Reapers MC: Devil's Game Part 41

"Yes," Dancer said, her face more serious than I'd ever seen it. "Em, I love you, but I don't understand how you could be with a man who's part of that club."

I stiffened.

"The man who shot at your house wasn't a Devil's Jack," I said firmly. "Hunter told me he wasn't. He says that someone else is trying to set us all up for a war. They want peace-they need peace, or their club won't survive."

The women exchanged looks, and Marie coughed nervously. Great. Now they all thought I was a gullible idiot.

"Anyone want a drink?" Maggs asked brightly. "I could use a shot."

"Grab the bottle," Kit said, reaching out to take my hand. I tugged it away from her, frustrated.

"Just don't make any judgments until we have the full story," I told them. "You don't know what happened out there. Remember, the sniper tried to kill Hunter, too."

"I guess we'll see," Marie said. "It's good to have you back, Em. The good news is we all brought food with us-whatever else happens, we can celebrate the holiday together instead of just canceling everything."

Perfect, I thought. Just what I needed. Now everyone could spend tomorrow glaring at me and Hunter, blaming him for everything that'd gone wrong for the Reapers during the last twenty years. And with his truck all busted up, it wasn't like we could leave. Maybe I could rent a car ...

"Drink?" Maggs asked again, her tone forced. I shook my head. I already had a headache. The last thing I needed was to throw a hangover into the mix.

Grown-up life was complicated.

HUNTER.

By the time they pulled me out of the truck, my nuts were the size of raisins. f.u.c.kin' cold out there. Despite that, I remembered to grab our bags from behind the truck's seats. I also grabbed my Devil's Jacks cut, folding it carefully over my arm before climbing up the bank. Hayes had an SUV waiting for me. At least, I hoped the SUV was for me. A black cargo van had been parked there, too, reminding me of the one we'd used to kidnap Em and Sophie.

Not the most encouraging of sights.

When I reached the top, I found Hayes. He eyed my colors but didn't say anything. He also didn't tell me which vehicle would be carrying me to the Armory. I knew he'd promised Em that he'd keep me alive, but it seemed likely that my comfort wasn't part of the deal.

"You catch the shooter?" I asked him.

"Shooter's in the van," he said. "But you'll ride with me. C'mon."

I followed him to the SUV-score one for me. Hopefully it was a good sign. Horse and Painter joined us in the backseat. n.o.body spoke to me on the short, tense drive to the Armory, which was just fine. The night was far from over, but I'd had plenty of time in the truck to consider my strategy. I'd been in situations like this before, although usually on the other side. I knew better than to show weakness or volunteer information.

On the bright side, at least I wouldn't have to waste any time looking for the a.s.shole pretending to be one of my brothers. He was in the van, I was almost certain of it. Smart money said once they took him into the Armory, he wouldn't be coming back out, which saved me even more time.

We pa.s.sed through a gate in the building's courtyard wall. Em was somewhere inside, hopefully snug and warm, surrounded by her girls. Just the thought of her exposed in that truck, the way those shots had blasted through the windshield, chilled my blood.

This love s.h.i.t sucked.

Now it wasn't enough I had to watch out for Kelsey, I had to keep Em covered, too. This was why I'd never had pets. Too much work. Hayes stopped the rig, turning it off and looking at me.

"Come inside?" he asked, as if I had a choice.

"Sounds good," I replied, opening my door. I stepped out to find us parked next to a sunken stairwell leading under the building.

Nothing ominous about that, right?

They'd packed our bags away in the back of the vehicle, which meant I didn't have access to my spare sidearm. At least they hadn't searched me. I considered that a good sign, seeing as the hunting knife on my hip wasn't exactly subtle.

I guess technically I was still a guest.

Hayes started walking toward the stairwell, but I paused to pull on my cut. Painter stopped cold, glancing back and forth between me and his president.

"You aren't letting him wear his colors inside, are you?" he demanded. Christ, this guy was a drama queen.

"You'll get them off my dead body," I told him, my voice matter-of-fact.

At least five or six Reapers gathered to watch as Painter and I faced off. I unstrapped my knife, wrapping my fingers around the hilt loosely. s.h.i.tty way to go out, but with any luck I'd take the a.s.shole with me. Then Picnic stepped in.

