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CHAPTER 36
CAROLINE
My idea to lure my father into the warehouse was stupidly simple. But the Devils were nothing if not good at backup plans.
We created scenarios A to D in record time. None of them were polished, but all ended with Bates’s death. All of them started with me playing the part of a repentant daughter with an unshakable loyalty.
Why did I get an icky feeling from that?
It would be the performance of a lifetime—with actual lives on the line. If I didn’t play the perfect actress, we could be riddled with bullets in seconds flat.
With everyone in position, I slammed my fist into the control station to open the warehouse’s big-ass garage door. It trembled and screeched as it opened, allowing a flood of late afternoon sunlight to illuminate the multitude of blood stains on the concrete.
Back in the day, this place took in trucks and machinery. Then it was used for police recruit training. And now it was home base for bikes, brawls, and battle plans. Basically, it was a breeding ground for testosterone.
By the end of the day, we could only hope it would become a graveyard.
I limped onto the gravel road leading to the main street, smeared in blood—my own, courtesy of a knife slice to the ribs to really sell the story: Vane’s blade, but Mason’s hand. I’d asked him to do it in the name of catharsis, just another thing to prove I was on their side. He had narrowed his eyes, and I took the hesitation as a good sign of a shred of trust.
He made the injury quick. Blood bloomed from the cut and stained my shirt. I winced, but I had taken a lot worse—even in just the past week.
It seemed to hurt Knox more. He flinched, clenching his jaw and fists so hard I felt it.
“Relax, Royal,” I teased. “You can patch me up yourself after this whole thing is over.”
Brody’s head snapped up. “If you want to be scarred for life.”
Now, I leaned into the pain as the rumble of engines echoed in the near distance. And when the Wolverines came into view, I staggered toward the warehouse wall and slumped against it.
Thus, the act began.
Dust kicked up from tires as they rose closer like charging metal rhinos. The ground shook under my feet as nine Wolverines started to slow—nine, not fourteen. Almost a fair fight. Perfect. That was what we planned from the beginning—the road spikes worked like a charm.
My heart pounded in my throat as I scanned for my father. For once, he wasn’t leading the pack.
The dust clouds burned my eyes. I coughed, wincing as it irritated my new wound, but didn’t let it affect my brashness.
“Finally you fuckers are back!” I shouted over the dying engines.
None of them looked like happy campers. Some had road rash on their arms and faces from wiping out on the spikes. I felt a sick sense of satisfaction but hid my smile.
“The fuck you been?” Heel’s voice barked. He was at the lead, getting off his bike and storming toward me with a nasty rash on his right side from his jaw to his temple.
Some of the last words Heel had spoken to me were, “Still think you’re the tough chick, huh?”
And I couldn’t wait to prove it.
“Here and there,” I said. “Where you been? Eating through every crumb in the fridge while I was busy infiltrating the enemy?”
Heel snorted. Three other Wolverines joined him, curling their lips in disdain. After I escaped, they saw me as a traitor. But they were as dumb as bricks. I could convince them of the lie.
“You sold that tight-ass body to a Devil?” Heel asked scornfully. “What a waste of a pussy.”
My fingers ached to whip out the knife in my back pocket and hurl it between his eyes.
“Yes, please reduce me to a sexual object. It will make me want to sleep with you tonight.”
Heel’s shoulders straightened in excitement as if he really believed my sarcasm. Dumb as fucking bricks.