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“You wanna tell me why you pretended to give a fuck about your sister?” I ask.
His eyes widen, and he gulps before he speaks. “I do care for her.”
“You lie,” I grind out. “You sold her, didn’t you? Sold her to that asshole. I thought you were a fucking fed, and you sold your own fucking sister.”
Logan looks down at his shoes, pretending to be upset about my questions, about my words, about being called out, but men like him aren’t upset about dick. He did this shit with one thing and one thing only on his mind—money.
“You don’t understand,” he says.
Shaking my head once, I lean forward slightly. “I understand clearly. And I want to make sure you understand something, too. You will not live to see the end of this day.”
Turning around, I walk away from him and straight toward the truck. I’m going to drive these women to their freedom. I’m going to end this shit. I don’t care how many bullet holes it gets me.
I’m fucking done with this shit.
Done.
The bikes follow me as I follow the SUV. That SUV is going to bring home my woman, all the old ladies. And everybody who is currently inside that SUV, including Logan, will die. It takes us a while to drive through the desert.
It is dark and desolate, isolated, and I smile to myself because this shit is fucking perfect. They’re all going to die, and nobody is going to hear a fucking thing.
Diaz is sitting next to me but, thankfully, doesn’t try to make any small talk. I want nothing to do with him. I would have already killed him if I could have gotten away with it, but it’s better to do it when everyone is in one place at the same time.
The men should already be set up somewhere, hidden where they won’t be seen until we want them to be. Pulling up to the barren area with the single warehouse and two cars parked in front, I turn the truck around before I back the semi up to the door.
“Your people get this done, the debts are paid, and it’s the end of our agreement,” Diaz says like I give a fuck what he thinks.
“Sounds like a plan,” I grind out.
He snorts. “I’m not the same as Raul. I want all our groups to work together. Not just because you’re afraid that the Dead Phoenix will do anything. I don’t want anything out of fear. I want amicable partnerships.”
He’s making it harder to kill him. I open my mouth to say something when he continues, “I know these kinds of shipments aren’t for your club. I know you guys want to go legit, but at the same time, I needed everyone on this.”
Pressing my lips together, I think about telling him to shove it all up his ass. I don’t give a fuck what he wants, the way he wants to run his group. I don’t give a fuck about any of it.
All I want is my woman back… my buttercup.
My Reese.
I don’t say any of that, though. He can’t know how I feel. So I clear my throat and swing my gaze over to meet his before I speak, and when I do, everything I tell him is lies. Because men like him, they don’t deserve the goddamn truth.
“No hard feelings on anything, Diaz.”
The truck door opens, and I look down to see Legacy standing on the other side. He jerks his chin and motions for me to get out. “They’re unloading,” he murmurs.
Looking behind me, I find the door to the warehouse lifting. There are eight men standing on the other side, along with the old ladies. My eyes frantically search the small crowd for Reese.
She isn’t there.
What the fuck?
REESE
I try to move, but I can’t. It’s too cramped in here. When Christopher said I was his, he wasn’t messing around. Once he made the announcement, he practically threw the others at Douglas, wrapped his firm grasp around my bicep, and dragged me away to a small closet in that small office.
Small on small on small.
Placing my hand on my belly, I pinch my eyes closed and send a silent prayer to someone, anyone. To God, if he exists. To whatever is out there. I just want to survive this. I want my baby to survive it. I know I said I was willing to die fighting for my freedom, but I don’t want to die.
