CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SUNDAY
KIMBER: Josh won’t tell Ryan anyting about ur date. Did somethig go wrong? ME: Ruger
KIMBER:???
ME: We had a great time then Ruger showed up. Pretty sure I’ll never hear from Josh again KIMBER: Jesus Ruger. Stalk much?!?!???
ME: No it wasn’t like that. He was having dinner with the guys we ran into him in the parking lot. He
had a little bullshit talk with Josh then Josh ran off. I realize he doesn’t know us very well but he
didnt even make sure Noah and I were safe when he left. Epic fail all around
KIMBER: Pisser. Josh loses margarita privileges. Hate wimps
ME: Meh …
KIMBER: So u talk to Ruger at all?
ME: Nope. F*ck him
KIMBER: Gotcha. Hey u going to the bachelorette party? Marie invited me and I wnat to go, but it
would be wiered without u
ME: Can’t decide. Like her and would love it, but … you know … KIMBER: Yup, I get it. Keep me posted
MONDAY
RUGER: Can I pick Noah up after school? Got a thing I want to take him to ME: What kind of thing?
RUGER: Got a friend who races, his car is down at the track. Said Noah could have a ride ME: Is it safe???
RUGER: Safe as any car. He’ll go slow
ME: Biker friend?
RUGER: No. No colors, no Reapers. Don’t agree with you on that, but I’m giving you time ME: I dont need time. I need you gone
RUGER: Can I take him or not?
ME: Okay. Home by 6?
RUGER: 7 work? I’ll get him dinner
ME: Sounds good. No games, tho. Drop him off and leave RUGER: I hear you. No games
WEDNESDAY
DANCER: So you coming to party or not? Marie really wants you there. ME: Um …
DANCER: Please come. I know things are shit with you and Ruger. I don’t care, neither does Marie.
We’d love to have you there.
ME: Okay. Dont want to stay out too late tho. I have work on Friday
DANCER: No prob. Even a few hours would be great for Marie. Kimber, too? She’s fun. Um, coul dyou
ask her to bring her blender, too? Starting at my place before hitting bars …
ME: Dork :p
DANCER: Not dorky to know what you want;)
ME: Guess not. I’ll see if Elle can watch Noah
DANCER: You can share our sitter if you need to
ME: Rather have him closer to home. More likely to sleep. Oour lives have been crazy lately and he
has school tomorrow
DANCER: See you tomorrow night <3
ME: Sounds good
THURSDAY
KIMBER: Can’t believe she’s having the party on a thursday. Sucks, Ryan has to work tomorrow.
Hangover and baby don’t mix!!!!!!!!!!
ME: You don’t have to drink, you know.
KIMBER: Shut the f*ck up. Ur not drinking?
ME: No—work in morning.
KIMBER: You preggo or something?
ME: Oh, you’re funny
KIMBER: :-> So u know why a thursday?
ME: Marie said she’s got a thing with her mom this weekend. Spa or something KIMBER: Jealous. We should do that
ME: Right after I win the lottery
KIMBER: Hmmm … ur gonna have to start buying tickets ME: Why don’t you buy for both of us?
KIMBER: So long as I get to drink for both of us, I’m down with that! SMOOCHES
“F*ck!” Marie screamed, spinning around. “I lost my veil!”
She stood up in the limo’s open sunroof. It was just after midnight, and we’d decided to cruise down along the Coeur d’Alene lake before hitting our final destination, a karaoke bar.
About an hour ago, Marie had declared she wanted—no, needed—to sing “Pour Some Sugar on Me”
before the night ended. It’d been playing when she and Horse met, and apparently the world would end if we didn’t sing it again tonight.
We knew this because she’d been very clear: The existence of the world literally depended on successful completion of this karaoke mission.
As one of the most sober women in the limo, I’d been assigned to make sure we didn’t get
distracted and forget. Seeing as I wasn’t one hundred percent sober, I’d carefully written this on my inner arm with a pen as a reminder.
Now I stood next to her, watching in horror as the little white scrap of tulle she wore on her head
flew through the air toward Painter, who followed us on his bike. Holy shit. Would it make him crash?
