Reeve (The Henchmen MC 11)

I gave him a nod, moving to put my left hand on his shoulder, sticking close.

I realized when we were halfway through the compound that I used my left hand to hold on because I had a death grip on the gun still. Like I was even capable of using it.

Hell, maybe I was.

That was a somewhat terrifying revelation.

But, then again, I guess you never really knew all there was to know about yourself until you were put in the uncomfortable situations that forced you to confront preconceived notions you had built about yourself.

Maybe I hated the casual use of guns, but I was absolutely, one-hundred-percent capable of having - and using - one if the situation called for it.

Someday, that realization was really going to mess with my head. This was not that day.

Because I was being shuffled onto the floor of a backseat with my heart in my throat, jostled around on uneven roads for what felt like hours, nothing to do but think about Reeve and what was happening to him, since Smith - whoever he was - stayed stony silent, eyes on his mirrors.

Until he finally asked for my address and drove us there.

"Climb up here," he demanded as the car idled in the driveway. "I am going to get out and go in to check out the house. You will move over into my seat and lock the doors. Take a look at this clock," he said, tapping it with his hand. "If I am not back out in five minutes, you drive your ass to Hailstorm."

This was not my life.

Except, it was.

And he was waiting for me to agree.

"My house is full of animals," I warned him. "None will bite you, but I don't want you shooting them if you see a sudden motion."

To that, he gave me a small smile, almost teasing really. "Doll, I've been doing this sort of thing since I was eighteen. I think I have learned the difference between an attacker and a family cat. Lock up. And five minutes exactly," he told me before throwing himself out into the cold.

I didn't even pause in dropping down into his seat, reaching with clumsy fingers to hit the lock button.

My stomach didn't unclench until four and a half minutes later when the front door opened again, and Smith reemerged, coming out off the deck with my pair of gardening shoes from beside the front door.

"Come on. It's fine," he told me, holding the shoes so I could slip my feet in. "I thought you were exaggerating when you said it was full of animals," he told me with a disbelieving head shake as we made our way to the front door. "Your white bird tried to eat my shoelaces," he informed me as he let us in and locked the door. "Hey," he said when we were safely inside, and it started. The shaking. Some of it might have been from the cold, but most of it wasn't. Most of it was straight adrenaline and crippling fear. "I figure you're new to The Henchmen."

"I just... Reeve and I... we just started," I fumbled for words as Smith strode across my living room to grab a blanket off the back of a chair and drape it around my shoulders.

"Right. Because if you knew these guys, you would know that they handle their shit. I won't tell you Reeve is going to get out unscathed, because I'm not one for blowing smoke, but he will get out of this."

"Do you work with them?" I asked, wanting to talk, wanting to fill the silence, so I didn't go insane.

"Nah, babe. I work at Quinton Baird and Associates. I'm part of the 'and Associates.'"

"Then why are you the one collecting me?"

"Because Lo couldn't do it herself. The rest of The Henchmen are out of town. The Mallicks didn't answer. Breaker and Shoot were out of town. Sawyer and his team were working their own case."

"So you're... the only person available?" I asked, worry sparking through my system again.

He only smiled a little at that, raising a hand to run it through his beard. "Don't know what you know about Hailstorm, but it is full of ex-military. I have done ops with half of her men and women. They knew I could handle this."

Well, that was a little more reassuring at least.

"So... what do we do now?" I asked, hoping he would give it to me straight again.

"We wait for the gun smoke to settle," he said a little flippantly, making me start, realizing I was still holding a gun, and putting it down on the mail table. "We just wait, doll. We wait."

Wait.

Was there anything more excruciating than waiting?EIGHTMARCOI would never have figured stealth was their MO.

Let's face it, you think biker, you think loud and impulsive.