Joanna Wylde - Reaper’s Legacy

“When?” Picnic asked.

“Soon,” Hunter replied. “But I’m getting out of here alive first, I think. I’m sure you’ll see my concern?”

Duck snorted, almost a laugh.

“Yeah, I’d be concerned in your place, too,” he said. “We won’t forget this. Not sure that truce is gonna last after this little adventure.”

“Me neither,” Hunter admitted. “I’ll do my best. Hope you will, too. Skid’ll let the girls go once I give him the word. Won’t happen until I’m sure I’m safe, so you start trailing me, your girls stay locked up longer.”

“Understood,” Picnic said. “Make it fast.”

“One more thing,” Duck said. “The Toke situation—you got any pull with those witnesses? We’d like to handle this within the club as much as possible. Toke’ll keep his mouth shut, sure your boys will, too.”

Hunter shrugged.

“We’ll see what happens.”

“Right,” Duck said. “Keep Em and Sophie safe, got me? Otherwise I’ll personally skin you and use it to make lamp shades for the Armory.”

SOPHIE

Sometimes your brain tells you to do something and you know it’s wrong.

My brain told me to run faster when I heard Skid’s gun go off, to follow Em’s plan like a good little girl. I was supposed to get out and get help. No turning back. My son needed me … We agreed on it.

Not only that, saving Em was Picnic and Ruger’s job.

This wasn’t my fight.

But somehow I knew—in my gut and in my soul—that if I kept running, Skid would kill Em. Maybe he already had.

I couldn’t leave her behind.

So I stopped running and turned back toward the house, creeping up on it as quickly as I could, taking cover underneath a window on the living-room side. I listened for a second, hearing the muffled sound of Skid’s voice. Em answered him, her tone pleading. I figured that meant he was distracted, so I popped up for a quick peek.

Em lay on the floor, pressing against the outside of her left thigh with both hands. Bright red blood seeped between her fingers. Skid stood over her, gun pointed and ready, and the look on his face wasn’t friendly. This guy would be happy to kill her.

Fuck.

I looked around frantically, trying to think of a plan. I needed to stop him, and I needed to do it in a way that wouldn’t end with someone dead. I crawled quickly around the side of the house, where the open front porch held two wooden chairs and a small table. I tried peeking in the front window to see what was happening, but shades covered it.

Then I heard Em scream.

No more time.

I grabbed one of the chairs, pleased to find that it was solid wood and had a nice heft. Then I rang the doorbell and waited, holding my chair ready.

“Who’s out there?” Skid called.

I stayed quiet—I mean, what the hell was I supposed to say? Please come out so I can hit you? Using my elbow, I rang the bell again. My muscles started to burn from holding the chair. Hurry up, asshole.

“Fuck off!” Skid yelled. Em must’ve done something to mess with him because I heard a crashing noise. I rang the bell five or six times in a row with my elbow like an annoying kid.

Skid threw the door open.

I clocked him hard in the face with the chair. He staggered and the gun went off, thankfully missing me. I ignored the ringing in my ears and swung the chair around and hit him again. He shuddered, then lunged toward me, blood running down his face from his smashed nose. I screamed as he grabbed the chair by its legs, jerking it away and raising it high.

Then Em was on him from behind.

She attacked like a rabid ferret, arms tightening around his neck as she bit and scratched and kicked. He lurched forward and I joined in, grabbing the second chair and swinging it at his knees. He gave a high scream as he pitched forward off the porch, Em riding him down into the dirt. I jumped after them, landing between his legs and kicking him in the crotch over and over again. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any little Skidlets in his future to carry on the family legacy.

Skid screamed like a baby the whole time.

And Em? I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying.

Ten minutes later, we’d handcuffed Skid’s bruised, bleeding body to a porch pillar. He’d passed out from the pain, which was probably a good thing. I didn’t want to look into his evil eyes or listen to whatever bullshit he might spew.

Now I sat in one of the porch chairs, his confiscated gun carefully braced against my leg, cocked and ready to shoot. I didn’t want to kill him, but I’d do it if I had to. I didn’t doubt that for a second.

Em hobbled out of the house, her leg bandaged in strips of sheet from the bedroom. Thankfully, the bullet had just lightly grazed her thigh. Still, her face was white and drawn from the pain.

