Regan’s fingers paused in my hair.
Dylan’s jaw tightened.
I should have taken the hint. I should have been careful. I should have remembered that asking for a San Diego Royal Bastard while lying half-broken in my father’s clubhouse bed was probably not my brightest post-felony move.
But I was tired.
Drugged.
Scared.
And he had found me in the dark.
“Did you?” I asked.
His brows drew together. “Did I what?”
I licked my cracked lip. “Tell them.”
His face softened by a fraction.
“No.”
Relief made my eyes close.
“I didn’t tell them anything you said out there,” he continued quietly. “Not the things you couldn’t help saying. Not the things that came from whatever was in your system. You were drugged out of your mind, Destiny. That wasn’t for me to hand around.”
Regan’s breath caught.
Edge looked at him.
Something passed between them.
I didn’t know what.
I didn’t have enough strength to read men and their silent outlaw language right now.
Dylan’s gaze dropped to the IV bag. He watched the saline drip for a second like it was the only thing in the room he trusted.
“We have to move you tonight,” he said.
My pulse jumped.
Regan’s hand tightened around mine.
“What?”
Dylan looked back at me. “Horseback first. Out through Cal’s back land. We’ve got to get you away from the clubhouse before the warrants start landing.”
The word hit harder than pain.
“Warrants?”
Edge’s voice turned deadly. “Maybe.”
Dylan didn’t soften it.
“Search warrant, definitely if the wrong people push. Maybe an arrest warrant if someone gets your name in front of the right judge before we get ahead of the story.”
