The minutes tick by, and I pace. I tried to sit and relax, but as soon as the doctor showed up, I was done. I needed to see Crooner, needed to make sure he was okay.

Hurrying toward the conference room where they hold church, I see Hayden standing outside of a closed door.

“He says we can’t go in,” she whispers.

She’s still covered in blood, her eyes rimmed red and swollen, and she looks terrified. “Well fuck that, I’m going inside,” I announce.

Hayden reaches for me, but I shake her off, open the door and walk into the conference room.

Crooner is on the table, there’s blood everywhere and the doctor is standing above him. “Don’t need a crying woman as a distraction,” he grumbles.

Shaking myself out of my staring stupor, I walk over to the opposite side of the doctor, with Crooner’s body laid between us. “Tell me how to help,” I demand.

“I need to dig the bullet out of his shoulder. He’ll live, but I have to get it out. I need you to hold him down and keep wiping the blood. He hasn’t woken up yet, but I anticipate that he will soon.”

Grabbing another clean towel, I toss the bloodied one on the floor and lean over Crooner’s body, pressing it against his shoulder. The doctor uses what looks like long tweezers and digs into Crooner’s bullet wound.

I cringe at the blood gushing all around my fingers. Crooner groans and I press my other hand against his unhurt shoulder, attempting to keep him from moving. The doctor is grunting and sweating, all while Crooner is laying lifeless below.

“This is a lot of damn blood,” I cringe.

The doctor grunts. “He’s almost to the point where he’ll need a transfusion.”

My eyes widen, and I send up a prayer, hoping against all hopes that the doctor can get this damn bullet out and Crooner will survive. Then as if my prayers are answered, I hear something metal hit the table.

“Is that it?” I ask.

The doctor grunts and I watch as he picks the bullet up and surveys it. “I hope it didn’t do any more damage than I can see. I’m going to stitch him up and give you some antibiotics. If he shows any signs of fever or worsening do not hesitate. Take him to the hospital. I could list the shit that could go wrong with this, but I won’t. Just take him in,” he states, leveling me with a serious glare.

“I will, I swear,” I whisper.

Watching as he patches him up, I wait while he cleans his tools as best as he can in here. Then he hands me a pill bottle. “Follow the directions. Keep an eye on him and call me if you have any questions. But remember what I said. No hesitations.”

I nod, watching as he walks out of the room, then I look back to Crooner. He looks pale, still lifeless, but his chest is rising and falling with his even breaths. His shoulder is wrapped in bandages, he’s alive, and that’s all that matters.

Leaving him on the table, I walk out of the room and am greeted with a pale, obviously worried Hayden. I hand her the pills, showing her the directions on the bottle. “He’s going to be okay, he hasn’t woken up yet, but he’s breathing, and he’s stitched up.” I offer.

She lets out a long sigh of relief and throws her arms around me in an embrace. “Thank you so much,” she whispers. “How is Easton?” she asks, taking a step back.

“He’s being spoiled by me, Gracie, and Lea,” I chuckle.

Gracie’s eldest daughter Lea is obsessed with him, it’s a privilege if we even get to hold him, she’s totally bogarted the baby.

Hayden nods. “I want to see Crooner, I have to make sure he’s okay,” she whispers.

“Go, we’ll take care of Easton, I need the practice anyway,” I wink.

She nods and turns away from me, hurrying into the conference room to her man. Even if she hasn’t claimed him, or him her, they belong to each other.

“Is he going to be okay?” a small voice asks from behind me.

I turn around to see Truly standing there, her fingers wringing together. She looks really nervous, and not just because someone in the club was shot at, but she’s moving from side to side and her eyes don’t meet mine. I tell her yes before I walk away from her. Gracie could be wrong, but I’ve never known her to be. There is something fishy about Truly.

Walking toward Prescott’s room, I close and lock the door behind me. I’m grateful that he has an en suite bathroom. After stripping off my bloody clothes, I start the shower and step inside. All of my soaps and shampoos are here, so I quickly wash everything before I turn the water off.

Drying off with a towel, I make my way toward my bag. It’s still packed, so I rummage through it looking for something to throw on quickly.

Once I find a pair of leggings and one of my newer maternity tanks, I put them on before slipping my feet into some sandals. I quickly braid my wet hair, then head back to the game room to check on Gracie and all of the kids.

Stepping into the common room, I’m surprised to see it full of men. Prescott is in the center of them and when his eyes catch mine, I see his body physically relax. He rushes toward me, scooping me up in his arms without a word, and then he carries me to his office. Using his foot, he slams the door closed behind him before he sits down, arranging me in his lap.

Pressing his face against my neck, he inhales deeply. “Tell me you’re okay,” he whispers against my skin. His tongue tasting the Snake tattoo on my neck.

Lifting my hand, I slip my fingers into his hair and hold on. “I’m okay, we’re okay,” I assure.

Prescott lifts his head and his dark green eyes look directly into mine, his hands holding onto my tank top at my back, tightly.

