“What the fuck?”

“She went to the Vegas Belles to try and make some quick cash. Was planning to drive down to California and shoot him. Obviously she’s not thinking straight . . . Don’t know how the hell she imagined she could pull it off.”

“Don’t underestimate a desperate woman,” Pic said, his voice grim.

“I told her I’d do it,” I said. “I don’t want her carrying that burden the rest of her life. Not sure she could handle it.”

“She’s stronger than you think,” Boonie said. “But I hear you. What’s the plan?”

“Figured I’d start by making sure I won’t touch off a war if I put this guy in the ground. He’s a hangaround with the Longnecks and his brother’s a patch holder.”

“They’re nothing,” Picnic said dismissively. “I’ll let Shade know at national, but he won’t care. They’re weak and they’re cowards—we’ve got no respect for them.”

I felt some of my tension lift. One less thing to worry about.

“In that case, I’d like to drive down there and take care of things myself,” I said. “Becca wants to come with me and I said she could. Figure I can round up one of the nomads to help keep an eye on her while I finish the job.”

“Sounds good,” Boonie said. “Keep us posted.”

“You got it.”

He leaned forward and gave me a rough hug, slapping my back. Picnic followed suit, and then I was heading back upstairs.

I found Becca in the kitchen, talking to London. She wore a loose pair of jeans and a faded Reapers support shirt. It had to be the least sexy outfit I’d ever seen her in, but she still made it work.

Funny, that.

I came to stand behind her, slipping my hands around to feel her stomach. London watched us, sipping a cup of coffee.

“You need anything for the road?” she asked. “Sandwiches? Snacks?”

“How’d you know we’re headed on a trip?” Becca asked.

“I smelled drama,” London said, her voice dry. “Drive safe.”

I pulled Becca close, hoping London was wrong. Taking out Teeny shouldn’t be any more dramatic than smashing a bug. He wasn’t worth the emotional energy—hopefully I’d get Becca to see that for herself.

FIFTEEN

BECCA

Puck refused to leave until the next morning, despite my begging and pleading. He said it was already too late in the day and he was right.

Still pissed me off.

At first he’d tried to get me back to Callup for the night, which I flatly refused to do. I wasn’t ready to face Regina and Earl, not after what I’d done. He didn’t trust me to stay by myself, though, so I ended up hanging in the kitchen for a few hours at the Armory with London Hayes, Reese Hayes’s wife. Darcy had called over—apparently she wanted to come check on me. After she saw the look of horror on my face, London convinced her to stay home.

I hadn’t been brave enough to tell Danielle where I was, although I texted to say I was safe and with Puck. She was a tough girl, and with Blake at her back I had no doubt she’d try to invade the Armory. Odds were good she’d do it, too. Danielle was many things, but cowardly wasn’t one of them.

Regina and Earl also wanted to talk.

I couldn’t do it. They had to know what I’d done by now—Callup wasn’t a quiet kind of town. I begged Puck to call them and let them know I was all right.

He frowned, but he did it.

Then he drove up to Callup to pack a bag, stopping off at the Moose to let them know my mom had died. Teresa was wonderful about it, making me feel even guiltier that I hadn’t called her earlier.

In fact, the longer I sat in bed (and no, not the nasty one on the second floor—once Puck decided to leave me there, he arranged for a real room), the more my guilt grew. There were people who cared about me. People who’d given me everything, yet when things fell apart I didn’t reach out.

After this was all over, I’d go to them. I’d make sure they knew how much I loved and appreciated them.

Well, unless I was in prison.

Of course, that was probably less likely now that I had Puck with me. Sure, he’d been caught before—but only once. He had to have learned something about covering his tracks along the way, right?

God, I hoped so. I didn’t want him going to prison on my behalf. He didn’t seem particularly worried about that happening, though—I knew this because when he finally crawled into bed after returning to the armory, he told me.

“I’m your old man,” he said. “You need to trust me. I’ll handle it.”

“How will you handle it?” I asked, my head tucked against his chest. “I’m part of this—I need to know what the plan is.”

“Your job is to follow my lead,” he replied. I opened my mouth to protest, but he rolled me over on the bed. Then his fingers were inside me and I totally forgot about the question.

—

The drive was supposed to take around twenty hours, which we’d do over two days. I’d suggested that if we weren’t going to leave right away, we should consider driving straight through on Friday. Puck pointed out that arriving all exhausted wouldn’t help our cause, but he was on board with leaving at six the next morning and putting in a long day.

We’d pulled away from a truck stop after dinner when Teeny called Friday night. I stared down at my phone, paralyzed.