Apparently a drifting veil wasn’t a serious road hazard to a bike going twenty-five miles an hour,
because he avoided it easily enough. The prospect following him—one I’d seen at the Armory party but hadn’t met—pulled off to go fetch it.
Nice.
“That’s good service,” I told Marie. She started giggling, and then she fell down into the limo, officially drunk off her ass.
I popped back down, too.
Dancer lay back across one of the seats, laughing so hard she was crying. Maggs had her shirt up, flashing her boobs while Kimber took a picture. Wasn’t sure I wanted the whole story on that one. A woman I’d just met named Darcy was pouring champagne in that very slow, very deliberate way drunk people have. Unfortunately she’d forgotten the glass.
I hoped whoever arranged the rental had coverage for that kind of thing.
A woman with short, curly, reddish-blonde hair sat giggling in the corner. Back when she could still speak in full sentences, Marie had introduced her as Cookie. She used to live in Coeur d’Alene but had moved, and now Marie managed the coffee shop she still owned in town.
Em and I looked at each other and she rolled her eyes.
I’d decided not to drink too much because I had work in the morning, but I was still in a pretty good mood. Definitely planning on a cab ride home. Em, though … She had a haunted look in her eyes that bothered me. No wonder the girls had been worried about her—something was obviously wrong.
“So why don’t they just go home?” I asked Em, scooting over to sit next to her. “Who?”
“Painter and the other guy, Banks.”
“Banks will stick with us all night,” she said quietly. “He’s supposed to keep an eye on us, make sure we make it home safe. I guess Painter’s just along for the ride—maybe he’s worried after what went down with Hunter and Skid.”
“He was watching you while you were dancing,” I said. “He may not have seemed interested before, but he’s definitely interested now.”
“I could give a f*ck,” she replied, her voice flat. “Painter, Hunter … men in general. I think I’m
swearing off them entirely. Too bad I can’t just flip a switch and go lesbian.”
“Pretty sure it doesn’t work that way,” I said, sighing. “Men really are a giant pain in the ass, aren’t
they?”
“Speaking of, how’s Ruger?” she asked. “I hear you’re fighting with each other.”
“Um, that seems a bit strong,” I said. “I’d say we’re just not talking much, which is what I wanted.
No offense, but after what happened, I don’t think I want anything to do with the club.”
She sighed.
“I can understand that,” she replied. “You didn’t exactly get a good intro. I know it probably doesn’t seem this way, but they’re actually really good guys. It’s not like this shit happens all the time.”
The car swayed, and Dancer crashed into us.
“You are boring!” she yelled in our faces. “We’re having a good time here. If you don’t sing me something good at the bar, I’m making you ride with Painter.”
Um, no. I would rather have my eyes poked out than do karaoke.
I didn’t say that, though. I just smiled politely and decided this was a sign—I’d call a cab after
Marie sang her song. I had to be up in six hours, so that was probably for the best anyway. At least I didn’t have to worry about Noah—Elle had taken him, offering to keep him overnight and get him ready for school the next day. That was a huge help.
“Oh my God!” Maggs squealed suddenly. We all froze. “We haven’t done presents yet!” “Presents!” Marie yelled, clapping her hands. “I love presents!”
Maggs lurched down to the front of the limo and pulled back a big basket full of unopened packages and envelopes. She grabbed one at random, throwing it to Marie.
“Who’s it from?” Darcy asked. Marie tried to focus on the writing, then shook her head. “Can’t tell,” she said. “They have really, really messy handwriting.”
“Here,” I said. “Let me look.”
She handed it over.
“The tag was printed off a computer,” I said, snorting. “It’s not even a fancy script or something.
You’re too drunk to read. Oh, and it’s from Cookie.”
Marie pouted.
“It’s not my fault you guys bought all those shots,” she said. “It’s not like I could let them go to waste! That’s just wrong.”
Darcy nodded sagely.
“She’s right—if you throw away booze at your bachelorette party, the marriage is doomed.”
“You say that about everything,” I accused. “The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t order the steak and the shrimp. The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t dance with at least ten guys. The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t tell us how big Horse’s dick really is. How can all of that be true?”
