Page 21 of Ryder's War

Gathering up the women, he took them to his place, and little Rose crashed out in his spare room. Tiffany's hands smoothing over his back in a warm caress was the last thing Ryder remembered before tumbling off to sleep.But even in his dreams, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. The Devils hadn't tagged their territory just to make a statement—they'd drawn first blood.

And in their world, blood always called for blood.

~ Tiffany ~

Four days later, Tiffany scrolled through the e-mail on her phone, trying to maintain some semblance of normal life while chaos swirled around them. The dead bird on the welcome mat shattered that illusion.

In her experience, omens rarely came alone.

She’d just gotten home from her interview with the medical office. She’d left the poor prospect assigned to drive her in the vehicle. In hindsight, that was probably a bad idea. The poor bird looked bitten or crushed around the neck and was smeared with a bit of blood. What kind of monster would do something like this?

An image of Rupert the Magnificent flashed through her mind. He was the fat, yellow tabby her family had when she was a kid. Rupert had presented her with many such trophies when she was growing up. Her mother had pointed out that killing small birds and mice was his way of showing respect. Tiffany thought it was because he thought her too weak and stupid to hunt for herself, and the offering was more of an effort to feed her than anything else.

Kicking the disgusting dead bird aside into the flower bed, she hurried in and changed into casual clothing. Rushing back out, she carefully set the security system and locked the house before allowing her eyes to dart suspiciously around for a stray feline.

A loud honk blasted expectantly, reminding her of the prospect waiting to drive her to the hospital. Climbing into the backseat of his tricked-out 1966 Chevy Chevelle, she shoved aside the idea of potentially being adopted by a stray cat in favor of texting Ryder.

Tiffany: How’s Darkness?

Ryder: He woke up for a bit. He was in a lot of pain, and they gave him something for it.

Tiffany: You’re still worried about him, aren’t you?

Ryder: Fuck no. He’s tough as nails.

Staring down at his response, Tiffany bit her bottom lip. Ryder was a complicated man. Since Darkness was his club president, he had a moral and professional obligation to see to the man’s safety. Being the Sargent at Arms ensured that issues relating to the safety and security of his club brothers landed squarely in his lap. Darkness was also one of his closest friends. She knew seeing the man get shot right in front of him had left Ryder all kinds of messed up about it.

The only real question was if he was marginalizing the situation to keep her from worrying or to enable himself to remain calm and get through the hospital piece without tracking the shooter down. Instead of pressuring him, she opted for just being supportive.

Tiffany: Want me to bring you a burger?

Ryder: Nah, I got something on the way over.

Tiffany: See you in a bit handsome.

Ryder: Wait. They need you at the clubhouse.

Tiffany: Did someone get hurt?

Ryder: Don’t freak out, I’m meeting you there.

Tiffany: What the heck is going on?

Ryder: Tell you when I get there. Just don’t freak out until I arrive.

Tiffany: Sure thing, babe.

Tiffany felt her blood pressure skyrocketing as she put her phone away. He had to know thattelling her not to freak out would have the exact opposite effect. Attempting to do as he said, she tried some deep breathing techniques followed by counting to ten—repeatedly—before finally giving up.

Fine, she’d just freak now and get it over with. Before she could get her head around the situation and tell mister prospect Cork to take her to the clubhouse, his phone buzzed. His ringtone sounded like a mad hornet or bumble bee. It was all kinds of weird.

He answered it on the first buzz. “Yeah, boss, I’m hearing ya loud and clear.” He listened for a second, then flipped the phone off and slid it back into his pocket. “Change of plans, Miss Tiffany.”

“I know. We’re heading to the clubhouse. Any idea why?”

Glancing nervously in his rearview mirror, he pulled off the road and turned the vehicle around. “They told me to tell you not to freak.”

Of course they did. Sometimes she wondered if the brothers operated on a hive mentality. Each piece of information filtered through layers of loyalty and protocol, protection wrapped in silence. She was learning their language slowly. What wasn't said often mattered more than what was.

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