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Her brows wrinkle in confusion. "I let myself in."
"Jesus Christ, Jessie. Do they know you're here?"
"Probably." She shrugs. "I told them I was coming here when I left the ranch."
"Left the ranch?"
She tilts her head to the side, her expression leery. "Do you know where we are, Creed?"
I glance around the room and grimace. It's not the fucking back bedroom at the club. We're at my cabin outside of Dallas. I think back, trying to remember how the hell I got here, but all I get are bits and pieces.
I remember Ghost cracking me in the head. And waking up tied to a chair. Brief snatches of conversation, all jumbled and out of context. I remember the brothers arguing about what to do with me. Jinx—the fucker—volunteered to shoot me.
"We aren't shooting a fucking cop in the clubhouse," Ruin snapped at him.
"Yeah, shut the fuck up with that shit already," Tank agreed.
"Keep talking and I'm shooting you," Risk growled.
I passed out again after that.
The next time I woke up, Risk and Ruin were in the room with me. They didn't say anything. They just untied me and then Risk hauled me out. I slipped in and out as he loaded me up in his truck. We drove for a while.
"I'm not dragging your heavy ass up these stairs," he growled, kicking my boot. "And if I drop you, Jessie will have a fucking fit. So you're going to have to wake up and walk, fucker."
"Jessie?"
"Yeah, Jessie. My baby sister."
"I love her."
"Jesus Christ. Can you just walk already?"
Everything after that is a blank. I think I talked to Johannsson at some point. I vaguely recall telling him to eat a bag of dicks. Or maybe I just dreamed that. Considering that I don't work for him anymore, either is entirely possible.
"I think you have a concussion," Jessie says, reaching up with timid fingers to touch the knot on my forehead.
"Probably," I mutter.
"Did Risk…?"
"Nah, that one is from Ghost." I turn my head slightly, letting her see my jaw. "That one is courtesy of your brother."
Her face falls.
"I had it coming, little one." I'm pissed about Ghost pistol-whipping me. The fucker has been wearing the patch for two months. Risk is a different story. He had every right to hit me. We've been close since I joined the MC. I've been seeing his sister behind his back, falling in love with his sister, lying to him about it, hiding it. I made her cry. There are a million reasons his anger was justified. Not saying I enjoyed getting hit by the fucking Hulk. And I'm not saying that shit will be happening again. He got his one free pass. Next time, he snaps, I'll snap back. But I had it coming.
"Does it hurt?" she asks, gently running her hands along the bruise.
"Nah, baby. I don't feel a thing."
She snorts, rolling her eyes at me. "You are so full of it."
"You're in my arms." I brush her hair back from her face. "It'll take a helluva lot more than a couple of little lumps to compete with that."
"Yeah?" She arches a brow, her expression turning indignant, outraged. "Like death?"
Shit. She's not going to let that go.
