
“No shit,” I muttered, rubbing my face. Felt like a cheese grater. When was the last time I shaved? “I told you he wasn’t.”
“Glad it was the truth. Get up, Pic wants you in on the interrogation. Says you need to hear what this a*shole has been saying. Some pretty serious shit coming to light.”
I followed Horse into a room significantly larger than the one we’d just left. A hint of bleach hung in the air, along with the acrid scent of urine mixed with the copper of blood. Work lights hung from the ceiling from extension cords, and the floor sloped downward toward a drain in the center.
Convenient.
Right over the drain sat a bloodied, dark-haired man in a metal chair, arms and legs tied down tight. His face was a mass of bruised flesh, eyes swelling shut, and his lips were both split wide open. His shoes were off, showing the smashed remains of his toes. Blood dripped from his fingernails, too—or rather, from where his fingernails used to be.
Someone had had a long night.
“This our guy?” I asked, taking a quick glance around. The room held Ruger, Duck, Horse, and three men I didn’t recognize. One seemed to be the designated bad guy, because blood still covered his hands. I shot a quick look at his name patch. Bam Bam.
Picnic came over to stand next to me, his face grim.
“Yup,” he said. “He’s not one of yours.”
It took everything I had not to roll my eyes.
“Yeah, we covered that before,” I said politely. “So whose is he?”
“Cartel,” Pic replied. “Of course, this one’s not important or valuable. They sent him up here to parade around in fake colors, set things up. Cut’s over there, you can take a look in a few … But that’s not the interesting part.”
I cocked a brow in question. I found someone wearing fake Devil’s Jacks colors pretty damned interesting.
Pic walked over to the chair and kicked it. The man moaned.
“Tell my friend here what you just told me,” he ordered.
The man lifted his head, although I had no idea if he could see me through the swelling.
“I’m just a halcone,” he whispered, his English faintly accented. Mexican, I figured. Of course, not a huge leap, given where the cartel was headquartered. Men like this—poor and desperate—made up most of their cannon fodder.
“I follow orders. They told me to go with some gringo boss, come up north. Wear that vest, go to bars, talk to people. Do whatever the boss says. Tonight he said to shoot at people, so that’s what we did.”
“We?” I asked.
“Soldier,” he muttered, his words slurred. “Called himself Sam, don’t know who he really is. He came with the boss, maybe.”
“White?”
“Sí. American.”
“Who was shooting at the truck?”
“Sam shot the tires,” he said. “Then he told me to kill the people in the truck and he disappeared. I don’t know where he went.”
“Do you know anything about the other shootings?”
“I was down south until last week, when they sent me here,” he said. “Nothing to do with any of this. Are you going to kill me?”
I glanced at Picnic. His face was blank.
“Burke will want to talk to him, if you’re willing,” I said. “This isn’t just about your club—the Jacks need all the information we can get, too.”
“Holding him for a couple days is no problem,” Ruger said. He pinned me with a hard stare. “We have plenty of room down here, could keep someone prisoner forever, if we wanted to.”
I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the bloody pawn sitting in the chair.
“Take him out and get him cleaned up,” Picnic said to Horse. The big man stepped forward, nodding to one of the others I didn’t know. Together they lifted the man—chair and all—and carried him out of the room. I looked down at the blood on the concrete, considering my own situation.
F*ck it. Now was as good a time as any to play this through.
“I’d appreciate it if you could give Burke a call,” I said to Picnic. “I’m fresh out of phones.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. He turned to leave, but I caught his arm. Ruger stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes again. Yeah, I get it. You’re gonna protect the prez, kill me with your bare hands, et cetera … So f*cking predictable.
“We need to talk,” I said. “Might as well get it over with. Can’t do it in front of Em.”
“No offense, but you’re not my favorite person,” Pic replied, narrowing his eyes. “Just because we called you in to witness for your club doesn’t mean I feel like chatting. Better be damned important.”
“I think it is. I figure you’ve spent a fair amount of time and energy considering different ways to kill me over the past couple months?”
Pic gave a harsh laugh, nodding.
“You would, too, in my shoes.”
