Pic gave a harsh laugh, nodding.

“You would, too, in my shoes.”

“Can’t argue with that,” I said. “Here’s the thing … I don’t want to spend the next twenty years waiting for you to shoot me in the back. I love your daughter and I won’t give up on her, so if that’s a deal breaker, you should kill me now. Otherwise you need to back the fuck off me and my old lady.”

That caught his attention.

Picnic studied me. I waited for him to say something, but Ruger stepped forward, his face cold and tight.

“Let’s put him in the ground,” he said. “Sophie went through hell because of this asshole. I nearly lost her.”

I held Hayes’s eyes, ignoring the other man. This was about me and Pic, about determining—once and for all—whether he could tolerate me as Em’s man. I raised my hands, palms empty, and turned around so my back was to him.

“I’m ready,” I said. “Go ahead and do it. Good timing, too—you can say the cartel got me. She’ll never know the truth, and neither will my club.”

“Why?” Pic asked.

“Because she deserves a man with a future,” I said, stretching my neck to one side. Already getting sore from the accident. “I want that man to be me. I love her and I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe and happy. But I’m a realist, too. If the Reapers are determined to kill me, I’m dead already. Might take you a while to make your move, which means it’ll hurt her even more when it finally happens. I’d rather end it now than set her up for something worse down the line.”

They stayed silent behind me. I wasn’t stupid—the timing wasn’t perfect. A smarter man wouldn’t have pushed, but if Pic planned to do it, he might as well get it over with. We needed to get out from under this shadow or it would eat us alive.

“I should shoot you,” Pic said slowly. “Because you know what? I think you’re gonna hurt her. You won’t mean to do it, but it’ll happen and then I’ll have to pick up the pieces.”

That wasn’t promising. I braced myself, waiting for a bullet. Would he do it fast, or drag it out?

“Turn around.”

I swiveled to find him closing in on me, fists clenched. I tried to force myself to relax as the first punch caught my face, to roll with it. Pain exploded through me, radiating out from my cheekbone. A second hit came from another direction, and I realized Ruger had joined in on the action.

Just what I needed …

I lost all sense of time after that. At some point I fell to the ground, which made it easier for them to kick me. I handled it pretty well, I think, considering my entire body had turned into one great raging wave of agonized torture. I managed not to scream, although I couldn’t stop myself from moaning when someone got in a particularly good shot. By this point I hurt so much I figured it couldn’t get much worse.

Then I felt a rib snap …

It was worse. Motherfucker.

“Enough,” I heard Hayes say, his voice sounding distant. Someone rolled me onto my back, and I squinted against the bright lights on the ceiling. Then a face looked down into mine.

My least favorite face on earth. Fucking Painter.

He was saying something, but I couldn’t quite make it out through the ringing in my ears. I shook my head, focusing my eyes on his lips. He said it again.

“Can I take his cut?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Did this man not learn? I rolled to the side, pushing up slowly with my arms until I was on my knees. I took a few seconds to recover, vaguely aware that more men had filtered into the room. They were talking but I couldn’t quite make out the words.

I pushed to my feet—swaying—every breath a slice of hell as my broken ribs shifted and grated in my chest. Painter stood right in front of me, smirking like a playground bully. I spat out a tooth and offered him a hate-filled smile.

Then I grabbed his shoulders and slammed my forehead into his nose.

He dropped like a stone, blood flowing freely. I swayed again, stepping back. It took everything I had to stay on my feet, although the beating I’d just had gave me a bit of an advantage. I already hurt so damned much that the pain in my forehead blended right in.

I took a deep breath and answered Painter’s question.

“I already told you. You’ll take my fucking cut off my dead body and you’ll leave my woman alone. Fuck with me again and I’ll put you in the ground.”

I staggered back, raising my head to find Picnic.

“We done here?” I asked, reaching up to test my ribs cautiously. Jesus, the pain was incredible. “Because this is your last shot. Kill me now or leave us alone.”

“We’ll put you and Em in a room upstairs,” Pic said, his face grim. “I don’t like it, but I’ll accept it. I can respect a man who’ll fight for my girl.”

He glanced down at Painter one more time, then turned and walked out of the room. I staggered after him, hoping to hell someone in this place had some fucking Vicodin.

“So what story do you want to tell Em?” Hayes asked as we walked slowly down the hallway. He didn’t push me, which I appreciated. Just staying upright was a goddamned miracle at this point.

“No story,” I said. “My balls are the one place that hasn’t been kicked tonight, and I’d like to keep it that way. I’ll tell her it’s business, so we can’t talk about it.”

“You’ve never been in a real relationship before, have you?” he asked. I shook my head. We stopped in front of the steps and I looked up. Fuck. I didn’t want to climb those.

“How did you know?” I asked him, pausing to catch my breath. He gave a sharp laugh.

“You’ll find out.”

EM

It was after two in the morning when Dad walked into the darkened kitchen. I’d been getting more and more nervous about Hunter’s safety, especially when I’d seen several of the guys going back and forth to the basement.

I wasn’t an idiot.

I knew what was down there—hell, Kit and I practically grew up in this building. There weren’t a lot of secrets left, although I’m sure my father was clueless about how much we’d seen and heard over the years.

Hours ago, I’d listened as the vehicles pulled into the courtyard, so I knew Hunter had to be down there with them. Horse even came in to tell us they’d found the shooter, and that we could stop worrying.

That scared me more, because if they’d found the shooter, why wasn’t Hunter back with me already? Around eleven, I considered a rescue mission, then decided the odds of that backfiring on Hunter were way too high. As much as I hated to admit it, interference from me wouldn’t help him. Not under these circumstances … It was one thing for me to protect him in the truck, when he’d been pinned down. But barging in on him now? That’d make him look weak in front of my dad and his brothers, and Hunter couldn’t afford to look weak.

I should’ve stayed in the pickup truck.

Now Dad stood in front of me, his face wearing an expression I couldn’t even begin to understand.

“Well?” I demanded. “Where is he? Is he all right?”

“Nice to see you, too, baby girl.”

“Hey, Em,” I heard Hunter say. He stepped out of the shadow of the stairwell, leaning against the door frame as if just standing was almost more than he could handle.

Holy shit.

I brought a hand to my mouth, horrified.

“What the hell happened to you?” I whispered, feeling tears building. I ran over to him, but when I tried to touch him, he flinched away.

“Sorry, babe,” he muttered. “Feeling a little low. Why don’t you grab some ice and maybe help me up to bed?”

“You can use the room on the second floor,” Dad said. “I’ll find some painkillers.”

I looked back and forth between them, trying to figure out if we’d somehow stumbled into an alternate universe where people showed up randomly beaten and nobody seemed to find it noteworthy.

“Do either of you want to tell me what the hell happened here? He wasn’t like this when I left him, Dad. I trusted you!”