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The girl who didn’t know better. The girl who thought hating those he hated made her loyal. The girl who confused obedience with love.
The girl who became a woman, who learned the world had been built by better, stronger people who believed Reno deserved better than senseless violence.
I wasn’t a little girl anymore. I wasn’t a daughter anymore. I wasn’t blindly obedient. I was a fucking storm, and I was going to blow Walter Bates off the face of the planet.
Until that happened, however, I had to survive a group of grieving men whose outlet was lashing out at me for my and my father’s wrongdoings.
I couldn’t decide who Mason and Grant blamed more for Gabriel’s death—me or Knox. But playing the blame game was fucking stupid because infighting was going to get us all killed.
Could I say that to them? Hell no. They hadn’t even liked giving me a baseball cap to borrow for the staged argument that went off script.
When I watched Grant slam Knox against the fireplace stone, I thought it would knock him unconscious. I had to clap my hand over my mouth to stop from screaming his name. It wasn’t the worst hit he’d taken, of course, but now I actually cared for him.
I admitted it to myself the second Knox walked out of the door of the Well, the second I knew the whole plan was in motion and he was in real, potentially life-ending danger. Walter was going to know—if he didn’t already—Royal Flush had claimed his heir.
And he was going to take revenge.
It didn’t matter if Walter disowned me. It didn’t matter if he cared about me or didn’t give a single shit.
What was his was still his, and no one was allowed to have his property.
I yanked the baseball cap off and tossed it behind the bar, storming toward Grant.
I was my own fucking property. Knox was mine.
And no one tried to hurt the people I marked untouchable.
Grant, big as he was in stature, had a soft heart. Once I thought that was a weakness, but now I knew it meant being human. It was a strength, and it took a lot of that for a bike mechanic in his thirties to show his grief so openly. It showed trust in his brothers that they wouldn’t judge him for anything.
“Grant,” I said. “A word.”
Mason appeared like a vengeful spirit, separating Grant from me. He glared at me like he was imagining all the weapons he could use on me. “Don’t fucking talk to him. Don’t talk to any of us unless it’s necessary. The plan is in motion. No distractions. If you really are on our side to kill Bates…” The VP paused, scanning my face, which I kept expertly blank but not antagonistic. “Then you prove it. Maybe then I won’t kill you the way your daddy killed my friends.”
I lifted my chin and stood my ground. I believed Mason’s threats, but I wasn’t afraid of them. My plan was going to work. The Devils were capable of completing it.
My father was going to die today. I felt it in my bones like some quack seer.
“Understood,” I said briskly.
I noticed the other Devils across the room, waiting.
I threw up my arms, taking small pleasure in seeing them tense. “Well? Are we burning rubber or not?”
Mason cursed me out under his breath and grabbed Grant’s arm, yanking him toward the others. I followed far behind them out to the back lot of the bar.
Three old pickup trucks waited. One was for Jackson and Knox, ready to be loaded with road spikes when they returned from the scouting mission. The other Jameson and Abel climbed into. I wasn’t on good terms with them, either, especially for what I had done to their women. Abel had a baby on the way, too, with the busty girl, Elouise Whatever-her-last-name-was. I fucked up her shit with the casino donation.
But they were still a better option than riding with my number one hater.
I started to walk toward them when Mason snatched my arm hard.
Damn it. So much for that.
I whipped around to glare at him. “Get your hand off me,” I hissed. I wrenched free, but he caught me again just as fast.
“You’re in my truck so I can keep an eye on you,” Mason growled.
“What, you think I’m going to hijack it and?—”