Hunter spoke, his voice cool and detached.

“Sorry, girls. Hopefully this won’t get too ugly and you’ll get to go home soon.”

The van started moving.

RUGER

His beer had gotten warm.

For once, there wasn’t a party at the clubhouse or a barbecue or anything happening, which was a fucking shame because all he could think about was Sophie out dancing in Spokane with her slut of a best friend. He should be focusing on his trip to Portland tomorrow, but he really couldn’t bring himself to give a damn.

Jesus, he’d nearly shit his pants when he realized who she was going out with tonight. Kimber’s stage name had been Stormie, and the bitch was famous for having a mouth like a vacuum. Even he’d taken her home one night … It’d been okay, but not worth breaking his no-repeats rule.

Now he wondered if she’d been filling Sophie’s head with stories about him all along. Also explained why she’d been interested in working at The Line—Kimber had made a goddamned fortune there, one of their most popular dancers.

She’d been an even bigger hit in the VIP rooms.

He’d considered simply physically stopping Sophie from going, but figured that would do him more harm than good in the long run. She’d been dodging him since their night in the hayloft and he’d let it go. The first week of a new job was stressful, so he’d given her a break. This ladies’ night thing had caught him off guard. He’d only found out because Noah had a big mouth.

Kid was full of all kinds of useful information.

Picnic walked into the main lounge with a girl trailing him. She looked about sixteen, although Ruger knew she had to be older. No jailbait in the Armory—that was trouble they sure as fuck didn’t need. Pic wore the look of man who’d gotten well laid, and he sent her on her way with a smack on the ass. Then he walked over to Ruger.

“What’s with you?” he asked, dropping into one of the mismatched chairs across from the couch.

“I’m bored,” Ruger said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And apparently I’m getting old, because my neck hurts from sitting at my bench today, taking care of that special order.”

“You’re fuckin’ pathetic,” Pic said.

“That’s the truth.”

“I hear your girl moved out.”

“Yeah, we can talk about something else now.”

Picnic laughed shortly.

“First Horse and now you,” he said. “Whole damned place is turnin’ up pussy-whipped.”

“Fuck off, asshole,” Ruger replied. “The only reason I’m sitting here right now instead of fuckin’ her face is I’m not willing to hand her my cock on a leash. And you should talk. Screwing kids younger than your daughter? Creeps me out, thinkin’ of your old ass doing a chick like that.”

“At least I got laid tonight,” Pic answered mildly. “Unlike some.”

His phone rang. He pulled it out and looked at the ID.

“It’s Em,” he said shortly, standing and ambling across the room. Then Pic froze, his body language screaming tension. Thirty seconds later, Ruger’s phone rang.

Sophie.

“You better not be—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Shut up and listen,” she said, her voice tight. Ruger sat up. “Those guys you met in Seattle? The Devil’s Jacks? They’ve got me and Em. We’re in Spokane and they—”

He heard her scream as someone grabbed the phone. Adrenaline slammed through him, taking him from relaxed to ready for action in a heartbeat. Instead of acting on it, he forced himself to stay calm and listen with everything he had. They’d need every clue they could to find Sophie … and Em? What the fuck? Jesus, Em should know better than to go out without giving Pic a heads-up. How had Em gotten mixed up in this?

“Ruger,” a man said. “This is Skid. From Seattle. We got a bit of a problem.”

“You’re dead,” Ruger replied, his voice flat, and he meant it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Picnic grab a bar stool and smash it against the wall. Horse was on his feet, pushing a trio of girls out the door as Painter grabbed a sawed-off shotgun from behind the bar.

Slide wandered in from the bathroom and glanced around, brows rising.

“Yeah, we’ll talk about my death later,” Skid said, sounding bored. “Listen up. Your boy in Portland—Toke—he went apeshit on two of our brothers a coupla hours ago. Just broke into the damned house and started shooting. There’s cops everywhere, a couple of bitches who saw it all go down, total clusterfuck. Girls are talkin’ to the cops, too, just to make things perfect. Docs are working on one guy right now, no idea if he’ll make it. Toke dragged the other off.”

“You’re full of shit,” Ruger said. Toke might be a wild card but he wouldn’t ignore a vote by the full club.

“Process later,” Skid snapped. “It’s time for you to get your boy under control and our man back to us. Safe. Until then, we’ll take good care of—what’s her name again? Sophie? We’ll take good care of sweet little Sophie for you. She’ll be just fine once we clear this up. Our boy goes down? Her prospects don’t look so good. Got a real nice ass. Might tap it before I shoot her. Got me?”

He hung up.

“Fuck,” Ruger muttered, kicking over the coffee table as he stood up. Pic yelled as Horse and Bam Bam held him back. Ruger ignored the drama, striding down the hall, past the office, and into the large workshop where he did his special projects. He flipped open his laptop and pulled up the tracker, narrowing his search.

There they were—Sophie’s and Em’s phones were near the river, downtown Spokane. They’d be in the water soon. By the time he could get there, the Jacks would be in the wind, along with their girls.

Goddamnit. Ruger turned and punched the wall, smashing through the sheetrock. Sharp pain hit, helping him focus. He pulled an unregistered .38 semi-automatic out of his bench drawer and shoved it into his ankle holster, then grabbed extra clips. Then he turned and went back down the hall to find Picnic and the others arguing over what they should do. Pic wanted to ride now—Horse, Bam Bam, and Duck all wanted to take the time to make a plan, which Ruger knew needed to happen. Couldn’t do shit in Spokane until they had more info.

Toke had lost the vote but he’d won the battle.

The Reapers and the Devil’s Jacks were going to war.

SOPHIE

I don’t know how long we rode in the back of the van. It felt like forever. Then I heard the sound of a garage door opening. We pulled in and it shut behind us. Hunter and the driver stepped out of the van, coming around to open the back doors.

Hard hands—not Hunter’s—grabbed my ankles, pulling me out roughly. My cheek scraped, and if the kidnapping hadn’t fully sobered me, the pain finished the trick. He half carried, half dragged me into the house. Then he dropped me down on the couch and I struggled to sit up. Hunter set Em down next to me, far more gently. He stepped back and joined his friend. Guy number two was Skid—the other Devil’s Jack I’d met in Seattle. They stood over us, faces grim, and I knew we were well and truly fucked.

My stomach twisted and I thought about Noah. Would I ever see him again?

“Here’s the situation,” Hunter said, his cold gray eyes flicking back and forth between us. Could he actually be Em’s Internet guy? She hadn’t been lying. He really was hot—even better-looking than I remembered.

Too bad he was a goddamned sociopath.

Or maybe he’d done something to Liam. For all I knew, Em’s online boyfriend was lying dead in the alley. Shit.

“You’re here as leverage. One of the Reapers down in Portland—Toke—made a real bad call tonight. He went to our house and started shooting, no warning, no provocation. He took a hostage when he left. One of our brothers is down and a second is probably getting tortured to death right now, so you’ll have to excuse us for being a little abrupt about this whole thing. Your daddy,” he nodded toward Em, “is gonna do what it takes to get our guy back for us. That happens, you go home.”