He pointed through the wide-open space where the trucks windscreen had once been. “We’re rolling. Try not to look like the walking dead, yeah?”
Fucking hell. I rubbed my eyes, hands smearing fresh claret.
“Not helping,” Nash heckled.
I growled a curse and bent over again, searching for inspiration.
Embry’s bag was at my feet. I unzipped it and grabbed an RK hoodie. One of mine, naturally, and I appreciated the fact that he lived in my clothes a million times more than I ever had.
I yanked my T-shirt over my head and replaced it with the hoodie, keeping the hood low over my face, shielding the world from me more than the other way around.
“Better,” Nash said. “You good, brother? You feel sick or anything? Dizzy?”
Both, but not in the way he meant. I shook my head and settled back, trying for nonchalance as the wind hit my face, taking advantage of the extra oxygen.
Nash left me alone. The HGV grumbled to life and we left the scene of the crime, following our brothers back to the motorway.
“What about cameras?” I blurted, mind thick. “On the motorway? They’ll see us come back all smashed up. What if the fight got reported?”
“Unlikely.” Nash eased onto the slip road, then stepped on the accelerator hard enough to make me wince. “We were delivering to club-friendly associates. They aren’t about to phone the old bill. And we already have a story about the brick and bridge, remember? In fact, it doesn’t matter if you don’t. Just keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking.”
Standard OP where the feds were concerned. I didn’t have the energy to leg it this time, so we’d have to rely on Nash’s charm.
Or not, as the journey seemed to pass in a flash and we were back at the truck stop before I could blink.
Nash shut the engine off. “Stay put a sec, okay? Then we’ll get you cleaned up.”
He jumped out before I could respond and disappeared. I leaned forward, searching for Embry, but my view of the lead truck was impeded by two others.
Fuckers. I pushed my hood back and opened the passenger door. No clue where I thought I was going, but I didn’t get far in any case, cos a fucking angel blocked my path.
Embry put his hands on my knees, palms warm and dry, knuckles bruised and bloodied. “Just wait, okay? Five minutes.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“Rubi. He’s sorting it.”
Didn’t really answer my question, but okay. I did as I was told, and the longer I sat there, grounding myself in Embry’s calm touch, the better I felt. Alexei’s Jedi mind tricks still scared the hell out of me, but distantly. He wasn’t here—that I knew of—and if I’d learned anything from the last decade, it was that a frantic mind left me useless.
I can’t afford to be fucking useless.
They need me.
“Here.” Embry pressed something into my hand. “Hold this.”
I glanced at my open palm. In it was a key card for the hotel across the road, which made no sense at all, even as Embry climbed over me to grab my bag from the back, shouldering it with his own.
He jumped down again and held out his hand.
Confused as hell, I ignored it, and then Rubi’s too as he appeared around the open door.
“Jesus, Mats. You need a doctor or some shit?”
“What? No.”
“Get the fuck out of the truck then, bro. I need to clean all your blood and weapons out before the insurance folks turn up to fix the windscreen.”
Okay, that I understood. We hadn’t made contingency plans for this exact situation, but it was another standard OP to behave asnormallyas possible when conducting business in front of the general public. The windscreen was shattered—it wasgone—so it needed fixing.
