I turned to grab eggs out of the fridge, glancing toward Zach. He was looking down at one of his hands, forming a fist over and over, flexing the muscles in his arm. I set the egg carton on the counter. Then I reached for a bowl to mix them in—he liked them scrambled, a mixture of full eggs and egg whites for extra protein. I started cracking them, the hard white shells looking like little skulls.

They broke open so easily.

I flicked another glance at him. He was still gazing down at his fingers, flexing and fisting.

Getting ready to hit me again.

“I’m gonna f**k you in the ass, I think,” he said casually. “Make you beg for it. I’ve missed that about you, the way you beg.”

My chest tightened, but I didn’t let myself react to his words. I just picked up a towel and wrapped it around the hot pan’s metal handle. Then I took a deep breath and thought of Noah, of what his little face would look like after Zach finished with him. Nope. Not gonna happen.

You can do this, I told myself, and I knew I was right. I could.

I lifted the pan, took three steps toward Zach and raised it high, bringing it down on his head with all my strength.

He never saw it coming.

Then I hit him a second time, just to be sure. And a third.

The smell of scorched meat filled the kitchen.

I smiled.

RUGER

He felt his phone vibrate, and he seriously considered just ignoring it.

It was nearly three thirty in the morning, and the girls had arrived at the Armory an hour ago. He’d never seen Marie so drunk. She wore a little white veil on her head and a white sash that said “Bride” across her chest, and she was carrying around some weird electronic vibrating thing like a trophy. Maggs said it was a sex toy, but damned if Ruger could figure out what it was for.

Horse was drunk, too, although not as bad as Marie. He’d carried his bride-to-be off not long after she arrived. They were upstairs now. That was the last they’d seen of them, although Dancer was trying to convince the girls that they needed to go and rescue Marie. That kept setting them off cackling like a bunch of damned witches.

Ruger pulled out his phone and saw Sophie’s name. Fuck. Now what? He was trying to give her space, but it was f**king hard to pretend everything was fine while he waited. He missed her. The Jacks had taken her away from him for less than a day, but those hours had nearly killed him.

He needed her back. He needed her back now. Wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

“Hey, Soph,” he said, stepping out the door into the night air. It was almost October, but it was still warm out. A perfect Indian summer night.

“Ruger,” she said, and her voice sounded strange. “Um, I have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t think I can tell you over the phone. Would—do you think you could come over? I mean, I know you’re at the party … are you safe to drive, do you think?”

Double f**k. Something was really wrong. Her voice all but screamed it.

“Yeah, I’m good to drive,” he said, and thankfully he was. Hadn’t been in the mood to drink—too many thoughts running through his head. He heard her breath catch. “Should I bring anyone with me?”

“Um, we should probably be discreet,” she said slowly. “I’m in some trouble here, Ruger. I don’t know what to do.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked quickly.

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “That’s not really the worst of it … Ruger, I’ve done something bad. I think you should come over right now. I need you to tell me what to do. I know I keep asking you to stay out of my life, but I was wrong about that. I can’t do this on my own.”

“Okay, babe. I’ll be right there.”

He pulled up to her place twenty minutes later. She sat outside on the little stoop, arms wrapped tight around her knees. She looked impossibly brittle, like she’d explode into a thousand pieces if he touched her. Little red dots spotted her face.

Blood spatter. Fuck.

“What’s up, Soph?” Ruger asked, crouching down. She looked at him with blank eyes. “Did you fall down or something?”

“No,” she said quietly. “Zach punched my stomach and threatened to kill Noah, so I killed him instead.”

Ruger froze.

“Excuse me?” he asked carefully, wondering if he’d hallucinated what she’d just said.

“Zach punched my stomach and threatened to kill Noah, so I killed him,” she repeated, meeting his gaze. “He was mad at me because he’d heard I was sleeping with you. He’s always been crazy jealous, you know that. I don’t know what set him off, but he must’ve been spying on me somehow, because he knew exactly how to find me. He was inside the apartment, waiting, when I got home from the karaoke bar. He kissed me, and then he started asking questions and punched me. He said he was going to kill Noah and I knew he meant it, so I hit him over the head with a cast-iron skillet until he died.”

Ruger swallowed. He didn’t feel sorry for Zach, but this was one hell of a clusterfuck.

“Are you sure he’s dead?”

She nodded slowly.

“I kept hitting him, just to make sure,” she replied, far too calmly. “I checked his pulse. He’s definitely dead. I’m hoping you’ll tell me what to do next. I finally did my own dirty work, Ruger, but I don’t know how to finish it.”

Damn it. He shouldn’t have left her alone. Should’ve come to check on her when she didn’t show up with the rest of the girls … Fuck giving her space.

“Okay,” he said. “Where’s Noah?”

“Spending the night with Elle,” Sophie said. “She’ll get him ready for school in the morning. I’ll pick him up and take him on the way to work.”

Well, that was something.

“I’m going to go inside, check things out,” he said. “That okay with you?”

“Sure,” she murmured. “No problem. I’ll just stay out here, I think?”

“That sounds good,” he told her, reaching out and cupping her cheek. She leaned her head into his touch, eyes starting to water. Then he stood up and stepped past her, opening the door.

Fuck. Double f**k …

Zach was on the floor, his hair matted with blood. A pool of it surrounded him. A horrible stench filled the air, a mixture of burned meat and scorched hair.

The pan lay next to Zach’s corpse, more blood crusting the sides. It’d splattered behind him, too. That would take some serious cleaning. New linoleum for sure, and they might even need to replace the floorboards underneath, he mused.

Ruger checked Zach’s pulse just to be sure, but Sophie was right. His stepbrother was definitely dead. This was a mess, a big mess, and cleaning it up wouldn’t be pretty.

