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Jemma tried to act as if everything was normal, and, without being too obvious, let her eyes slide toward the car as they passed. She couldn’t see too much but from what she did, she’d describe them as typical mountain men or rednecks. Their hair and beards were unkempt, and their heads followed both Jemma and Reilly as they passed.
She shivered, like a ghost had run its fingers down her spine, once the car was behind them. She didn’t like that vulnerable feeling and kept her ears peeled for any opening car doors or footsteps behind them. Her paranoia was at a level one hundred on a scale from one to ten.
They heard nothing except the start of the exhaustless engine and the transmission clunking into gear, but by then their feet were hitting the edge of the garage’s lot. They’d be within hearing and vision range for the guys in the shop.
Even though Jemma’s heart was still pounding in her throat, she breathed a little easier.
Reilly finally extracted her nails from Jemma’s forearm and practically sprinted into one of the open garage bays, leaving Jemma and Dyna behind.
She could hear Reilly yelling about something. She assumed it was the car when all the guys rushed outside, rags in hand and heads on swivels. Even Dutch.
Cage jogged across the lot to her. “You okay?”
Her fear swirled and mixed with her anger until that was the only thing left. “Yes, but you have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Told you I’d give you the lowdown tonight over dinner.”
“You should have told me on day one!” she yelled. “Or my brother should have.” She released the stroller handles and covered her face with trembling hands and just breathed to try to regain control.
“We warned them not to fuck with us again,” Cage said in a low voice. “We fuckin’ warned them. You sure it was them?”
She dropped her hands and stared at him with incredulity. “You warned them?” Damn it, now her voice was shaking, too. “You fucking warned them?”
“Yeah. We told them we’d burn their mountain to the ground if they ever touched, talked or looked at what’s ours again.”
She shook her head. “You have a three-week-old baby, Cage.” A reminder he certainly shouldn’t need.
“Yeah, and they haven’t fucked with us since that night last fall when we went and took back Red.”
Jemma groaned. “Do you think they’re smart enough to heed that warning?” If the clan was created from incest, then they might have very few IQ points and the ones they had they might be sharing.
“If they want their women and children to keep breathin’, yeah.”
“Jemma!” Reilly yelled and waved her over. She stood right outside one of the bays and was surrounded by the men who’d rushed outside.
With a sigh, she pushed the stroller to join them. Cage followed on her heels, sticking close.
“I really think they were casing the joint,” Reilly was animatedly telling them. “Don’t you think, Jemma?”
Rook made a face. “Casin’ the fuckin’ joint? Who says that shit?”
“Whatever, Rook! You know what I mean. Like they did with Autumn. They watched until the timing was right and had an opportunity to snatch her.”
“Who fuckin’ told you that?” Rook barked and eyed the two younger men in the circle.
Jemma had run into the younger one before at the farm when she was scouting for food in the kitchen one day. The oval embroidered name patch on his navy coveralls said Whip.
That was right. She remembered him. He had been kind of sweet. He looked to be around Jemma’s age.
“You two runnin’ your fuckin’ mouth about club business?” Rook asked, exuding all kinds of unhappy.
“Wasn’t me,” Whip said with a shrug.
“Not me,” the other mechanic said. “Probably the women runnin’ their mouths. Stella was there with us and Red lived it, remember? They know exactly what happened.”
Rook scrubbed a hand down his beard in agitation. “Fuckin’ women. Gotta run their fuckin’ mouths.”
Jemma wanted to address Rook’s assholery but got distracted by the blond with the most stunning blue eyes. His hair was cut short and spiked on top, both ears had several piercings and he had a hoop in one nostril, like Deacon did. He looked to be about in his mid-to-late twenties and was absolutely gorgeous. He wore navy coveralls that weren’t buttoned from his waist up, just like Whip’s. She could read the name patch on his, too. Rev.
Like rev an engine? Or Reverend? She wondered what it was short for. “Is Rev your real name?”
The blond tilted his head and let those beautiful blue eyes slide down her body. He wasn’t even subtle about it. The air shifted sharply behind Jemma.
“Nope. Nickname. Real name’s Mickey. Surprised I haven’t run into you yet at the farm.”
“You hang out at the farm?”
One side of his mouth pulled up. And it was sexy as hell. Damn. “I live at the farm.”