“I know these things,” she declared. “Am I right, ladies?”
“Hell yes,” Dancer chimed in. “Darcy knows her shit. If she says the marriage is doomed if Marie doesn’t drink enough, it’s time to start pouring shots down her throat!”
“Right now it’s time to open presents!” Maggs yelled. “Ladies, we need to focus. The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t get these open before we hit the karaoke bar!”
“Shit,” Marie said, her eyes opening wide in panic. She ripped into the bag, peeked down inside, and started giggling madly. Then she pulled out a giant double-headed jelly dildo in swirling colors.
“Oh, Cookie,” she said, sighing. “It’s beautiful! How did you know?”
We all burst out laughing, and Maggs grabbed another present. This one was from Darcy, and I shit you not, it was a giant, strap-on cock.
“That’s so you can put Horse in his place,” she told Marie. “That man’s ego needs controlling, and that’s a great tool to do it with.”
“I love it,” Marie whispered. “Oh, I cannot wait to try this.”
“You think he’d actually let you use it on him?” I asked. She started giggling.
“I think just the sight of it will make his head explode,” she said. “It’s all about creating the right kind of romantic mood, you know?”
Em got her a beautifully illustrated Kama Sutra, Dancer got her a thong that said “Support Your
Local Reapers MC” on it (along with a little Reaper’s skull), I got her sensual massage oils, and
Kimber got her some sort of electronic thing that we all just looked at, trying to figure out what the
hell it was.
“Read the instructions,” Kimber said. “Trust me, you turn this baby on, you’re gonna love it.”
Marie tilted it, obviously confused, and I tried to figure out where it would even fit on a person’s
body.
I really, really wanted a look at those directions, but when we looked for them, nobody could find them in the piles of tissue paper cluttering the limo.
We pulled up to the karaoke bar right as she finished. It was quarter to one, which gave us about an hour before last call. Because the marriage would be doomed if she didn’t have more shots, Marie had more shots. Then she got up and sang her Def Leppard song and we all joined her for the chorus.
Maggs took over the mike to sing “White Wedding,” and then Marie realized the marriage was
definitely doomed if she didn’t text Horse a picture of her modeling her new panties, so we all tripped back out to the limo.
That’s when I decided to call it a night—it was my understanding that when the bar closed, they’d all be heading back to the Armory to join up with the guys. The girls didn’t want me to leave, but
seeing Ruger wasn’t exactly one of my goals for the evening. Ten minutes later the cab pulled up and I gave him my address. I guess I’d had more to drink than I realized, because the next thing I knew,
we’d pulled into Elle’s driveway.
“Wake up,” the driver said. “This where I drop you?”
I looked around, trying to clear my head. I wasn’t drunk, but I wasn’t totally sober, either.
“Um, yeah,” I said. “Just pull around the house, okay?”
He did, and I fumbled in my purse for money. I gave it to him and stepped out, digging for the keys. I’d forgotten to turn on the outside light, which didn’t help. Or maybe it was just burned out … I
usually left it on all the time.
The driver must’ve been a nice guy, because he waited until I got the front door open before he
pulled away. Too bad he hadn’t waited a minute longer—when I flipped on the light I nearly had a
heart attack.
Zach sat in the center of the couch.
“About time you got back,” he said pleasantly, arms crossed over his chest. “Let me guess, you’re
drunk? Some mother you’ve turned out to be, Sophie. You’re nothing but a f*cking slut, you know
that?”
Seeing him hit me like a physical blow.
I mean that—if someone had punched me in the stomach, it couldn’t have hurt worse. I couldn’t
breathe, and I had to grab the wall to stay upright. That’s the thing that nobody tells you as a girl,
when they warn you about guys like Zach. You hear about women getting “abused,” but that’s such a
sterile word for what Zach did to me. He didn’t “abuse” me. He hurt me, owned me, trained me …
Broke me.
It’s like hitting a dog with a rolled-up newspaper. You do it enough times, the dog will cringe
whenever it sees the roll. Obedience becomes instinct, and in that second I felt it all come back to me.
