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“You may not be wearing anything, but what’s your ink got to say?” I mumbled, pulling up the edges of his blood-soaked shirt.

Reaper. Of course, the fucker was a reaper.

Was this retaliation for Lotería? Did they know she would be here tonight? Were they having her followed? Or was this taking advantage of an opportunity? My mind was whirling with possibilities.

“Gunner, you may want to see this.”

The worry in Torque’s voice made the hair on my neck stand on end. He was crouched over another body; this one on his side with a clean slit through his throat. If I had to guess, he was taken out first and probably from behind. The guy’s shirt was pulled up to under his armpit, and my blood ran cold at what I saw inked on his ribs—a tattoo of La Santa Muerte, the Mexican folk saint of death.

A cartel tattoo.

I tore my eyes from the tattoo and looked at Torque. His face reflected the hundreds of unanswered questions I was also asking.

“Maybe she wasn’t alone tonight like I thought?” The tone in his voice let me know he didn’t believe that.

But fuck, it would be nice if that was the reality of this situation.

Because if this guy wasn’t with Ryan tonight…then Los Muertos had a loyalty problem.

Two cartel members.

That’s what checking the other bodies revealed. I decided this information better stay in-house until I spoke to Ryan. Sergio wouldn’t keep me in the loop if I turned this over to him, and I wanted to know if she had showed up with these guys or not.

If so, did they turn on Ryan or die at the hands of the Reapers and mystery girl?

There were too many unanswered questions, and I wanted to be the one to figure them out. Not Los Muertos.

I left Torque and some prospects we called to cover the cleanup. We decided to dump the bodies elsewhere and hose down the blood. Tucson cops rarely patrolled that part of town; they let the criminals police themselves. And with that alley being outside the warehouse of a known fight ring venue, the remaining blood wouldn’t be given a second glance.

My ride back to the clubhouse was almost as reckless as my ride to the alley, conflicting emotions raging through me at the idea of seeing Ryan. I wanted to confirm with my own eyes that she was all right, but the thought of seeing her again while she looked so fragile made my heart feel like it was in a vise grip, and I couldn’t get enough oxygen into my lungs. My anger burned to new levels seeing her vulnerable.

Still, a smile crept onto my face when thinking about what Torque described. Obviously, I was deranged, because the idea of Ryan jamming a blade into that asshole’s carotid over and over brought me joy.

I hated her being hurt, but I would never want to take away Ryan’s need for violence.

“I’m going to spank your ass for not bringing me tonight, Ryan,” I yelled into the wind roaring by my face as I sped through Tucson.

I wanted to bear witness to the beauty of her brutality while letting her know she didn’t have to do it alone.

We didn’t have to be alone.

That thought was like a bucket of ice water over my soul because she wasn’t alone—I was alone—she had Mario. I pushed my bike harder, itching to be with her while I could, like a junkie for her presence. I would take advantage of the time I got to have her before she was taken away from me.

I was off my bike the moment I pulled into the clubhouse. Throwing the door open, I stormed toward my room. But Pres was there to intercept me before I could get to my destination. His large body appeared in my warpath, halting me with one look. I gritted my teeth because I couldn’t just tell him to fuck off. That’s not how things were done in an MC.

“What happened out there, Gunner?” His eyes were hard, searching my face. “Dex brought Ryan back. Doc cleaned up her side, shallow cut. She’s got some bruises on her throat, though. Dex said it looked like a massacre out there…”

I wouldn’t be let through until I gave Pres something to work with. I did a quick look around to see who was within earshot, not trusting most people at the moment. Observant bastard picked up the movement, narrowing his eyes.

My tongue wet my bottom lip, buying me a split second to decide on wording. “Too many holes still need filling. Hopefully, Ryan’ll have some answers when she wakes up. Two Reapers are now dead,” I said.

Pres nodded his head in understanding, thinking that was all the information, and turned his body to let me pass. But I knew he needed to hear this next part.

I lowered my voice. “Two more dead…Santa Muerte tattoos…” I let my words trail off.

His eyes snapped to mine before he looked away, deep in thought. The unspoken implications hung in the air between us. Pres ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair—a tell. This information worried him.

His eyes found mine again. “When she wakes up, bring her to me. I want an account of what happened from her mouth.” He pointed a finger my way. “Don’t tell her beforehand. I want to minimize the chances of her fabricating a story in advance.”