“When I heard there’d been shots…” he rasps. “Fuck, I’m tired of feeling this way, peaches.”

“What way?” I ask, my heart racing, wondering where he’s going with his words.

He lets out a shaky breath. “Scared, terrified, worried,” he admits. “We brought in five more of those fucks, but we have no goddamn clue who shot Crooner. He was wearing all black, and a mask. He climbed the fucking wall to get in here, our safety measures meant dick to him. That shit scares me.”

“Could it be Lucifer?” I ask.

He shakes his head once. “Not unless he’s got someone working for him. Lucifer is about fifteen pounds heavier than the security footage of this guy. Whoever he is, I don’t have a fucking clue,” he rumbles.

“Shit,” I hiss. He laughs, but it’s void of humor. “Could it be him and he just lost weight from being on the run?” I ask.

“Fuck, could be, I honestly don’t fucking know. One thing at a time though. I have to extract information out of these guys tonight. I wanted to make sure you were okay, that Evalyn was okay?” he mutters, placing his hand on my stomach. Evalyn chooses that moment to kick and Prescott’s eyes widen before he looks up at me.

“Was that…”

I nod, unable to speak the words.

“Wow,” he breathes.

We sit like that for a few more moments, that is before there’s a knock on the door. Free announces that they’re ready from the other side. I assume they’re ready to extract information, but I don’t question it. I stand up and give Prescott a giant smile.

I watch as Prescott stands as well, he stands in front of me, his hand on my neck, his thumb sliding across the S of his brand there. “Love you, peaches,” he smiles.

“I love you too, Pres,” I whisper.

Leaning down, his lips brush mine before his hand falls away. I watch him walk away, unable to enjoy the view as I’m so damn worried about what’s to come. Whatever it is, it feels huge.

I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a really bad thing. I feel like the past couple of days we’ve had our share of huge bad things, we could definitely use some good around here.

The old metal barn is cold as fuck, and in a few months when it finally starts to snow, it’s going to be even colder. I look around, glad to see that Free has already set up the tools I’m going to need for this extraction mission.

I close my eyes for a beat, thinking about Ginger, and being grateful that she’s safe. I grip the Identification cards of the four men in my hand, shoving them into my pocket. They were gathered before the men were tied up, and we’ve already done some preliminary research on them.

Opening my eyes, I take in the five men that we gathered from the motel. They’re all covered with obvious white pride tattoos, their heads shaved clean, and raging anger in their eyes.

“What was it that you thought you would accomplish by coming to my town?” I ask, my voice smooth and calm.

None of them answer immediately, of course. I don’t mind the silence, really, it’s kind of soothing. I pace in front of them.

They’re all tied to chairs, bound completely, all except their heads. I want to be able to see and hear anything, and everything they have to say.

“They don’t seem too talkative,” Motorhead growls from behind me.

Today it’s just him, me, and Free. The rest of the men are with the women, and Crooner, he looks like shit. Honest to fuck, I’m not sure he’s going to make it.

Glancing over at Motorhead I lift my chin. “Try to encourage some talking then,” I grumble.

I hear one of the men whimper and I know he’s the first weak link. Motorhead walks straight toward him. He’s in his twenties probably, black eyes, no hair, and trembling.

“What do you think you need the most, fingers or toes?”

“F-f-fingers,” he whispers.

Motorhead smiles and it looks like pure fucking evil when he does. He reaches for the guy’s hand and uses his weapon of choice, a hunting knife, and chops off his index finger quickly and efficiently. The kid screams bloody murder as tears roll down his cheeks.

Diverting my eyes from him to the other men, I watch them. Three of them look on in horror, and one stares straight ahead. The one staring straight ahead is the one I want to break. He looks like he probably holds the most information. That’s the one I want.

“Care to tell us what you planned on accomplishing with your trip here, yet?” I ask, my voice even and almost bored sounding.

The man with the missing finger turns his head toward his hard-assed friend, but he continues to look straight ahead, ignoring the whimpering of his own crew member.

“You know, we did some research. You boys have women, all of you. I find that interesting,” I murmur.

Crybaby’s head whips back to me and he starts to shake his head, his eyes wild, the pain obvious in his features. “Not my woman,” he cries.

I tip my head to the side, waiting to see if he’ll tell me something, anything. He’s on the verge, so fucking close.

“You talk, and that cunt will be used like a sow, fucked and dumped,” Hard-ass growls.

Leaning forward, I look directly into Crybaby’s eyes. “She’s going to be fucked and dumped no matter what you say. The more you talk, the quicker we get our info, the less she’ll suffer,” I shrug.

“She’s nothing but a whore, she doesn’t matter,” Hard-ass growls.

Crybaby’s head jerks and his mouth opens, then he closes it taking a big gulp, and whispers. “I love her, she was a daughter of a Devil, I took her, but she’s having my kid and I love her.”

I watch with pity, pure fucking pity. These men, they’re so fucking brainwashed, and that woman if she doesn’t hate him, she’s only in love with him because she has no other choice.