“Can’t argue with that,” I said. “Here’s the thing … I don’t want to spend the next twenty years waiting for you to shoot me in the back. I love your daughter and I won’t give up on her, so if that’s a deal breaker, you should kill me now. Otherwise you need to back the f*ck off me and my old lady.”
That caught his attention.
Picnic studied me. I waited for him to say something, but Ruger stepped forward, his face cold and tight.
“Let’s put him in the ground,” he said. “Sophie went through hell because of this a*shole. I nearly lost her.”
I held Hayes’s eyes, ignoring the other man. This was about me and Pic, about determining—once and for all—whether he could tolerate me as Em’s man. I raised my hands, palms empty, and turned around so my back was to him.
“I’m ready,” I said. “Go ahead and do it. Good timing, too—you can say the cartel got me. She’ll never know the truth, and neither will my club.”
“Why?” Pic asked.
“Because she deserves a man with a future,” I said, stretching my neck to one side. Already getting sore from the accident. “I want that man to be me. I love her and I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe and happy. But I’m a realist, too. If the Reapers are determined to kill me, I’m dead already. Might take you a while to make your move, which means it’ll hurt her even more when it finally happens. I’d rather end it now than set her up for something worse down the line.”
They stayed silent behind me. I wasn’t stupid—the timing wasn’t perfect. A smarter man wouldn’t have pushed, but if Pic planned to do it, he might as well get it over with. We needed to get out from under this shadow or it would eat us alive.
“I should shoot you,” Pic said slowly. “Because you know what? I think you’re gonna hurt her. You won’t mean to do it, but it’ll happen and then I’ll have to pick up the pieces.”
That wasn’t promising. I braced myself, waiting for a bullet. Would he do it fast, or drag it out?
“Turn around.”
I swiveled to find him closing in on me, fists clenched. I tried to force myself to relax as the first punch caught my face, to roll with it. Pain exploded through me, radiating out from my cheekbone. A second hit came from another direction, and I realized Ruger had joined in on the action.
Just what I needed …
I lost all sense of time after that. At some point I fell to the ground, which made it easier for them to kick me. I handled it pretty well, I think, considering my entire body had turned into one great raging wave of agonized torture. I managed not to scream, although I couldn’t stop myself from moaning when someone got in a particularly good shot. By this point I hurt so much I figured it couldn’t get much worse.
Then I felt a rib snap …
It was worse. Motherf*cker.
“Enough,” I heard Hayes say, his voice sounding distant. Someone rolled me onto my back, and I squinted against the bright lights on the ceiling. Then a face looked down into mine.
My least favorite face on earth. F*cking Painter.
He was saying something, but I couldn’t quite make it out through the ringing in my ears. I shook my head, focusing my eyes on his lips. He said it again.
“Can I take his cut?”
Jesus f*cking Christ.
Did this man not learn? I rolled to the side, pushing up slowly with my arms until I was on my knees. I took a few seconds to recover, vaguely aware that more men had filtered into the room. They were talking but I couldn’t quite make out the words.
I pushed to my feet—swaying—every breath a slice of hell as my broken ribs shifted and grated in my chest. Painter stood right in front of me, smirking like a playground bully. I spat out a tooth and offered him a hate-filled smile.
Then I grabbed his shoulders and slammed my forehead into his nose.
He dropped like a stone, blood flowing freely. I swayed again, stepping back. It took everything I had to stay on my feet, although the beating I’d just had gave me a bit of an advantage. I already hurt so damned much that the pain in my forehead blended right in.
I took a deep breath and answered Painter’s question.
“I already told you. You’ll take my f*cking cut off my dead body and you’ll leave my woman alone. F*ck with me again and I’ll put you in the ground.”
I staggered back, raising my head to find Picnic.
“We done here?” I asked, reaching up to test my ribs cautiously. Jesus, the pain was incredible. “Because this is your last shot. Kill me now or leave us alone.”
“We’ll put you and Em in a room upstairs,” Pic said, his face grim. “I don’t like it, but I’ll accept it. I can respect a man who’ll fight for my girl.”
He glanced down at Painter one more time, then turned and walked out of the room. I staggered after him, hoping to hell someone in this place had some f*cking Vicodin.
