“I won’t,” I said.
“You promise?”
I didn’t make promises often.
Promises got men killed.
But her blood was on my arm, and her eyes were begging.
“I promise.”
She exhaled, then shuddered hard enough I felt it through my chest.
Headlights appeared ahead.
No engine sound at first. Just light cresting the trail, white and cold, then the soft electric whine of a vehicle moving too fast over bad ground. The Cybertruck came around the bend like something out of a rich man’s apocalypse fantasy and stopped hard enough to throw dust over the hood.
Prez stepped out before the door fully opened.
Callum Mercer was not a man who needed to raise his voice to get obedience. Tall, silver at the temples, eyes like a loaded chamber. He looked at me. Then at the girl in my arms.
His face changed by one degree.
For Callum, that was a whole speech.
“Who is that?”
I adjusted my hold on her, feeling her flinch when pain bit.
“I think it’s Edge’s daughter.”
The air went colder.
Nate muttered, “Surprise.”
Callum looked toward the glow behind us, then at Destiny’s bloody face. “You think?”
“I know.”
Callum’s jaw flexed. “Does she need a hospital?”
I looked down at her.
Her breathing was fast but steady. Pulse still there. Blood, burns, possible concussion, maybe cracked ribs. Drugs in her system. Shock creeping in. She needed medical care, but a hospital meant cops. Cops meant reports. Reports meant Edge’s daughter at a felony scene where cars were still burning and kids were screaming about Mandy’s curse.
A hospital might save her body and bury her future.
Edge would want her alive first.
But he would also want a chance to handle his daughter before Santa Fe fed her to the law, the papers, and every enemy the club had.
“I think,” I said slowly, “we need to call Edge before anyone else gets her name.”
Callum stared at me.
Nate stopped moving.
Destiny’s fingers tightened weakly in my shirt.
