Page 35 of Blood Revealed

She opens her door as she unbuckles and hops out, pointing her weapon at the approaching man. The other women jump out too and holy double shit, Liv’s brandishing her piece, too.

“It’d be in your best interest to step away,” Caitlin says.

The man puts his hands up in front of him in one of those quintessential man-placating-a-woman gestures. “No need for violence,” he says. The nerve of this guy. He’s a Horde, for god’s sake. “Frankie, what the fuck you doing out here? Heard one of ya was kidnapped. Your ass should be home.”

All our heads whip to Frankie. She knows a Horde? How does she know a Horde?

“Vlad,” she says. “We have to go. Our girl Elise was nabbed by a really bad man. We have to get her back before they get her over the border.”

“Go home,” he orders. Then he looks at Caitlin. “Know who you are,” he says. “Got a feeling your husband’d be pissed you keep this up.”

“My husband doesn’t have to know yet and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let us pass and keep your mouth shut.”

Uh—wow. Dr. Caitlin Brennan-Ellis badass biker bitch extraordinaire. I’ve never seen this side of her. I like it.

“Can’t do that. I know the kind of guy who took your friend. That kind of man has no problem hurting anyone who gets in his way.” Then he looks to Maryanne. “That includes pregnant women. Now, go home. Let the men handle it.”

Oh fuck that. We aren’t helpless little nothings.

“Since that’s not happening,” Frankie says, “we’re going with Option B. That’s where we get back in our trucks and go save our friend.”

The man—Vlad, Frankie said, and it’s on his cut—runs his hands over his face. Apparently, he’s had enough of dealing with exasperating women. Tough.

“Fuck,” he says, looking at the pavement and shaking his head the way one does when coming to a decision. When he looks up, I realize just how ridiculously good-looking the man is with all that luscious olive skin covering those sexy cut cheekbones and angled jaw, dark hair and eyes so dark they’re almost black. Everything about the man could be considereddark. He’s completely opposite Raif, yet it all works for him. I’ll bet it works for him on a regular basis. I swallow hard. If I weren’t in love with Raif and he wasn’t a Horde—no. Bad Hannah. We don’t think Horde are sexy. “Fine. But I’m coming with you. Not having your deaths weighing on my conscience.”

Excuse me?

8.

Raif

Hero and I left the Missouri compound about an hour ago, heading to the meet with our allies down Arkansas way. We’ve got Lords chapters coming in from every corner of the country; the other Advocate chapters are on their way. We’ve even got the Hellraisers and the Sons of Sin, then it’ll be whoever else Scotch can get ahold of who’s close enough to help out.

We had to handcuff Boss to the bed to keep his ass down and when he yanked hard enough to crack the headboard, Hatchet sedated him. I know he’s scared. That’s his wife. But he’s more of a liability to us in his condition. We need everyone on their game or Elise doesn’t stand a shot in hell of getting out of this unscathed.

We roll into a small town just over the Arkansas border. There’s a bar called The Last Stop where we’re supposed to meet up with the other clubs. We’re not the first to arrive. A row of bikes is lined up outside along the dirt parking lot.

“What do you think this is the last stop for?” Hero asks, joking.

“Last stop before you get to hell?” I offer and we both laugh. Nothing about this is funny. Some son of a bitch has Elise, but he meant to take Hannah. After all this time?

He pulls the door open and holds it for me. It’s dark inside and smells of whiskey and urine. Why the fuck does it smell like urine? Every head in the bar turns to look at us. The bartender reaches under the bar and I know he’s reaching for a shotgun. Then there’s the sound of a chair scooting across the floor and I take my attention away from the bartender briefly to see Wreck approaching us. “Blood,” he says, holding out his hand. The giant bald man has a head that looks ridiculously similar to a circumcised penis, a nasty case of cauliflower ear and a face that might have been run through a meat grinder, but he’s good people. He turns to the bartender. “They’re good. Lords.” When he reaches me, he pulls me into a half-hug, slapping my back. Wreck’s a Hellraiser, and from what I know of the man, he lives that to the fullest.

“Good to see you,” I say. “You remember Hero?”

Wreck nods, holding his hand out for Hero to shake.

“Thanks for meeting us,” Hero says. “Wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth. When we heard some jacknut made moves against the Lords by nabbing a woman—I was ready to kill a motherfucker, she an old lady or not.”

“That’s the thing; he got the wrong woman. And the woman he was going after is my old lady now, but he wouldn’t have known that. The stupid fuck took our VP’s wife.”

Chairs and barstools scoot across the floor all over the room as more men leave their tables to gather around us.

“Boss’s old lady?” Wreck asks.

“Yeah. It’s bad, brother. Bad.”

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