“So what story do you want to tell Em?” Hayes asked as we walked slowly down the hallway. He didn’t push me, which I appreciated. Just staying upright was a goddamned miracle at this point.
“No story,” I said. “My balls are the one place that hasn’t been kicked tonight, and I’d like to keep it that way. I’ll tell her it’s business, so we can’t talk about it.”
“You’ve never been in a real relationship before, have you?” he asked. I shook my head. We stopped in front of the steps and I looked up. F*ck. I didn’t want to climb those.
“How did you know?” I asked him, pausing to catch my breath. He gave a sharp laugh.
“You’ll find out.”
EM

It was after two in the morning when Dad walked into the darkened kitchen. I’d been getting more and more nervous about Hunter’s safety, especially when I’d seen several of the guys going back and forth to the basement.
I wasn’t an idiot.
I knew what was down there—hell, Kit and I practically grew up in this building. There weren’t a lot of secrets left, although I’m sure my father was clueless about how much we’d seen and heard over the years.
Hours ago, I’d listened as the vehicles pulled into the courtyard, so I knew Hunter had to be down there with them. Horse even came in to tell us they’d found the shooter, and that we could stop worrying.
That scared me more, because if they’d found the shooter, why wasn’t Hunter back with me already? Around eleven, I considered a rescue mission, then decided the odds of that backfiring on Hunter were way too high. As much as I hated to admit it, interference from me wouldn’t help him. Not under these circumstances … It was one thing for me to protect him in the truck, when he’d been pinned down. But barging in on him now? That’d make him look weak in front of my dad and his brothers, and Hunter couldn’t afford to look weak.
I should’ve stayed in the pickup truck.
Now Dad stood in front of me, his face wearing an expression I couldn’t even begin to understand.
“Well?” I demanded. “Where is he? Is he all right?”
“Nice to see you, too, baby girl.”
“Hey, Em,” I heard Hunter say. He stepped out of the shadow of the stairwell, leaning against the door frame as if just standing was almost more than he could handle.
Holy shit.
I brought a hand to my mouth, horrified.
“What the hell happened to you?” I whispered, feeling tears building. I ran over to him, but when I tried to touch him, he flinched away.
“Sorry, babe,” he muttered. “Feeling a little low. Why don’t you grab some ice and maybe help me up to bed?”
“You can use the room on the second floor,” Dad said. “I’ll find some painkillers.”
I looked back and forth between them, trying to figure out if we’d somehow stumbled into an alternate universe where people showed up randomly beaten and nobody seemed to find it noteworthy.
“Do either of you want to tell me what the hell happened here? He wasn’t like this when I left him, Dad. I trusted you!”
My voice rose as I spoke, my hands fluttering. I felt like I should be doing something, but I had no idea what.
“Babe, you know I promised never to lie to you again, right?” Hunter said. I nodded, stunned by the damage to his face. It was all mottled and bruised. Blood dripped sluggishly out of his mouth, trailing down his chin. He held a hand to his ribs, and his breathing didn’t sound quite right to me. “Well, this is one of those times that I’m not gonna lie, which means no matter how much you ask, you won’t hear a story to make you feel better. You want the truth, you need to accept that. Just help me get clean and patched up, and let’s go to sleep.”
I glanced back over toward Dad. He was crouched down, digging in one of the cupboards. Then he pulled out a large first-aid kit.
“I’ll meet you upstairs,” he said. “There’s a bed waiting on the second floor, Hunter. They saved it for you. Bathroom across the hall has a shower. Just try to keep it quiet—don’t want to wake up all the kids. I guess they’re camped out in the game room, which is just down from where you’ll be staying.”
“Thanks,” Hunter said. “Appreciate the hospitality.”
“Am I the only one who’s not crazy here?” I demanded suddenly. “What is wrong with you? What did you do to Hunter?”
They exchanged glances, and Picnic shrugged.
“I’m starting to get what you meant earlier,” Hunter murmured to him. “I’m not used to this.”
“Used to what? Having the only not-insane person in the room demand answers from you?”