Despite it all, she managed a small smile, holding up a cell phone in triumph.

“Dumbass has Google maps installed,” she said. “I know exactly where we are. I’m calling Dad to come and get us.”

She dialed.

“Hey, Dad? It’s me. We’re okay. Could use a ride, though.”

Her eyes flickered toward Skid as Picnic’s muffled voice burst out of the phone.

“No, it’s all good,” she answered. “But you might want to bring the van. We may need some cargo space.”

She gave them directions and hung up.

“They’ll be here in about twenty minutes,” Em told me. “They sounded pretty happy to hear from us.”

“Was Hunter with them?” I asked. As soon as the question left my mouth, I regretted it. Did I really want the answer? Em swallowed and looked away.

“No,” she said. “The meet was already over. I guess we missed him by maybe five minutes. He’s got good luck.”

I raised a brow, but kept my mouth shut. Em dropped the phone to the ground, then stomped on it, and I heard the crunch of glass and plastic.

“What the hell?” I asked, startled. “Why’d you do that?”

“GPS,” she said shortly. “I don’t want the Devil’s Jacks tracing us with it, and we can’t leave it here.”

“What if we need it again?”

“We won’t,” she said. “Dad and Ruger will find us. Don’t worry. By tomorrow it’ll be like this never happened. In fact, I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want to think about it. Got me?”

“Got you,” I said, narrowing my eyes. Em grabbed the second chair and dragged it over toward me, sitting down.

“Want me to take the gun for a while?”

“Thanks,” I said, handing it over. It was surprisingly heavy, and after the first few minutes my hand had started cramping. I stretched my fingers, looking out across the long gravel driveway into the trees.

“No offense,” I said slowly. “But that was the shittiest girls’ night out ever.”

Em gave a short, startled snort of laughter.

“Ya think?”

RUGER

They crested the small rise overlooking the house and Picnic slowed, raising a hand for the others to stop.

Ruger pulled up next to him.

Holy fuck.

“That’s my girl,” Picnic said, his voice full of pride. “Goddamn, did something right with her.”

“Both our girls,” Ruger muttered. He felt his chest unclenching, a ball of tension he hadn’t even realized was there letting go. “Shit, didn’t know she had it in her.”

Em and Sophie sat on the front porch like two neighbors visiting over sweet tea, except Em held a gun trained steady on Skid. His mangled, bloody form lay in the dirt, arms stretched up behind him and wrapped around the porch pole.

“Think she killed him?” Ruger asked.

“Hope not,” Picnic replied. “Bad enough already, without her having to live with that. Not to mention messy as fuck for us to clean up.”

“That’s the truth,” Ruger replied.

“It’s Dad, we’re here for you!” Picnic yelled down, waving at her. Em kept her eyes on Skid and her gun didn’t waver.

“Glad you came,” she called back. “I could really use some help.”

“He the only one?” Pic asked.

“Hunter left a couple hours ago,” she shouted. “It was only the two of them.”

They rode slowly down the hill toward the house. Ruger studied Sophie carefully as he parked his bike, but he couldn’t see any signs of serious harm. She looked exhausted, her eyes darkened with smudged makeup, but that was all. Em seemed worse off—her face was pale and a bruise was starting to form on her cheek. White, bloodied strips of fabric had been tied around her leg.

“Stay where you are, girls,” Pic said shortly as he dismounted his ride. Ruger did the same, following him over to the man on the ground.

Skid was in rough shape. He wasn’t moving, and Ruger saw trickles of blood seeping from his nose and mouth. More soaked the dirt, although he couldn’t see where it was coming from. Ruger approached the man carefully, kneeling down to check his pulse.

Still alive. The beat was faint but steady.

“He’s not dead,” he said. “What’s the plan?”

Picnic rolled Skid with a foot. Now they saw the wound—he had a gaping gash on the back of his head.

“He’s been bleeding, but not too bad,” Em said. “Don’t know if he’s passed out from a head injury or from shock. Sophie kicked his nuts to hell and back.”

Ruger felt an instinctive shrinking in his own nether region and glanced up at Sophie. She gazed down at them, her face as smooth as a sphinx’s.

Perfectly calm. Way too calm. Shock, Ruger figured.

Picnic stepped up to his daughter and held out his hand for the gun. She gave it to him, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close.