Jagger shook his head.
He knew that Rosie was not in danger. Well, for Rosie.
They were all in danger.
But she had a husband who would die for her. They had a security team back in L.A. full of highly trained motherfuckers. Plus, that bitch had connections all over the country, probably more than the Sons of Templar.
And they needed every single fucking one if they were gonna take down Fernandez and survive.
She glanced around their warehouse. “This is the shipment from the Russians?”
Jagger nodded once.
It was normally an offense punishable by death, talking about this shit with a woman and with an ex fucking cop present. But things were far from normal these days.
And Rosie was somewhat of a permanent exception.
“You’re running them out to the clubs tonight?” she asked, walking over to an AK-47, loading a magazine, releasing the charging handle, then emptying the clip in their designated testing area.
Gunshots echoed off the walls for a beat before she put it down and waltzed back over like she was on a fucking catwalk.
And damn did she work it.
Jagger had appreciated this for a long time. Enough to be tempted.
But now, he barely fucking saw this.
All he saw was Caroline. Even now. Which was dangerous. His head needed to be in the game.
“Good,” she said, as Luke yanked her into his side, death glaring his brothers, who Jagger guessed had been checking her out.
They were only human.
He glanced to an expressionless Swiss.
Well, most of them.
“You’re gonna need more.”
Only half of this was for personal use. The rest was to sell. The club needed all the money they could get. War was expensive.
Jagger nodded. “The Russians are coming in a few days.”
“Great. Good. We’ve got intel that Fernadez is gonna be stateside within the next two months. Could be a trap. Almost certainly is. But you know what happens when you try and trap the devil?” She grinned. “All hell breaks loose.”
Jagger shook his head again. Almost grinned.
Almost.
“Now, let’s talk happier things,” she continued. “I hear you’ve got a woman locked in your room at the clubhouse.”
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, not even bothering to wonder how Rosie knew. She was like that Tyrion Lannister on that show Macy made them all watch, she drank and she knew things. And apparently she considered holding a woman captive as good news.
“Just wait until after all this shakes out before the wedding, we don’t want a gunfight at the reception.” Her eyes glowed. “But that’s gonna happen regardless.”
Jagger stiffened. “There’s not gonna be a wedding,” he clipped.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course there is. I thought it might’ve been Sarah, I tentatively cheered for you, but I knew it wasn’t her. Not enough drama. But now a reporter, world famous and kick ass mind you, being held captive by an old flame she thought was…farther south, should we say? Or north, depending on how well someone knows you.” She winked.
This time Jagger reacted. Because yeah, he was shocked. Rosie was not acting like this was new information, who he really was. He wondered how long she’d known. Probably longer than he’d like to admit.
“That information doesn’t exist,” he said through gritted teeth, mindful of his brothers listening. Not that he wanted to keep it a secret out of anything but shame and cowardice.
She shrugged. “Skeletons don’t sweep under the rug very well. Nor do they stay in closets very long. I know my way around a closet.” She waved her hand at her outfit as if that explained shit.
She gave him those kind eyes again. “Your secret’s safe with me. Unless I don’t get invited to the wedding, then I’m making a Podcast or something.”
He crossed his arms. “It’s not like that, Rosie, seriously.”
She sighed. “It’s always like that.”
She kissed Luke. “Tell him, honey,” she said sweetly.
Luke held his wife tight and glanced at Jagger. “Not somethin’ you can tell, unfortunately, it’s something you’re gonna have to learn the hard way.”
Because Jagger was a coward, he didn’t want to learn the hard way, he took a run delivering guns, as if the road could clear Caroline from his veins.
Chapter Thirteen
Caroline
I didn’t see him for five days.
I told myself that was welcome, that was a good thing. I didn’t need distractions from him or the past he carried around with him.
I needed Hansen to trust me.
I needed the story.
And then I needed to get the fuck out of here.
Even if I was falling into some kind of routine. Even if, in a weird way, I was liking my work at the bar. Liking the way that Blake spoke to me in gruff curses and sexist remarks and soft eyes. Mine and Claw’s banter that bore no evidence of the fact he’d been willing to kill me a fortnight ago. The fact that Macy came to have coffee with me every day, bringing her beautiful little sons and all of the Lord of the Rings movies for us to get through.