Zach’s bitch. That’s all I was.
“You can’t be here,” I said feebly, wondering how just seeing him could make me feel so weak.
“The restraining order says you can’t be here. You’re supposed to be hundreds of miles away. How did you get in?”
“I picked the lock, you stupid cunt,” he replied. “Ruger taught me when we were kids. That and how to hotwire a car. Only f*ckin’ thing he ever did for me …”
He stood and walked over to me, a nasty gleam in his eye. He’d gotten bigger, I realized. Not taller, of course, and not fat, either. Zach must’ve started lifting weights, because those were some serious muscles. Steroid-sized muscles. He flexed them as he walked toward me, grinning as he read the fear in my face. He’d always had little-man syndrome.
My brain screamed at me to run, but my body wouldn’t obey. I was strong during the kidnapping. I’d run from Skid, but then I turned around and fought him.
Why didn’t I do that now?
I couldn’t. My body wouldn’t move.
Instead I just watched Zach, terrified, as he came up and cupped my face in his hands, fingers holding me just a little too tight.
“You’re looking good,” he said, licking his lips. He leaned forward and kissed me. Not a nice kiss— no, this one was meant to punish. I locked my jaw and kept my lips closed until he reached up and grabbed my hair, pulling it back sharply. “Open your f*cking mouth, bitch.”
I obeyed, because I knew pulling hair was the least of what he could do. He kissed me for an
eternity, tongue stabbing into mine painfully. His mouth tasted stale and nasty, like he hadn’t brushed his teeth in a year. I couldn’t get any air and tears built up in my eyes.
Finally, he pulled away.
“Cunt still sweet as that mouth?” he asked. I didn’t respond and he yanked my hair again. “Answer me, bitch!”
“I don’t know,” I whimpered. I should try to knee him. I should fight or kick or bite or something,
but seeing Zach made me feel like a helpless little girl. He knew it, too. I could tell by the gleam of
satisfaction in his eyes. Zach was a bully. How I hadn’t recognized it from the start I’ll never know,
but I could sure as shit see it now.
“I hear you’re f*cking Ruger again,” Zach whispered, face turning ugly. “I hear you’re sucking his cock all over town, and that you’re f*cking his whole club, too. Is that true, slut?”
“No,” I whimpered. “No, it’s not true.”
“What’s not true?” he asked, mouth twisting into a smile. “Not true you’re f*cking Ruger, or not true that you’re f*cking his club? Because they don’t just steal a man’s inheritance for shits and giggles, babe. They don’t do anything for free. You gotta tell me just how big a whore you are. Otherwise I won’t know how much punishment you need.”
“I’m not f*cking anyone,” I said. Zach burst out laughing. Seriously laughing, so hard he actually let me go and used the heel of one hand to press against his eyes, wiping away the tears.
“Let’s try this again,” he said when he finally stopped. “Who are you f*cking? You belong to me,
bitch. If you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll start breaking fingers.”
He reached down and caught my hand between his, gripping my right index finger, bending it sharply backward.
I panicked, wishing I could get myself to think. My mind was numb, old survival instincts taking
over.
Get it over with.
Do what he says.
Maybe he’ll show mercy if you’re a good girl …
“I had sex with Ruger,” I said quickly. Then I closed my eyes, bracing for whatever might happen
next. There’s no preparing for something like that, though. Not really. I waited for my bone to snap, so it came as a complete surprise when he punched me in the stomach instead. I doubled over, gasping for breath. Holy shit that hurt.
Zach burst out laughing.
“You’re too f*ckin’ easy.”
Silly of me, I realized, clutching my stomach and praying he’d stop at just one hit. Zach never did what I expected him to do. You couldn’t plan, couldn’t get ready, nothing like that. He was like a tornado—suddenly there, spewing evil without warning.
Zach’s laughter died.
“Hell of long drive to get here. I’m tired and hungry,” he said. “So you’re gonna make me
something to eat. Then we’ll talk some more about who you’re sleeping with. Don’t want to leave out any juicy details, do we?”
