“Well, it appears you can’t look after your ol’ lady, so maybe I should just keep her for myself.” I hear a muffled scream in the background.
“Don’t you fucking touch her,” I roar, fists clenched so tight, my knuckles ache. “I mean it. I’ll end you in the worst possible way.”
A low chuckle comes down the line. “This is your fault, Drifter. Maybe if you hadn’t been caught with your dick in some other pussy, she’d be safely tucked up in bed beside you.”
I drag a hand through my wet hair, hating that he’s right. Hating that this is on me.
Another scream tears through the phone, and I flinch.
“Shut the bitch up,” Reaper barks.
The line goes quiet, but I strain to listen. Boots scrape against tiled flooring. Hell’s voice cuts through in the background.
“Fuck you!”
What the fuck is she doing?
“I said shut the bitch up,” Reaper roars.
“But Pres?—”
The crack of a slap splits the air, and I bite down so hard, I taste blood. Then, she laughs.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Hell taunts. “I’ve slapped Drifter harder than that.”
“Shut the fuck up, Hell,” I shout into the phone, even though she can’t hear me.
Reaper laughs, low and amused. “He told you to shut the fuck up.”
“You can tell that prick I don’t need saving either?—”
A door slams, and silence swallows the line. My pulse pounds in my ears.
“She’s a feisty one,” Reaper mutters, irritation creeping into his voice. “Right. Down to business.”
“You touch her again and there is no business,” I snarl. “I’ll burn you to the fucking ground.”
“No need for threats,” he replies calmly. “You’ll give me the New Parks Estate . . . and West Street.”
I let out a humourless laugh. “Oh, wait. You’re serious?”
“I’ll give you an hour to consider it,” he says. “After that . . . well, who knows what I might do.”
The line clicks dead.
Fuck.
I call church the second we get back to the clubhouse.
I pace back and forth, waiting for the last of my brothers to come in and settle down.
Clay rests his hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get her back,” he reassures me.
I stare past him, images of Hell racing through my mind as I scrub a hand over my face. “This is my fucking fault, Clay. Everything. It’s all on me. I fucked up. I’ll never forgive myself if?—”
“You can’t think like that,” he interrupts, and I take a shaky breath. “We will get her back in one piece, I promise.” I nod, not trusting myself to speak. “And then you have some serious fucking grovelling to do,” he adds, his expression soft but deadly serious.
He takes a seat with the other brothers, and I bang the gavel on the table.