"We still have a truce, brother," he announced. "At least until we prove they're behind the attack. I don't know if you got a close look at the cut our sniper friend was wearing, but it didn't look quite right to me. Until we know better, Hunter is a guest of the club paying us a friendly visit."

Yeah, 'cause all friendly visits happen in darkened bas.e.m.e.nts.

Still, the look of frustration on Painter's face was nice. I winked at him, then followed Em's dad down the stairs. He unlocked the metal door, which sc.r.a.ped open onto a barren concrete hallway lighted by naked bulbs screwed into the ceiling.

"Nice place," I murmured, and Picnic snorted back a laugh.

"We try," he said. "I've got a room here that'll work for you to wait in."

He unlocked one of the doors lining the hallway. I peeked in. Room, my a.s.s. This was a straight-up prison cell. I c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at him.

"Thought I was a guest?"

"We'll leave the door open, don't worry," he said, smiling pleasantly. "And I wouldn't want you getting bored, so I asked Horse to keep you company."

Horse. Could be worse, I decided. I'd met the man several times in the past few months. Seemed to be a straight shooter. Thorough, too. There'd been an incident with one of our guys back in Seattle around the end of August. f.u.c.ker was out bad and on the run. When Horse and Ruger came across him, they'd been sweet enough to call us for a pickup. They'd even wrapped him up as pretty as a Christmas present, all ready for delivery back to his old chapter.

The big Reaper stepped forward, offering me a cold smile.

"Why don't you fill me in on what's been happening in Portland while we wait?" he said. "I always love catching up on gossip."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," I told him, resisting the urge to flip him off. He gestured toward the room graciously enough, so I walked in, flopping down on the low cot. I might not have any serious injuries from the accident, but I figured I'd be plenty sore in the morning, a.s.suming I lived that long. Might as well make myself comfortable for now. Horse followed me in, carrying a rusted metal chair from the hallway. He set it down facing away from me, then straddled it, leaning forward against the backrest.

"So what's your story?" he asked. "I hear rumors about you and Em. You know she's like a little sister to all of us. I'm real protective of my sisters."

"Yeah, I've gotten that vibe from several of your brothers," I said, folding my arms behind my head. "She tells me Daddy doesn't like it when she and Kit bring home their boyfriends."

"You could say that."

"Well, I'm not her boyfriend. I'm her old man and I'm not gonna let anyone get between us. You could get around that by killing me, but until then, consider Em taken. How's that for gossip from Portland?"

He raised a brow and nodded thoughtfully.

"To be honest, it's more interesting than what we usually hear from Deke," he said. "He likes to talk about pesky little Devil's Jacks moving in like they have a right to exist on our territory."

"Don't you ever get tired of this?" I asked, considering how many different versions of this conversation I'd heard over the years. "You insult the Jacks, we insult the Reapers, someone gets shot and then we all pout for the next decade?"

I'd caught him off guard, and he laughed.

"Can't believe I'm sayin' this, but I kind of like you. Hope I don't have to bury your body tomorrow."

"Well, I have to admit," I said, sitting up and leaning forward on my knees. "I'm kinda hoping you don't have to bury my body tomorrow, too."

A scream cut the air, and Horse c.o.c.ked his head.

"Think that might be your club brother," he said, studying my reaction.

I shook my head.

"Not one of ours," I said flatly. "Let me lay it out for you ... If that was my brother, I'd be fighting for him right now. I'd rather die than let a Reaper torture a Jack. But him? That's the c.o.c.ksucker who tried to kill my woman. One of his bullets missed her head by a couple of inches at most. h.e.l.l, he grazed my ear. The only problem I've got with this situation is I'm in the wrong room. I should be in there with him, making sure your boys don't kill him too fast."

Another scream wailed out.

"Mind if I take a nap?" I asked, catching and holding Horse's gaze. "Sounds like it could take a while."

Horse laughed again.

"Make yourself comfortable."

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 s.h.i.t," 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.s.shole has been saying. Some pretty serious s.h.i.t 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 ma.s.s 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 c.o.c.ked a brow in question. I found someone wearing fake Devil's Jacks colors pretty d.a.m.ned 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?"

"Si. 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."