I dug through the fridge, trying to figure out what to cook him. My stomach ached, although I didn’t feel like he’d broken any ribs. Yet. We didn’t have a lot of food, but I could fix some eggs and toast. Zach had always loved breakfast for dinner.
“It was f*cking stupid of you to come back to Coeur d’Alene,” Zach said conversationally. He sat at
the small table between the living room and kitchen, watching me and picking at his fingernails. “You
couldn’t just keep your legs shut, could you? I’ll never let him have you. Never. Thought I’d made that
clear?”
I didn’t answer. No matter what I said, it would set him off. I remembered that much from before.
Zach had always liked lecturing me during punishments, and if I didn’t listen, the punishment got
much, much worse. I just had to hunker down and push through. Sooner or later he’d get tired or bored and then it would stop.
At least for a while.
I’d never be truly free from him, though. I’d thought I could change my life.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“I’ve told you a thousand times about Ruger, but you still don’t listen,” he continued. “You never get it through your head, do you? I guess sluts like you can’t control themselves … You need to be trained, like dogs. Bitches. Do you want me to train you?”
I took a deep breath, then let it out, closing my eyes tight. I knew what the next step was. Our little dance was well-choreographed.
“Yes, Zach,” I whispered, feeling my soul tuck down deep inside, hiding from what was coming. If I drew far enough away from reality, it wouldn’t hurt as bad when he started really hitting me. “I want
you to train me.”
“Good girl,” he murmured, sounding almost human.
I knelt down and opened the drawer under the oven, looking for something to cook the eggs in. I had a small, non-stick frying pan I usually used. There was also a large, cast-iron skillet that I’d found when I moved into the apartment.
I’d never cooked with it—cast iron always seemed sort of strange and scary to me.
Huh.
Why should I be afraid of using a f*cking pan? Because it was different than what I was used to? But changing how you do anything is difficult.
I could do it, though.
I could use that pan.
Almost in a dream, I reached down and picked up the skillet. How hard would it be …? Harder than a man’s fists against your flesh? Harder than cracked ribs, blackened eyes—your baby screaming for an hour because Mommy can’t get off the floor to pick him up?
Changing how you react to a man hurting you is hard. But it can be done.
The pan was heavy. Really heavy. My arms were strong, though. I’d been carrying Noah for years— this was nothing in comparison. I stood up and set the skillet on the stove, reaching over and turning
on the burner.
“I think we need to get something clear,” Zach said. He leaned back in his chair, grinning at me, all pleased with himself. Only seconds had passed as I found the skillet, but everything had changed. I felt my soul uncurling from its hiding place.
“You sent me to jail,” Zach continued. “That was a very, very bad thing to do. I’ll admit it threw me
for a while. I let you get away with it. Then you stole my money, and that’s more than a man can take.
You try to fight me, I’ll kill you. In fact, I won’t just kill you, I’ll kill Noah. Never did like that little
shit.”
Another gut punch. He hadn’t used his fists this time. He didn’t need to. I looked down at the slowly heating skillet.
“Maybe I’ll just make him disappear,” he muttered. “Just take his little ass and dump him
somewhere. You’ll never find him again, always wonder if he’s dead or alive. Maybe if you’re really good, I’ll tell you where the body is for his eighteenth birthday …”
I turned to grab eggs out of the fridge, glancing toward Zach. He was looking down at one of his
hands, forming a fist over and over, flexing the muscles in his arm. I set the egg carton on the counter. Then I reached for a bowl to mix them in—he liked them scrambled, a mixture of full eggs and egg whites for extra protein. I started cracking them, the hard white shells looking like little skulls.
They broke open so easily.
I flicked another glance at him. He was still gazing down at his fingers, flexing and fisting. Getting ready to hit me again.
“I’m gonna f*ck you in the ass, I think,” he said casually. “Make you beg for it. I’ve missed that
about you, the way you beg.”
My chest tightened, but I didn’t let myself react to his words. I just picked up a towel and wrapped it around the hot pan’s metal handle. Then I took a deep breath and thought of Noah, of what his little face would look like after Zach finished with him. Nope. Not gonna happen.
