Devil’s Game (Reapers MC #3)(80)
Author: Joanna Wylde

“I think you should set down the gun.”

“Nope.”

“Don’t shoot me by accident, please.”

Em looked down and smiled, still gorgeous despite the icicles building up in her hair. In the faint light from the dashboard, I could see that her lips were blue, her nose was red, and her shirt was soaked through. Not the best time for a wet T-shirt contest, but her tits looked outstanding.

“I promise,” she said softly, biting her lip. “I will never shoot you by accident.”

I considered her response.

“That’s less comforting than you’d think.”

Several more shots rang out, and then we heard a high-pitched, agonized scream.

“Holy shit,” Em whispered, smile gone. Her eyes were huge, and she brought the gun back up, finger moving to the trigger. Then someone shouted through the darkness. Someone close.

“Em, it’s Painter.”

Seriously? Fucking Painter was going to rescue us?

And right there I had it—proof that God’s a twisty bastard.

“Did you get him?” Em yelled back.

“We got one of them,” Painter said. “No way to know if there’s more. But we’re searching. Prez says to get you out, take you back to the Armory while we look for a second sniper.”

“We’re going to need a chainsaw or something,” she yelled. “Hunter’s trapped.”

“He alive?”

He sounded a little too cheerful when he asked the question.

“Yes, he’s fine,” she replied.

“I’m f**kin’ great,” I yelled out. “Get Em out of here!”

“Okay, I’m right by the truck now,” Painter called back. “I’m gonna climb up and look inside. Put down your gun, Em.”

Em lowered the gun, but I noticed she didn’t let it go. She gave me a quick glance, offering a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“What’s that about?” I asked quietly.

“Painter isn’t my dad,” she replied. “He hasn’t made any promises about your safety.”

“You’re going to hold a gun on Painter while he’s trying to rescue you?”

“No, I’m going to protect my old man while he’s stuck under a tree. Consider me your life insurance, babe. If I leave, Painter’s got no reason to keep you alive and nobody to witness what he does to you. I’m staying put until my dad gets here.”

The truck lurched and Painter leaned over the open passenger-side window, taking in the situation. First he gave Em a quick once-over, probably checking for blood or obvious wounds. Then his gaze turned to me, eyes predatory. I stared him down, wordlessly telling him that I saw right through his shit. He gave me a chin lift, then turned his attention back to Em.

“Take my hand,” Painter said, reaching toward her. “We’ll get you to the Armory. Ruger can go back and grab the tools we’ll need to cut out your boyfriend, but you need to get warm.”

She shook her head.

“I want Dad.”

“He’s kind of busy right now.”

“Nope,” she said, lifting the gun from her side and balancing it carefully on her knee with both hands. She wasn’t pointing it at anyone, but it wasn’t the friendliest of stances, either. “I’m staying with my old man until Dad gets here.”

Painter flinched. Heh.

I hated that cocksucker. I really did.

“Will you please go get him?” Em asked, her voice like very polite granite. She might be scared as hell, but she wasn’t showing any weakness. “I’m not going anywhere without my dad.”

“Screw this,” Painter muttered, shaking his head. “I’ll be back in a few. Enjoy the f**kin’ cold while you wait, Em.”

She relaxed visibly as he jumped down off the truck.

“You okay?” I asked. “I really wish you’d go with him.”

Em rolled her eyes, waving off my concern with one bluish hand.

“No f**king way,” she said. “I leave, you got no witnesses. Painter hates you. Ruger’s not too fond of you, either, and he’s the one with the chainsaw. Anyone decides to kill you, they’ll be going through me first.”

“Babe, I say this with all due respect. You scare the shit out of me.”

She reached down and touched my cheek, and I turned my head to kiss her fingers.

“Emmy, it’s Dad,” I heard Hayes call out. Then I felt the truck shift as he climbed up to look through the window. “Painter said you won’t put down your gun and go to the Armory.”

“Thank God,” she said, her voice full of relief. She’d been closer to the edge than I realized. “I’m so glad you’re here. I won’t leave Hunter with anyone but you. But I’m really cold . . . Not sure how much longer I can last out here.”

I couldn’t see his face well in the darkness, but I had a feeling I’d recognize the expression—the same mixture of love and frustration I’d seen in the mirror a hundred times since I’d met her.

“Emmy, nobody is going to hurt Hunter,” the Reapers president said. “I gave my word.”

“Would Mom have left you behind?” she asked, her voice a challenge.

He sighed heavily, then reached down to take her hand.

“Nope,” he said. “That’s why I wanted you with a Reaper, honey. We really can’t afford not to have you on our side. You remind me more of her every day.”

EM

It felt good to be back in the Armory again. Better than I expected. Of course, it probably didn’t hurt that I’d been met at the door by Dancer, Marie, Kit, and Maggs. Sophie was upstairs with the kids, who were constructing a mighty campsite in the game room on the second floor.

Horse had given me a ride home, stepping inside long enough to catch Marie and stick his cold hands on her stomach. She’d shrieked and swatted at him until he caught her close for a long, hard kiss. Then he’d headed back out into the rain, leaving me dripping in the center of the kitchen. Dancer wrapped a blanket around me, and Marie handed me a cup of hot coffee. I found myself shivering so hard my jaw hurt.

“So what the hell happened?” Dancer asked, settling me on a stool. “The guys ran out of here like the world was ending.”

“Someone shot out our tires,” I told her. Wow, saying it out loud made it sound so . . . insane. “Hunter was driving, and the truck started sliding on the ice. We went off the road. A tree pinned him inside the truck—he’s still there—and I called for help. That’s when whoever shot the tires started shooting at us.”