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“Dingleberries I’ll deal with,” Sig growled.
“Ones we’ll all handle when the time’s right,” Trip corrected Sig. “If they grabbed them down here, don’t mean there ain’t more feds up there. We don’t have any clue who tipped them off or why. Or even what the feds were lookin’ for.”
“We don’t know shit,” Sig growled. “Least we had a finger on their fuckin’ pulse before. Now we’re clueless.”
“Only for now,” Trip reminded him.
The undercurrent in church became tense the instant the front door banged open and a cold blast rushed in.
You gotta be shittin’ me.
It was goddamn déjà fucking vu.
Once again, it took everything in his damn power not to rush forward to the spot where Jet was being hauled into church by a prospect. Not by Scar this time, but by Castle. Not in uniform, but normal clothes and her black wool coat, winter hat and thick gloves.
Fuckin’ fuck.
Her blue eyes met his briefly before sliding through The Barn and taking in all of the Fury members and assessing the situation she now found herself in. Again.
The woman must not have learned her damn lesson the first time.
With two large hands restraining Jet’s arms behind her back, Castle announced, “Found this outside. Got no clue who she is or why she was out there. Don’t think she’s a fed. All the feds were wearin’ jackets clearly claimin’ who they were. They also cleared out.”
Everyone in that room, except for the newest prospects, already knew who Jet Bryson was. What she was.
They also all knew she had no reason to be on the farm. Especially tonight.
Unless…
“What the fuck,” Rook muttered under his breath.
Unless she had been involved with the tip off.
“She’s a local pig,” Scar called out. “Caught her here before.”
“Before?” Trip asked, his eyes sliding from Scar to Jet, his forehead wrinkling under his baseball cap.
Oh, fuck.
“Yeah, late the other night. Rook said he’d handle it.”
Motherfuckin’ Scar.
That motherfucker was done. Totally fucking done.
And so was Rook if Scar didn’t keep his fucking mouth shut.
Trip’s dark gaze landed on him. “Handle what?”
“Did handlin’ it include gettin’ that mark on your fuckin’ neck?” Scar asked with his eyes narrowed and focused on Jet’s claim. His hand went halfway up to it automatically but he caught it and forced it back down. Now that he shucked his coat, it was visible. He’d forgotten about the damn bite with all the other shit going on.
“Cujo,” he muttered lamely.
“Ain’t no dog bite, that’s a bitch’s bite,” Scar said, now sitting firmly at the top spot on Rook’s shit list. “Bet if we force her mouth open, her teeth will match the mark on Rook’s neck.”
Rook locked gazes with Scar. He was done sponsoring any future prospects. Done.
“Fuck, son, you doin’ her?” Rook heard behind him. He already knew from the tone of Dutch’s voice, if he turned around, his father would be wearing a wide, impressed grin. Horny bastard.
Rook started when a hand came out of nowhere to touch his neck and stretch the skin around the bite. “Christ,” Trip muttered, then turned toward Jet, tipping his head toward Rook. “That your mark?”
“No.” The lie slipped from her without even the slightest hesitation.
Trip turned and locked gazes with Rook. “That her mark? You sleepin’ with the enemy?” Trip leaned in closer and whispered, “You fuckin’ lie to me, your colors will be stripped and it’ll be done in a way you’ll wish you never fuckin’ lied.”
Rook opened his mouth and nothing but air hissed out.
Trip stepped back, closed his eyes, took a deep inhale through flared nostrils and opened his brown eyes again. “Upstairs,” he growled, then shouted, “Up-fuckin-stairs!” He glared at Rook. “You.” He pointed at Judge. “You.” He turned and pointed at Jet. “And you. Upstairs now.”
Jet’s mouth opened to argue but Rook shot her a look. Her mouth snapped shut and she yanked herself free from Castle’s grip. When she approached Trip, she said in a low, steely voice, “I don’t answer to you.”
“I know who the fuck you answer to, Jet. And I can tell you he’s gonna be more pissed than me.”
“You don’t know that.”
Trip got into her face and growled, “The fuck I don’t.” He turned on his boot, then paused, and his jaw shifted sharply. “That’s it for tonight. Go hit your racks, warm pussy or a bottle. I don’t give a fuck. Just go do it elsewhere.”
Rook heard a murmur from his brothers as he followed his prez and sergeant at arms across the floor. After latching a hand around Jet’s forearm, he dragged her along with him.
“I don’t answer to him or any of you,” Jet grumbled only loud enough for Rook to hear.
He jerked on her arm in warning, but said nothing because he was ready to lose his shit on her for showing back up on the farm once again, stupidly putting them both at risk.