He was proud of her, though.

She’d defended herself when it counted, and ultimately this was Ruger’s fault. He should’ve killed Zach four years ago. Then he should have killed him when he’d collected the child support. Fucking weak of him.

He’d held off because of Noah.

Didn’t want to kill the boy’s father. Didn’t want to do that to his own mother, either. She’d loved Zach, for reasons Ruger had never understood. So he’d given Zach another pass, leaving his woman to finish the job.

Fucking idiot.

Ruger pulled out his phone and dialed Pic.

“It’s Ruger,” he said. “I’m out at Soph’s place. Could use some help here, it’s delicate. Anyone up for it? Probably gonna need a van …”

“How delicate?” Picnic asked. He hadn’t been drinking much, either, thank f**k. Neither of them had quite relaxed since the kidnapping, and that vigilance might save Sophie’s ass now.

“About as delicate as it gets,” Ruger said slowly. “We should talk in person.”

“Gotcha,” Pic replied, hanging up. Ruger went back outside and found Sophie still sitting on the porch. He sat down behind her, wrapping his arms around her body, legs surrounding hers as he pulled her close. She shivered.

“Hey, Soph,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck. She leaned back into him and he realized she was crying softly, tears rolling down her face.

Good. Crying was better than that creepy calm she’d had earlier.

“I’m really sorry, Ruger,” she told him. “I keep calling you in to fix things, always making you do the hard stuff. First Miranda, now this. I should’ve called the cops …”

“No f**king way,” he said. “That’s a mess we don’t need. You might get off on self-defense, you might not. Not after you kept hitting him. He was just sitting when you attacked, right? He wasn’t about to hit you or something?”

“Not really,” Sophie replied. “He was looking at his hands and I was supposed to be cooking eggs.”

“You did what you had to do,” Ruger said, hoping she believed him. “He chose this—he threatened your son, Soph. You had to protect him. That’s what mothers do.”

She nodded her head.

“I know,” she replied. “He said he’d kill all of us and I knew he meant it. The restraining order didn’t do shit. Going to jail only stopped him for a while … What if he hurt Noah next time? I wasn’t willing to take that chance.”

“We’ll clean this up for you,” he replied, resting his cheek on her head. God, he loved how she smelled, although for once his dick had the grace to stay down. “Hopefully nobody knew he was coming here. He’ll just disappear. If the cops ever come looking, we’ll say I did it, okay?”

“You can’t—” she tried to protest, but he cut her off.

“I’m not planning on it,” Ruger said. “Trust me, prison isn’t on my bucket list. We play things right, it won’t be an issue. He wasn’t here, it never happened. But if the shit hits the fan, you’ll do what I tell you, what the club lawyer tells you. Got me?”

“I just feel so bad dragging you into it.”

“We’re a family,” he whispered. “We take care of each other. That’s the way it works, babe. You protected yourself and Noah, now I’ll protect you. My brothers’ll cover my ass, and we’ll all make it through just fine.”

“We are a family, aren’t we?” she whispered.

“Always.”

She nodded her head slowly, and he squeezed her tight. They sat together quietly, waiting for Picnic, listening to the frogs and crickets singing in the background.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SOPHIE

Ruger, Picnic, and Painter took care of Zach.

They made him disappear, along with the frying pan, my clothes, and every other piece of evidence in the house.

Erasing a human life shouldn’t be so easy.

Ruger had me take a shower, then I crawled into Noah’s bed and tried to sleep. Even if my mind hadn’t been racing, I hurt too bad to get any rest. I’d have a hell of a bruise. At least it wouldn’t show anywhere. The sun was already rising when I heard him come back and turn on the shower. Twenty minutes later he padded into the bedroom and lay down next to me, pulling me into his arms.

I turned and burrowed into him, holding him tight.

“Thank you,” I whispered fiercely, and I meant it. Not just for tonight, but for everything. “Thank you for always being here for me.”

“It’s what I do,” he whispered back. His hand came up and ran through my hair softly, soothing me.

“I was wrong,” I said.

“Hmmm?”

“I was wrong about you,” I continued. “I kept saying I didn’t want anything to do with you, that the club does horrible things. But I’m the one doing horrible things.”

“You survived,” he replied, and his voice didn’t waver. “You protected your son. That’s not horrible.”

“When I called you, you could’ve told me to f**k off,” I replied. “I had no right to drag you into this. Now you’re an accomplice.”

“Babe, it’s over,” he said. “Let it be over. I’ll come by in a couple of days, put some new flooring in the kitchen, throw on some paint. Then it’s done. We don’t need to talk about it, okay? In fact, we shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Okay,” I whispered. “What about us? I feel like this changes things.”

“We don’t need to figure it out right now, Soph,” he said. “Try to sleep. You’ve got to be up in an hour for work. It’s going to be a long, tiring day, and you’ve got to get through it. On the bright side, if anyone asks why you look like shit, you can say you’re hungover. Plenty of witnesses to that, thank f**k.”

“Wish I could call in sick,” I said. “I suppose calling in with a hangover this early into the job isn’t such a good idea, hmm?”

“Probably not,” he said. He kissed the top of my head. “Like I said, we don’t have to figure things out right now, but I’m going to stay with you for a while. I don’t want you alone.”

It didn’t occur to me to argue. I really, really didn’t want to be alone. I’d never believed in ghosts, but I was pretty sure Zach planned to haunt me.

Probably for the rest of my life.

A week later we still hadn’t talked things through.

Ruger moved us back to his house the Saturday after I killed Zach, and this time I didn’t argue with him. He put me back in my old room, and while we spent almost every evening together, he never did more than give me a quick kiss good night.