Page 25 of Psycho

“Just some bad blood between clubs, Sheriff,” I replied.

He hummed in thought, with one hand resting casually on the butt of his pistol as he glanced around.

“Well, Hillbilly sends his regards. I really need to stop answering the damn phone when I see his number. But I owed him a favor, and now we’re finally even, so he can stop holding it over my head.”

I let out a breath of relief and sagged into a chair at the kitchen table.

“Bobbie called for backup.”

Whitfield shook his head.

“She didn’t call us. She called your old President. Then he turned around and bullied me into doing his bidding, as if he’s the one bankrolling my paycheck.”

I chuckled, feeling a fresh wave of pride all over again. Bobbie called my club instead of the cops, giving us a chance to handle our business without having the police breathing down our necks. I kept forgetting how much she had learned about my life and my club while she was in town before reconnecting with me.

Bruiser traipsed in through the kitchen door, with a black eye, busted knuckles, and wiping blood from his mouth.

“Those bastards really thought they could take me and win, since it was three to one. Until I started fucking swinging. Then they figured out real quick that they picked the wrong fight.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Whitfield said. “In fact, my incident report will say this was nothing but a false alarm, so it won’t even be on the books.”

I took a breath to speak, but he held up a hand to silence me.

“Next time I show up at your doorstep, I won’t be playing good cop. Hillbilly gave me the break in a case that I needed, and I was promoted to Sheriff because of it. The score is settled now. No more favors."

“If you’re looking for another lucky break,” I replied. “I can point you in the direction of an escaped fugitive.”

Whitfield arched an eyebrow with interest.

“You have my attention. Off the record, of course.”

After I explained the situation with Huxley, Whitfield started issuing a series of rapid-fire orders into the handheld radio clipped to his uniform.

A moment later, the familiar rumble of motorcycles approached. Within less than a minute, my house was full of bikers as The Reckless Order streamed in my door, milling around.

I waded through the melee to Bobbie’s side and helped her up. Her hands weren’t bleeding anymore, but the cuts would need some TLC.

“Seven,” I called above the hum of voices clamoring over each other. “I need you to look after my girl for me. She’s hurt.”

It went so silent that I could have heard a pin drop. Everyone turned to look at us. Bobbie sucked in a sharp breath and stared at me.

“What is it?” I whispered. “What did I say?”

“You—you called me your girl,” Bobbie replied softly, her cheeks going pink.

I slipped an arm around her waist, tucking her into my side. Her fingers grazed the scar on my ribs.

“Because it’s true,” I said.

Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. She ducked her head and pressed a kiss to my shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. Then she gasped.

“Arrow, there’s a piece of glass stuck in your back.”

I twisted around, but it was nearly impossible to get a good look at the chunk of glass protruding from my shoulder blade. Now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, I could feel the sharp edges of it though, especially when I moved.

“Sit down,” Seven said, gesturing to the kitchen table. “Both of you. Don’t make things worse than they already are.”

I pulled Bobbie’s chair tight against mine, until our thighs were pressed together. I rested my palm on her bouncing knee as she tried not to squirm while Seven doused her cuts in alcohol and wrapped her hands with gauze.