“You remember I exist. How nice,” he drawls.“To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”
I’m going to shoot him the next time I see the little fuckwhistle.
Ransom hides a smile against my hair, while I glare at Lore’s phone.
“Your little problem tried to kill my unborn child and my mate,” Lore says dangerously. Devon’s gasp is almost inaudible, because Lore continues without allowing him to speak. “You’re also speaking to the President of the Knotted Anarchists. I’m not your brother for the purposes of this call.”
“What? Lore, back the fuck up. Is Marie alright?”
“I’m fine,” I rasp, my voice cracking as I pull in a breath. Ugh, I hate crying. “Now shut up and listen to your brother.”
“The Reaping Marauders are done,” Lore rumbles. “They don’t deserve any more time. I will come up to Illinois and burn their fucking clubhouse down if you don’t end this.”
“We will bring war,” Storm grunts, dropping the feet of two men he’s dragging.
“Clean up is on the way, Prez,” Wilder reports pocketing his phone before following Storm to get the last two bodies.
“I didn’t think they’d go after you,” Devon whispers. “I swear, I didn’t. They’re having a party right now at their club.”
“Sounds like a great time to strike,” Ransom says. “They’re all going to pass out drunk. Fuck it up, Prez.”
“God, the hotheads have infected you,” Devon groans. “I promise they’ll all be dead by the time you’re having your morning coffee, alright?”
“They better be,” Lore grumbles. “I’ll let Marie take it out of your hide if they aren’t.”
“Her eye is going to be black and blue,” Ransom adds helpfully, sighing. “We need to call your doctor friend for a visit to make sure you’re okay.”
None of them are really talking about the health of the baby and I shiver, pressing my hand to my stomach. It’s too soon to feel the baby moving, and I close my eyes as I pray she or he is okay.
“Consider it handled.”
Devon screams and throws something at the wall before the call drops, making me sigh as I open my eyes.
“That went well,” I observe, stiffening when I hear the sound of engines in the woods.
“It’s just Ryder and some of the guys from the garage,” Wilder explains, dumping another body. Storm does the same, and they come over to check on me.
Ryder finds us all on the ground, and he sighs as he gets off the bike.
“I should have just handled it myself.”
“And deny me the satisfaction of shooting that shotgun?” I ask, tsking. “You’re shy a body, by the way. The last one went over the cliff.”
“Now you’re Combat Barbie,” Ryder mutters, shaking his head. “Give these alphas a run for their money, kiddo. I sure as fuck couldn’t handle the white hair.”
Lore snorts, getting up off the ground to help me up.
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer if you rode with me, Princess,” he says, pulling me tightly into his arms. “I’m not quite ready to let you too far out of my sight.”
“Your bike is a little banged up,” Wilder says, picking it up. “It’s not too bad. You handled your first washout well.”
“All that matters is that I held onto the gun,” I say honestly.
Glancing at Ryder, I catch him as he stares at me with wide eyes.
“Leave the bike with me, Marie. I’ll fix it up at the house. It was stupid of me not to mention something before you got here about the Reapers,” he says. “I’m carrying some serious guilt.”
“Shit happens,” I shrug. “I’m pretty sure I’m fine. My ankle is mad at me, Lore.”
