Page 28

There she is, slumped over near the back of the steel box.

I head inside. The closer I get, the more I see of her.

“Shit,” I mutter. Her eyes are swollen shut, her lips cracked, and blood dried around her nose and mouth.

She is half-naked, her shirt torn from her body, and only wearing panties.

She also has deep purple bruises and welts on her thighs.

I remove my cut and take off my shirt. Kneeling, I slip it over her head, putting each arm carefully through the sleeves.

That’s when I notice the needle marks down both arms. Anger swells inside me, knowing what she probably endured.

“They’ve kept her doped,” I say. I look at her.

“Amara.” I try getting a response, but get nothing.

I check her pulse—it's weak, but there. Her skin is clammy, and her breathing is shallow. She moans when I shift her, but it’s a broken, ragged sound, like she’s in pain but has no strength left to scream.

Riggs crouches next to me. “She needs a hospital.” He stands, turning to Wick. “Dig the SUV keys off the guy you silenced.” He then faces Kiwi. “Ride with them. The rest of you are with me to clean this shit up. We leave no evidence we were here.”

Wick finds the key fob in the dead guy’s pocket. “Load her while I start it up.”

Amara is limp in my arms as I seat her in the back. Kiwi slides into the passenger seat without a word. Wick slams the driver’s side door shut and hits the gas, kicking up gravel as we pull away from the yard.

“The fastest route to the nearest hospital is exit twenty-two. There’s a trauma center just off the ramp.”

Wick doesn’t respond. He drives hard and fast.

When we hit the off-ramp, we blow through the yellow light and pull up to the emergency room entrance. Wick slams the vehicle to a stop, and I push open the door, shuffling Amara into my arms and heading for the sliding glass entrance.

Inside, the emergency room is quiet. The calm lasts two seconds. “We need some fucking help here,” I boom, my voice echoing off the tiled walls like a shotgun blast.

The nurse behind the protective partition jumps to her feet and disappears.

Kiwi barrels in behind me as two nurses rush out from the double doors leading to the back.

I don’t wait. I carry Amara down the corridor, meeting the gurney halfway where I lay her down.

“She’s been drugged. I don’t know what.” I don’t rattle off more because she’s wearing the evidence all over her body.

I stand there for a beat as they wheel her away, hoping we arrived in time.

“Let’s go before we attract unwanted attention,” Kiwi says.

We don’t make it out of the doors before running into trouble.

Two officers walk up to us, chests puffed, hands hovering over their weapons.

The lead one, a tall, square-jawed asshole with a buzzcut, runs his stern gaze over us with suspicion.

The uniform following close behind him is young and looks a bit twitchy.

The lead cop strides over like he’s been waiting to flex on someone all day.

“Who brought the girl?” His voice is raised way too loud.

I don’t flinch and meet his stare. “You’re lookin’ at him.”

The cop narrows his eyes. “Name?”

“Not givin’ it,” I reply.

The shorter cop steps closer into my space, thinking he can intimidate me. “Got any relation to the victim?”

“Found her.” My answer is short, tone clipped.

“That’s not an answer,” he snaps, trying to rattle me.

“Not givin’ you one,” I fire back.

His partner shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his hand hovering nervously over his belt.

“I could haul your asses in right now,” he says. “For interfering with an investigation, withholding information.”

I stare at him, unfazed by his threat.

He opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by a third cop walking up behind him. The cop is older, with a beard, steel gray hair cropped short, and calm eyes. “Officer Bennett and Doucet,” he says, his tone clipped.

Both uniforms glance his way.

“Landry,” Doucet mutters.

“Go check on the victim’s status. I’ll take it from here,” Landry orders.

Bennett scowls but doesn’t argue, and Doucet looks relieved. They disappear into the hospital.

Landry shifts his attention back to Kiwi and me. It takes me a second before it clicks why I know his face. “We’ve met. You used to shoot at Kings Tactical.”

“Everest, right?” Landry offers a handshake, and I accept. “And you’re Kiwi.” He looks at my brother, and he nods. Landry sighs. “Look. I don’t know what happened tonight, and I’m not asking. But a half-dead girl is gonna stir up shit. If she starts talking, the higher-ups are gonna want answers.”

