“Completely ours. Our family,” Sin grumbles into my hair from behind.
The warmth of them fights off the chill of fear beginning to incite.
Saint catches the lone tear that slips free and shakes his head. “This doesn’t change anything for us, wife. We’re here to protect you.”
Pixie appears before me as my vision clears. “We got you, sweetheart. Pray he doesn’t come back here. I’ll crush a kneecap myself.”
That yanks a laugh out of me, and I give her hand a squeeze.
“Have to save some for the rest of us,” Reaper calls from across the bar. “Ain’t no one gonna come here and fuck with our queen.”
I press my lips together to keep more tears from spilling. A round of cheers joins his proclamation.
Turning, I peer at Reaper from between Saint and Doc’s shoulders. He lifts his beer to me, and I flash him my best smile.
Yet, the nagging dread won’t let me loose. The public attack makes me feel like I’m more trouble than I’m worth. How many more times are they going to come for me before they accept that I make my own choices?
A life that’s never been my own, and they want to squeeze every drop out of it that they can.
Slowly, Saint gets me to eat, piling little bits of this and that onto my plate. Taking small bites with me.
His mouth presses to my ear. “You’re all ours now. That’s all this means.”
Somehow, that’s reassuring.
I lean back against his chest and take the comfort he’s offering me. The reassurance I never imagined I’d gain here.
When my mind finally starts to settle, one of the lookouts comes running, bursting into the clubhouse yelling, “Sheriff’s on his way!”
26
DOC
Knox barges in with a seizure warrant. Not for Wren. “By court order, this clubhouse and all affiliated properties are being seized pending federal investigation.”
He’s holding out the paper like a shield.
Three men come in behind Knox, and they’re not his usual deputies.
Sin is the first to react, ushering Wren toward the back. They’re not going to get her regardless of why they say they’re here.
I clock one deputy’s grip on his gun, his finger too tight, elbow locked. It’s not local law enforcement posture. This shit isn’t sitting right.
Their shoes aren’t government issued, instead they’re black snake skin and steel.
The way they fan out in the room is tactical, not procedural. I’ve seen it enough times in the ER to know the difference. Those instincts I’ve used countless times in emergency situations reads this as wrong in too many ways.
That one’s nervous. Nervous men fire.
My hands find my hips, not quite reaching for my gun, but I want to be near it. I have a feeling I’ll need it.
“Take Colt Maddox, aka Saint, into custody boys. It’s time he paid for his crimes,” Knox orders.
Yet that man isn’t here to arrest anyone. He’s here, ready to shoot, to execute. I’ve seen that same look in enough criminals’ eyes when they came in shot, ready to fight their way out, to attack at the first provocation.
Saint stands tall, not intimidated. We’ve been through this more times than we can count. But he has to be clocking what I am.
Sin reappears at my side, and the tension in the room doubles.