“You tell me what I need to know, and I won’t kill her,” I grunt.

He doesn’t realize that I wouldn’t kill her anyway, as a Devils’ daughter, she’ll live, and she will be returned back to her family. Just when I think he’s about to break, he shakes his head. The rest of the men stay quiet, their eyes pointed straight forward.

“I guess we’ll have to work a little harder at getting you boys to talk,” I shrug.

Hard-ass looks over at me and grins. “Try all you want, we won’t say a word. You’ll never know when our men will strike again. We will never give up. We will never quit. And you will forever live in fear.”

Without thinking about anything but his words as they swim in my head, I yank the gun out of its holster and point it directly at his forehead.

Silently, without a warning, I pull the trigger. The sound that bounces off of the metal walls that surround us is deafening. I don’t care. He’s dead. He doesn’t look like the badass he thought he was with his brain splattered everywhere.

“Anybody else wish to follow in your buddy’s footsteps, or would you like to talk?” Motorhead asks.

The crybaby fucker who’s missing a finger trembles and sobs like the pussy he is. “I’ll talk. I want to save my Marsha from being hurt.”

Motorhead walks over to one side, crossing his arms and planting his feet wide as he stares at the bleeding crybaby. Free does the same, standing on my other side.

We all three watch the crybaby and wait for him to speak. His buddies stay quiet beside him, but they’re looking at him, watching, and I have a feeling they want to save their women too.

“Samuel was in contact with Drifter before he went down years ago, and Iron…” he announces, speaking of the Idaho VP and my father. Both pieces of shit. “Iron was in charge of kidnapping girls, after they stopped using the Cartel or maybe at the same time, I don’t know. As a Nomad he could go anywhere without question, and he would get information, passing it along to Drifter, who passed it up to Samuel.

“Drifter was the contact point. Iron would bring the girls to him, and he would hold as many as he could before sending a shipment out. The men he held them with would try to knock them up before they shipped them to their final destination.”

I hold up my palm, interrupting him. “Where was their final destination?”

The crybaby shakes his head and one of the other men speaks. “We never knew. All we knew is that most would go deep into the northern woods. There’s a compound up there, but I’ve never seen it. We were each given a girl, we don’t know where they came from or who they belonged to. All men were.”

“Were they already pregnant?” I ask, trying not to grind my teeth together.

Crybaby shakes his head. “No, devoted soldiers, men who were higher in the ranks were given women to breed with, raise a family with, and if we had boys, we were required to give them to the cause on their fifth birthdays,” he explains.

Raising an army of little boys, brainwashing them from birth, and training them until they’re men. It’s ingenious and disgusting all at the same time.

“The girls?” Free asks, his voice soft and low.

Crybaby lifts his chin. “Saved, to be later offered to a soldier or man of Samuel’s choosing if they were lucky, and pretty enough.”

“If they weren’t?” I ask.

He lowers his eyes. “Bred. Kept at the compound and bred like animals until they had no more use, then they would be put to pasture,” he rasps.

“Like animals,” I grind out.

All three men nod. Crybaby is the only one who looks guilty about that. The rest look straight ahead, their faces void of emotion.

I have a hard time believing that none of them know where the compound is, but if Samuel was as organized as he seems to have been, then maybe it’s true.

My eyes slide over to Free who is glaring at the three men, then I look to my other side and notice that Motorhead has the same expression on his face.

Letting out a sigh, I run my hand over my beard, making a mental note to remember to make an appointment for a shave and cut like I promised Ginger.

“End them,” I state.

Turning around I walk out of the metal building. Crybaby’s screams following behind me in an echo until I close the metal door.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out their ID’s, flipping through them until I find Crybaby’s. Johansson Smith. A fake as fuck name if I ever saw one. Doesn’t matter though, all that matters is that we find the woman he was given and get her home, or at least someplace safe.

Hurrying back to the clubhouse, I find Fish who is standing vigil right outside of the church room, where Crooner is laid up. Walking past him, I glance inside to see Hayden is asleep, a chair pulled up next to him, and her head on his chest. Closing the door quietly, I turn to Fish.

Thrusting the ID toward him, I speak, “He said he had a Devils’ daughter. He claimed that all of these men were given Devils women for being higher ranking officers. He also said there was a compound further north, but he didn’t know shit about it, where or who was there other than soldiers training.”

Fish’s eyes widen as he looks down at the identification card. “Give me the others, we’re on it,” he grunts.

I trust him and the rest of my men to do a good job tracking them down. “I want updates, constant updates,” I announce.

Leaving my men, I walk toward my room, assuming that Ginger is resting in bed. Once I arrive at the closed door, I slip my key inside and unlock it. Wrapping my hand around the knob, I step inside, closing the door behind me and flipping the deadbolt.

She’s exactly where I suspected, lying on her side, tucked in bed, and fast asleep. Stripping my clothes down, I crawl in behind her and wrap my arm around her. Placing my hand on her belly, I let out a sigh.

They’re safe—my girls are safe.