Embry winced. “I offered to go with him or round up the prospects.”
“Fuck.” I shook my head. “He’s not invincible.”
“Neither are you.”
“I’m here, ain’t I?”
“Why don’t you go upstairs for a bit? Nash can handle the lockdown and he’s better at telling people things they don’t want to hear when you’re this exhausted.”
“Critiquing my bedside manner?”
“Just advising you to delegate.”
I thought about getting my head down for a few hours. Pictured myself stretching out in my bed while my calls to Alexei remained unanswered and Saint was alone on the road.
Nope. Not doing it. “Thanks for the tea, father. I appreciate it.”
Embry nodded, accepting defeat. “I’ll bring you some food when it’s ready, if I stay awake that long.”
“You cooked?”
“No. You did. Feels like a lifetime ago, eh?”
True that.
Embry left me alone. I drank the tea and counteracted the health benefits with a dozen cigarettes. I didn’t call Alexei again, but he rarely left my thoughts.
I thought of Saint too and wondered where the actual fuck that was headed. But mainly I thought of my club. My family. And how the hell we were going to ride out this storm.
“Cam?”
I turned in my chair. Nash was in the doorway, the slowly rising sun behind him, making his gold hair shine like a halo. “What?”
He gave me a grim look. “We got company. Couple of Crows and some fucker I’ve never seen before. They want to talk.”
“About what?”
“They wouldn’t tell me. Said it’s gotta be you.”
I rose and walked to the window that allowed me to see the compound gate. A vehicle waited there, doors open, its occupants pulled out and on their knees in front of Mateo. “They packing?”
“No weapons,” Nash said. “Or wires. Should we bring them in?”
“Don’t suppose we’ve got much choice.”
Nash agreed and left to action my decision. I watched it play out, then showed my face, stepping straight to the only Crow I’d ever had an ounce of respect for: Rocco St. John, their VP.
I seized him by the throat, slamming him against the wall behind him. “The fuck are you doing here?”
Rocco held my gaze, eyes bulging as I squeezed his windpipe.
“Cam.” Embry’s low voice counselled restraint, but for the second time in as many hours, I ignored my chaplain.
I squeezed Rocco’s neck until he was a heartbeat from losing consciousness.
Then I let him fall and turned to the face I didn’t know. “Who are you?”
“Lorenzo Sambini.”