“Having someone care this much about me,” he said quietly. “Em, I really, really love you. I think I’ve finally convinced your dad of that. Whatever you’re imagining this is”—he gestured down at himself—“you’re wrong. But believe me when I say I can’t explain it. Just know it all ended right, the good guys won, and I really f*cking want to crawl into bed with you and sleep. Pic, you got any Vicodin?”
My dad nodded, then stepped out of the room.
“You’re really not going to tell me?”
“Nope,” he said. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me when I say it was necessary, and you don’t need to worry about it happening again. And Em?”
“Yes?” I whispered.
“I didn’t lie to you. Remember that. I could’ve told you all kinds of stories to explain this, but I didn’t. Would’ve made my life a lot easier. I hope that means something to you.”
I shivered, trying to process his words. Nothing made sense.
“Baby, can we please go upstairs?” he asked quietly. “I can see you have lots to think about, but I’m not sure I can stay upright much longer.”
I nodded, forcing myself to snap out of my fog.
“This isn’t over,” I told him. “But let’s take care of you first. I think you need the ER. If Dad won’t loan me his car, I’ll borrow Kit’s.”
“There’s an inch of ice covering the road,” he said, and I think he smiled, or at least tried to. Hard to tell under the circumstances. “We already crashed once tonight. I’ll be fine—this isn’t the first beating I’ve taken, and it’s not like they’d do much for me anyway. Tape up my ribs, maybe give me a few stitches. Painkillers. We can do all that here, although I think I’ll take a pass on the stitches. I could use a few more scars, it’ll enhance my reputation with the brothers. They’re always sayin’ I’m too pretty.”
This time I knew he was smiling.
“You’re insane,” I said, shaking my head. “What if you have a head injury or something?”
He sobered.
“It’s not worth the risk to go back out, babe. There was at least one shooter we didn’t find tonight.”
I froze.
“Horse said we didn’t need to worry anymore.”
“Well, that was probably before we had all the details,” Hunter said, sighing. “Thought it was one guy at first. I’m sure they’ll gather everyone tomorrow and fill them in on what they need to know. I’ll even bet the second guy disappears after this—they weren’t after us in particular, just trying to stir up shit between the clubs. But we have proof now that the cartel was behind this attack, which should be enough to convince the Reapers and the Jacks that we have to work together. Tonight backfired on them in a big way.”
“Damn,” I whispered. “I guess that’s something. But I get your point. Between the ice and the cartel, I guess staying put is smarter. I suppose we should go upstairs?”
“What a great idea. Wish I’d thought of that,” he murmured, although I thought I caught a hint of humor in his eyes. Maybe. Like I said, hard to tell with all the swelling. I took his arm and led him carefully across the room, through the fire door, and into the main stairwell.
“You want to wait for my dad to give you a hand?” I asked, considering the climb ahead of us. I could steady him, but that was about it.
“No,” Hunter said, his voice wry. “I’d just as soon not get any more help from your father. I’ve had about as much as I can handle.”
An hour later I crept downstairs. Hunter was out and I doubted anything short of the zombie apocalypse would wake him up. I knew I’d find Dad in the Armory office. He had a couch in there, and with so many people sleeping over, he wouldn’t take up a bed some kid could be using.
I knocked on the door softly, not wanting to wake up whoever else might be camped out nearby.
“Give me a minute,” Dad said, and I heard him moving around. Then the door opened and he looked down at me.
I didn’t smile.
“I need to talk to you.”
He sighed. “Come on in.”
I pushed through as he turned on a lamp, shutting the door behind me and leaning against it. He sat back on the couch. We stared at each other for long seconds.
“I really miss your mom,” he said finally. “She knew how to handle you girls. I never figured it out.”
The words caught me off guard and I felt the sudden prickle of tears. I shoved them back ruthlessly.
“This isn’t about Mom. It’s about us.”
“What happened between me and Hunter is none of your business. You know that. It’s not your problem and you shouldn’t be worrying about it.”
I shook my head slowly, wondering if he’d ever get it.
“No, Dad. It’s definitely my problem when the man I love gets beaten half to death because my father hates the idea of me growing up.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but I held up a hand, cutting him off. His eyes widened.