You can do this, I told myself, and I knew I was right. I could.
I lifted the pan, took three steps toward Zach and raised it high, bringing it down on his head with all my strength.
He never saw it coming.
Then I hit him a second time, just to be sure. And a third. The smell of scorched meat filled the kitchen.
I smiled.
RUGER
He felt his phone vibrate, and he seriously considered just ignoring it.
It was nearly three thirty in the morning, and the girls had arrived at the Armory an hour ago. He’d never seen Marie so drunk. She wore a little white veil on her head and a white sash that said “Bride” across her chest, and she was carrying around some weird electronic vibrating thing like a trophy.
Maggs said it was a sex toy, but damned if Ruger could figure out what it was for.
Horse was drunk, too, although not as bad as Marie. He’d carried his bride-to-be off not long after
she arrived. They were upstairs now. That was the last they’d seen of them, although Dancer was
trying to convince the girls that they needed to go and rescue Marie. That kept setting them off
cackling like a bunch of damned witches.
Ruger pulled out his phone and saw Sophie’s name. F*ck. Now what? He was trying to give her
space, but it was f*cking hard to pretend everything was fine while he waited. He missed her. The
Jacks had taken her away from him for less than a day, but those hours had nearly killed him.
He needed her back. He needed her back now. Wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.
“Hey, Soph,” he said, stepping out the door into the night air. It was almost October, but it was still warm out. A perfect Indian summer night.
“Ruger,” she said, and her voice sounded strange. “Um, I have a problem.” “What is it?”
“I don’t think I can tell you over the phone. Would—do you think you could come over? I mean, I know you’re at the party … are you safe to drive, do you think?”
Double f*ck. Something was really wrong. Her voice all but screamed it.
“Yeah, I’m good to drive,” he said, and thankfully he was. Hadn’t been in the mood to drink—too
many thoughts running through his head. He heard her breath catch. “Should I bring anyone with me?”
“Um, we should probably be discreet,” she said slowly. “I’m in some trouble here, Ruger. I don’t
know what to do.”
“Are you hurt?” he asked quickly.
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “That’s not really the worst of it … Ruger, I’ve done something bad. I think you should come over right now. I need you to tell me what to do. I know I keep asking you to stay out of my life, but I was wrong about that. I can’t do this on my own.”
“Okay, babe. I’ll be right there.”
He pulled up to her place twenty minutes later. She sat outside on the little stoop, arms wrapped tight around her knees. She looked impossibly brittle, like she’d explode into a thousand pieces if he
touched her. Little red dots spotted her face.
Blood spatter. F*ck.
“What’s up, Soph?” Ruger asked, crouching down. She looked at him with blank eyes. “Did you fall
down or something?”
“No,” she said quietly. “Zach punched my stomach and threatened to kill Noah, so I killed him instead.”
Ruger froze.
“Excuse me?” he asked carefully, wondering if he’d hallucinated what she’d just said.
“Zach punched my stomach and threatened to kill Noah, so I killed him,” she repeated, meeting his
gaze. “He was mad at me because he’d heard I was sleeping with you. He’s always been crazy jealous,
you know that. I don’t know what set him off, but he must’ve been spying on me somehow, because he
knew exactly how to find me. He was inside the apartment, waiting, when I got home from the karaoke
bar. He kissed me, and then he started asking questions and punched me. He said he was going to kill
Noah and I knew he meant it, so I hit him over the head with a cast-iron skillet until he died.”
Ruger swallowed. He didn’t feel sorry for Zach, but this was one hell of a clusterf*ck. “Are you sure he’s dead?”
She nodded slowly.
“I kept hitting him, just to make sure,” she replied, far too calmly. “I checked his pulse. He’s
definitely dead. I’m hoping you’ll tell me what to do next. I finally did my own dirty work, Ruger, but I don’t know how to finish it.”
Damn it. He shouldn’t have left her alone. Should’ve come to check on her when she didn’t show up with the rest of the girls … F*ck giving her space.
“Okay,” he said. “Where’s Noah?”
“Spending the night with Elle,” Sophie said. “She’ll get him ready for school in the morning. I’ll pick him up and take him on the way to work.”
