Read Having It All for Free Online Page B

ladies and kids that are probably living out there, or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit about collateral damage and would like to send in a drone, then they start sniping about the last presidential election and I have to tell them to shut the fuck up so I can think.
    But I’m not thinking. I’m just hurting. And now they both keep apologizing, so I tell them to follow me up to the house where I can make us all something for lunch. As soon as I’m there I sit them down in the kitchen, then open the refrigerator and stare at the nothing inside.
    A little milk. One egg. Usually one of the Titans’ prospects goes grocery shopping for my dad on Monday morning—a perk of being the president of a motorcycle club is that he doesn’t ever have to do any of that everyday stuff—but Bottlecap must not have gone today, because he’s in an emergency meeting.
    Because Saxon was shot.
    Because he agreed to protect me.
    “I guess we don’t have anything,” I say dully, then something inside me breaks and I’m bawling. For an endless time, I stand sobbing helplessly in front of the open icebox and I can feel both Scarecrow and Hashtag silently panicking behind me, wondering what to do, but there’s nothing they can do.
    Maybe there’s something I can do, though.
    I wipe my face and draw a ragged breath. “Don’t tell Saxon I did that, okay?”
    “Sure thing,” Hashtag says. I know he’s lying. “It’s just delayed shock or whatever.”
    “Right.”
    Scarecrow offers, “How about I run into town and grab us all something to eat? It won’t take me long.”
    I’ve got a better idea. “How about we all just go? I wanted to meet up with Anna sometime today, anyway.”
    “All right,” Hashtag agrees. “I just need to let the boss know we’re headed out. You got a magic spot around here so I can send a text?”
    Somewhere the phone reception gets through. “Sometimes you can get a bar or two if you’re in the window seat in my room. But there’s a land line here. The clubhouse is the first number on the speed dial.”
    “Yeah, that’s great, but real talking sucks. Is it okay if I head up to your room?”
    I nod and start for the stairs. “I’ll show you.”
    Because I’ve got a couple of messages to send, too.
    • • •
    Saxon
    My shoulder’s hurting like a son of a bitch on fire. The few ibuprofen I took aren’t cutting it, but the heavy-duty painkillers I’ve got will fog up my brain and put me half to sleep. Maybe there’s no difference, though. There’s pain that clears your head and pain that empties your head, and I’m right on the edge of the second.
    Luckily I haven’t had to do much talking. Instead Red’s been laying everything out—who the brothers need to be looking out for and which parts of our asses we need to cover before any cops come poking around. Where the safe houses are if anyone wants to tuck away their family for a bit. The equipment and info we still need before we can head out to the compound.
    “The easiest way to get that info is to grab a Henchman and persuade him to tell us about their setup. But Reichmann and the others are likely to be lying low the next week or so,” he says. “They got to know that the sheriff’s watching all of us real close. Reichmann’s as stupid as a donkey’s ass, though, so he might want to come out and bray.”
    “But even if he does, he’ll still hide behind someone,” I say and the flare of agony in my jaw puts spots in front of my eyes. “He’s got two gears: hurting someone weaker than he is, or ordering his brothers to hurt someone stronger. So he’s not going to come out alone.”
    “And if he does come out?” Beaver asks.
    “Ride on. You let us know he was out, but you ride on. We’re only looking to get one alone.” I glance at Blowback. “And we’ll make sure he talks.”
    Picasso frowns. “What about the prospect that trashed Zoomie’s bike? We know where he is, don’t we?”
    “He’s gone.”
    Eyes flat