“You know where to find us. We got nothin’ to hide,” I clip.

Landry nods. “Get out of here.”

As we go to leave, the sliding doors open, and a young nurse jogs out. “Wait. You two brought that poor girl in. Do you know her name?”

“Amara,” I tell her.

“Last name? Does she have a family?” the nurse asks.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t have those answers.” I go to walk away again, but stop and turn back around. “How is she?”

“Stable,” she tells us, glancing between me, Kiwi, and Landry.

I give her a tight nod. “Thanks.” Then we walk to where Wick is waiting with the SUV engine running.

Some time later, back at the abandoned sugar mill, the air feels thicker than before.

The others are waiting when we roll up. Riggs is standing near the riverbank, his arms crossed over his chest. Next to him, Nova is crouched, washing his hands in the water while Fender lingers nearby, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Wick, Kiwi, and I approach them, my eyes scanning where the dead men once were.

“Bodies?” Wick inquires.

Riggs jerks his thumb toward the water. “Gator food.”

I gaze out at the river, the water looking blacker than oil, knowing somewhere beneath the surface, three bodies are now just bones waiting to be picked clean.

Then I look back at the SUV we used to transport Amara, our prints are all over it, and the last thing we need is someone thinking the Kings are linked to anything the dead men were involved with.

I scan the ground, looking for something useful, and spot a length of rusty pipe near the shipping container, so I pick it up and head toward the driver’s door.

“Might want to move,” I call out, and my brothers shift from where they stand.

I wedge the pipe between the gas pedal and the seat, shift it into drive, and step back as the engine revs.

The SUV lurches forward, right toward the river.

It hits the bank with a hard splash, taking a few minutes before the current's pull starts taking hold, and the nose dips below the surface. It happens fast. The ass end of the SUV bobs a few times, then it’s gone, swallowed by the Mississippi.

We trek back to our cages in silence. The drive back to the clubhouse is the same—a quiet that allows your thoughts to slip in and take hold. I think about our troubles, but my mind mainly focuses on returning to my woman.

We roll through the clubhouse door just past midnight, with the smell of coffee and the buzz of tension in the air.

“She alive?” Tony asks, his voice rough. He’s slow to get off the sofa.

I nod once. “Yeah, but barely.”

Tony lets out a slow breath of relief and closes his eyes.

Then, I spot London. She is barefoot, wearing sweatpants and one of my shirts hanging to her knees. She appears exhausted—no doubt waiting and running through every worst-case scenario in her head.

“You found her?” she asks, heading down the stairs. London crosses the room in seconds and wraps her arms around my waist, clutching at my back like she’s grounding herself.

“She’s in bad shape, babe. But alive.” I hold her tight and bury my face in her hair.

“Listen up.” Riggs grabs our attention. “It’s late. Lock it down. Nobody in or out until tomorrow.” Then he glances at Tony. “Tony, we’ll fix you a room to crash in.”

“Appreciate it, but I’m gonna head out,” Tony says.

“My men aren’t leavin’. That means you’re stayin’. For your safety.” Riggs’ tone is firm.

Tony looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t.

Because that’s the end of it.

London takes my hand, and I follow her without a word to our room. The dim light from the bedside lamp glows softly against the walls, and the sheets are a mess, like she tried to sleep but couldn’t.

I pause in the center of the room, wound tight, and my mind won’t shut off. And somewhere deep in my chest, something tight is unraveling.

London steps in front of me, pushes my cut off my shoulders, and hangs it on the footboard.

She doesn’t ask what happened to my shirt.

Actually, she doesn’t speak at all. She undoes my belt buckle, slowly removes it, and drops it to the floor.

Then she leads me to the bed, and I sit on the edge where she kneels and removes my boots one by one.

I let her do it.

Because it’s what I didn’t know I needed.

Just her.

Just the silence.

We crawl into bed, and I pull her close, burying my face in the curve of her neck, breathing my woman in. London wraps her arms around me, holding me like I am hers.

There are no expectations.

Only her heartbeat against mine.

For now, the unrest and tension my body holds, caused by the threat looming above us, dissipates.