Well, that was something.
“I’m going to go inside, check things out,” he said. “That okay with you?” “Sure,” she murmured. “No problem. I’ll just stay out here, I think?”
“That sounds good,” he told her, reaching out and cupping her cheek. She leaned her head into his touch, eyes starting to water. Then he stood up and stepped past her, opening the door.
F*ck. Double f*ck …
Zach was on the floor, his hair matted with blood. A pool of it surrounded him. A horrible stench filled the air, a mixture of burned meat and scorched hair.
The pan lay next to Zach’s corpse, more blood crusting the sides. It’d splattered behind him, too. That would take some serious cleaning. New linoleum for sure, and they might even need to replace the floorboards underneath, he mused.
Ruger checked Zach’s pulse just to be sure, but Sophie was right. His stepbrother was definitely dead. This was a mess, a big mess, and cleaning it up wouldn’t be pretty.
He was proud of her, though.
She’d defended herself when it counted, and ultimately this was Ruger’s fault. He should’ve killed
Zach four years ago. Then he should have killed him when he’d collected the child support. F*cking
weak of him.
He’d held off because of Noah.
Didn’t want to kill the boy’s father. Didn’t want to do that to his own mother, either. She’d loved
Zach, for reasons Ruger had never understood. So he’d given Zach another pass, leaving his woman to finish the job.
F*cking idiot.
Ruger pulled out his phone and dialed Pic.
“It’s Ruger,” he said. “I’m out at Soph’s place. Could use some help here, it’s delicate. Anyone up
for it? Probably gonna need a van …”
“How delicate?” Picnic asked. He hadn’t been drinking much, either, thank f*ck. Neither of them
had quite relaxed since the kidnapping, and that vigilance might save Sophie’s ass now.
“About as delicate as it gets,” Ruger said slowly. “We should talk in person.”
“Gotcha,” Pic replied, hanging up. Ruger went back outside and found Sophie still sitting on the
porch. He sat down behind her, wrapping his arms around her body, legs surrounding hers as he pulled
her close. She shivered.
“Hey, Soph,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck. She leaned back into him and he realized she was crying softly, tears rolling down her face.
Good. Crying was better than that creepy calm she’d had earlier.
“I’m really sorry, Ruger,” she told him. “I keep calling you in to fix things, always making you do the hard stuff. First Miranda, now this. I should’ve called the cops …”
“No f*cking way,” he said. “That’s a mess we don’t need. You might get off on self-defense, you might not. Not after you kept hitting him. He was just sitting when you attacked, right? He wasn’t about to hit you or something?”
“Not really,” Sophie replied. “He was looking at his hands and I was supposed to be cooking eggs.”
“You did what you had to do,” Ruger said, hoping she believed him. “He chose this—he threatened
your son, Soph. You had to protect him. That’s what mothers do.”
She nodded her head.
“I know,” she replied. “He said he’d kill all of us and I knew he meant it. The restraining order
didn’t do shit. Going to jail only stopped him for a while … What if he hurt Noah next time? I wasn’t willing to take that chance.”
“We’ll clean this up for you,” he replied, resting his cheek on her head. God, he loved how she smelled, although for once his dick had the grace to stay down. “Hopefully nobody knew he was coming here. He’ll just disappear. If the cops ever come looking, we’ll say I did it, okay?”
“You can’t—” she tried to protest, but he cut her off.
“I’m not planning on it,” Ruger said. “Trust me, prison isn’t on my bucket list. We play things right, it won’t be an issue. He wasn’t here, it never happened. But if the shit hits the fan, you’ll do what I tell you, what the club lawyer tells you. Got me?”
“I just feel so bad dragging you into it.”
“We’re a family,” he whispered. “We take care of each other. That’s the way it works, babe. You protected yourself and Noah, now I’ll protect you. My brothers’ll cover my ass, and we’ll all make it through just fine.”
“We are a family, aren’t we?” she whispered.
“Always.”
She nodded her head slowly, and he squeezed her tight. They sat together quietly, waiting for Picnic, listening to the frogs and crickets singing in the background.