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As a show of good faith, Rock slides his pistol back in its holster. “Put ’em away.”
Wrath’s the last one to stand down.
Quill kicks Rio in the side. “Shut your mouth until further notice.”
“I have a few questions.” I lean down into Rio’s face. “How’d you find Serena?”
“How’d you find her is the better question, grandpa.”
This time, Chaser lands the kick to the guy’s ribs. “Stop fucking around.”
Rio hisses in a pained breath and glares at Chaser, then Quill. “Told you this arrangement was bullshit.”
“Who told you about her?” I dig the tip of the gun in my hand into Rio’s kneecap. “It’s been a while, so I’ll start low and move my way up, to get the hang of things,” I warn him.
“Fuck! All right. All right. Your P.O. gave me her info.”
I glance up at Rock, who nods.
“Why?” I ask Rio.
“I guess Big Chief needs someone on the outside who has access to folks with certain skill sets.”
“No, why me?”
“Everyone inside says you’re a savage,” he says with wide-eyed respect. “Big Chief knew you’d get shit done. But you needed the right motivation. The deal was important.”
Chaser kicks him again. “You mean the deal running goods through my territory.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about that!” Rio yells. “The job was to convince the old dude to fall in line. If he didn’t, then go after the girl.”
“And then what?” I ask.
“Nothing. Big Chief figured after being locked up for so long, you were probably desperate for pussy, so you’d do whatever he needed with the right motivation.”
I hang my head and choke down a pathetic laugh. The whole operation inside is doomed with Big Chief running things.
“Why’s Grillo working with Big Chief?” I ask.
“Cash. He’s got a kid with a hefty heroin habit and needs to put her in rehab.”
Fuck, that’s probably embarrassing for someone in law enforcement. No wonder he’s such a prick.
Rio must be missing part of the bigger picture. “Why would Big Chief think turning Grillo loose on me was gonna motivate me to do his dirty work? If anything, I’d be less likely to get involved.”
Rio blinks up at me. “Huh?
About the answer I expected from this joker.
“We good?” Quill asks me.
I stand and point the gun at Rio’s head. “I got what I needed.”
“No, no, no.” Rio digs his sneakers into the cement and attempts to crawl away like a deranged inchworm. “You said if I told ’em everything, we’d be level!” he shouts at Quill.
“I lied.” Quill shrugs but he presses his palm against the barrel of my gun, lowering it to my side. “I’ll do the honors.” He smirks at me. “Can’t have a friend of Chaser’s headed back to prison because of my crew’s fuck up.”
What this punk doesn’t understand is I’d go back to prison for life if it kept Serena safe.
But there’s no time to argue.
Quill pulls his Glock and points it at Rio’s head.
“No, no, no!” The kid scrambles to his knees.
Quill pulls the trigger.
The deafening roar reverberates around us.
A shockwave of red slush explodes from Rio’s skull, splattering the concrete. He topples over on his side, a slow halo of blood and brains spreading around his head.
I feel nothing except the irritation of not being the one to fire the kill shot.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Serena
I stare at the pregnancy test until I’m ready to puke. Again.
This can’t be happening. Again.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Why are you so fertile?
Tears sting my eyes. I won’t cry. I clench the stick in my hand and stare at those two miserable lines.
These tests are wrong all the time.
It’s possible I screwed it up. I set the stick on the bathroom counter and march downstairs. The club installed lockers in the women’s bathroom a couple of years ago. It was nice to be able to have a place to stick your purse or whatever.
What was even nicer—and it must have been either Trinity or one of the other women who came up with the idea and replenishes the supply—was the lockers are chock-full of the kinds of goodies every den of deviancy should offer to the women who visit seeking free, casual sex with dirty bikers.
Condoms—a wide variety of sizes, shapes, brands, and flavors. Single-use bottles of lube, individually wrapped vibrating cock rings, emergency contraception—ha!—tampons, pads, trial-sized bottles soaps, shampoos, toothpaste, travel toothbrushes and other toiletries. What I’m actually here for is in a lower locker.
Pregnancy tests.
I grab one of the pink boxes.
Paranoid about running into someone who will ask questions or report back to Grayson, I shove the box down the front of my pants and yank my sweatshirt over the bulge.
By the time I return to our room, I’m shaking. I run into the bathroom and slam the door. I rip open the box and yank out both sticks.
