Page 9

CHAPTER NINE

Pickle

“ G et his legs, Shadow. Row, grab the rope.” My instructions are followed immediately, all of us working to get Vance Mitchell secured.

“Really a fuckin’ letdown how easy you made it to capture you, Shitbag,” Row grouses.

Once upon a time, Row had been Staff Sargeant Malachi Murphy, and tracking had been his specialty.

Until a roadside bomb, encountered during a humanitarian mission to assist digging clean water wells in a war-ravaged nation, rang his chimes and nearly killed him.

I never served, so I didn’t get the chance to see him in his prime, but even now, he naturally gravitates toward any task that has him solving puzzles or hunting down information. Mitchell being so easy to apprehend is clearly an affront to my road captain.

“Wha…?” The man being bound to the metal folding chair, in the special room we reserve for just such events, garbles through his own blood and spittle.

Look, I promised Arlo I wouldn’t deprive him of his husbandly right to take apart the guy piece by piece.

I did not, however, promise I wouldn’t take my own pound of flesh from him. Frankie is my sister, after all.

“You picked the wrong one when you set your eyes on my sister, asshole. But never fear, you won’t be making mistakes like this one ever again,” I promise.

His eyes narrow, no doubt anticipating a scenario where he walks away from this with a beatdown and nothing more.

I smirk, knowing the reason he won’t make this mistake again is because after tonight the only thing he’ll be making is food for worms.

“Where’s the sorry piece of shit who thought he could take my wife from me?” Arlo’s normally quiet baritone thunders down the stairs and has me grinning with delight. Now that he’s here, this can all end, and I can put all my attention where I really want it to be. On claiming Thyrie.

What follows is two hours of madness. Arlo, Row, Rurik and I take apart Vance Mitchell at the seams. Figuratively and literally.

When there’s nothing left but cleanup, Arlo leaves to wash himself clean of the mess and get to his wife and daughter. I can’t fault him, but it means one less set of hands to deal with the aftermath of what wound up being a very, very messy lesson taught here tonight.

Typically, I don’t mind the role of club janitor, but tonight, everything in me focuses on getting upstairs to Thyrie before she decides the job is done and takes off. I know Arlo plans to bundle up his girls and get them home, so Teeny can wake up in her own bed tomorrow.

“Relax, brother. She’s not gonna leave. And if she does, Malik’s man can track her down just like he did the last time,” Malachi teases.

“Track who down now?” Thyrie’s amused huff is a balm to my nerves, even as I panic at the sight we all make right now, surrounded by blood and gore.

This isn’t something a man wants his woman to see.

Especially not when the dead body we haven’t finished preparing for dumping lying right there in front of us all.

My spitfire isn’t fazed by the gory scene. She steps into the room and pulls the armored door closed behind her.

“How’d you get through the basement door? It’s coded,” Rurik challenges.

“You’re not the only one who knows tech,” she responds, her eyes never leaving mine.

“Besides, just because I haven’t entered your sacred spaces before now, it doesn’t mean I didn’t make it my business to know how to get in here if I needed to.

Can’t very well protect someone if I can’t get into every single place they might need protected in, now can I? ”

“Yeah, but there’s a no girls allowed rule,” Row pouts.

Thyrie has the good grace not to laugh at his childish complaining, though she does give my brother a sweet smile.

“Don’t worry, boys. I won’t make a habit of it,” she parries, finally looking around at the carnage. “But I figured I’d offer to lend a hand.”

“This one’s a keeper.” Malik quips. Rurik cuffs him at the back of his head, muttering something soft enough none of us can hear, but it has Malik’s ears turning bright red.

“Planning on it,” I say.

Thyrie crosses to the shelves of industrial cleaning agents and grabs what she needs to join in the cleanup without comment. It strikes me again how different she is than any woman I’ve ever known.

It’s more than just her confidence. Thyrie Brandon has competence and an inner core of strength that makes her a perfect match for me.

I don’t think there’s anything I do that she can’t readily throw in with and pull just as much weight as I do.

That kind of partnership is one I never expected, much less that I’d be lucky enough to find it.

Thyrie matches me, strength for strength, complementing my skills with her own, much like Malik and Rurik match each other. More than heating my blood, the realization she’s absolutely made for me lights my soul on fire.

“You’re staring,” she teases.

“I am,” I say. “Not sorry.”

“We’ll finish up down here,” Malik offers. “Why don’t you take Thyrie upstairs and get cleaned up? Leave your clothes in the burn bin, and we’ll see to them, too.”

“Thanks, man.” I don’t need to be told twice.

I trust my brothers will ensure no evidence is left behind, and I’m ready to get Thyrie alone, so I can show her what it’ll be like to be claimed by the president of the Lexan Ghost Born MC.

I also don’t want her taking off the bloody clothes she’s wearing then showering with the rest of the guys when everything’s done down here. Dipping out early just makes sense.

“Come on, Spitfire. I believe we’ve got some rudely interrupted business to get back to.”