“I understand club business,” I continued. “I get that you’re the president and we all have to do what you say. I’ve never disrespected you in front of your brothers. But this isn’t about the club, it’s about our family and you need to listen up, because I am not f*cking around right now. If you ever touch my man again, you’re dead to me. Dead. I won’t talk to you, I won’t look at you, and I sure as shit won’t let you see any grandchildren down the road. We clear?”
He sighed again.
“We’re clear.”
I turned to leave, but he stood up and caught me, tugging me into a hug. I held out for a second, then let the familiar sense of safety and belonging I felt in his arms surround me.
“I’ll always be your father,” he said quietly, resting his chin on my head. “Me and Hunter, we worked things out. He understands me and I think I’m startin’ to understand him. But no matter how much you love him or where you end up, you’ll never stop being my little girl. I love you, Em.”
This time I let the tears come.
“I love you, too, Daddy.”
A moment later I pulled away and looked up, studying his face.
“I need to get back to Hunter now.”
He nodded at me, running a hand through his hair, looking almost wistful.
“I know, baby. Go take care of him.”
Thanksgiving morning dawned bright and sunny.
I woke up and crawled out of bed carefully, trying not to jostle Hunter too much.
Walking over to the window, I peered out to find everything covered in a thick layer of ice. And I mean everything. Cars, evergreens, the power lines. Yikes. Those cables looked about ready to collapse. As far as I could see, ice caught the sunlight and reflected it like millions of tiny prisms. Almost like we’d gone to bed on earth and woken up in a fairy tale.
Of course, there was one big downside to the whole frozen wonderland thing … No f*cking way we’d be able to leave today, which meant Hunter and I would be stuck sharing our first holiday together with my entire Reaper family. On the bright side, only about half of them wanted him dead. Unfortunately, several of those who did would be cooking today, so I figured I should taste anything they offered him before letting him touch it.
Maybe we should just do Christmas in Portland …
I heard a noise from the bed. Hunter looked much, much worse today. His bruises had ripened and his face made me think of a smashed tomato. Make that a smashed tomato with eyes.
“Come back to bed,” he muttered. “And bring the drugs with you. I feel like shit.”
I walked back over and found the bottle, carefully spilling out a couple pills into my hand. Hunter managed to pull himself up long enough to swallow them, with the help of some water. Then he lowered his head painfully back into the pillow, clearly spent from even that small effort.
I settled on the bed next to him.
“I’ve been thinking things over,” I said quietly. “And I want you to know how much I appreciate the fact that you didn’t lie to me. I also realize you’re not going to tell me anything, and I know why. He did this to you because we’re sleeping together, although the kidnapping thing probably didn’t help, either. And I’m sure you just stood there and took it because of some kind of macho, bullshit pact you made with him.”
Hunter closed his eyes.
“I’m too tired for this, babe. You need to let it go. We’ll have a nice holiday dinner together and then tomorrow we’ll get the truck situation figured out. It’s all good.”
I crawled under the covers, leaning up on my elbow to study his pulped face.
“Promise me it’s over.”
“What’s over?” he asked, his voice sleepy.
“Your shit with my dad. Or do we have to go out and buy him a herd of goats, too?”
“Naw,” he whispered. “Pic said kegs were just as good. He’s a practical man.”
“You’re going to drive me crazy. This isn’t okay.”
“I know. Love you, babe.”
“Love you, too.”
“Can we please go back to sleep now?”
I snorted, then rolled onto my back.
“Sure, why the hell not,” I said. “Not like we can have sex, which sucks for you. I’ve been studying that book. Did you know there’s a whole chapter on erotic massage? Apparently a man’s penile tissues actually extend way down into the scrotum, and if you press gently—”
“Em?”
“Yes?” I asked innocently.
“You’re an evil, evil woman.”
I smiled, savoring my small victory. Then I decided I might as well go back to sleep—I’d need my strength to make it through the afternoon. Knowing my luck, Uncle Duck would decide to tell Hunter the story about when I’d been six years old and sang “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells” in a surprise solo at the school holiday program.
Uggh.
We were definitely spending Christmas in Portland.