“We’re getting that looked at.”
She snorted quietly. “With what? Duct tape and biker wisdom?”
My eyebrow lifted. “Hospital.”
“Oh good,” she muttered. “Because I was worried you were about to say whiskey and a wrench.”
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
Ghost.
I answered without letting go of her. “Talk.”
“Got something,” Ghost said.
“Yeah?”
“That guy she punched.”
My eyes narrowed. “What about him?”
“Couldn’t find him,” Ghost said. “But I hacked the bar’s security cameras.”
Of course he did. “And?”
Ghost continued. “Got a clear shot of his face when he walked out front.”
My jaw tightened. “Black Reapers.”
Well, that complicated things.
The Black Reapers were a rival club two counties over. Not friendly. Not neutral. Enemies.
Ghost kept talking. “Name’s Cutter. Prospect. Been causing problems lately.”
I hummed quietly. “Still breathing?”
“Yeah. Took off before anyone got back outside.”
Pity.
“Keep digging,” I told him.
“Already am.”
I hung up.
Emma shifted slightly in my arms. “Is he dead?”
I looked down at her. “He will be.”
Her shoulders sagged slightly. Not relief. Acceptance.
Then she whispered one quiet word. “Good.”
Not scared. Not shaken. Just certain.
A slow smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
