Page 102 of Sunny Undone

He has that expression doctors sometimes get when they’re deciding whether their professional obligations outweigh their desire to let Darwinism run its course.

“That was quite the scream you let out when you rounded on Bennett,” North says.

“I’m insulted,” I say. “That was a battle cry, of sorts.”

When Ridge laughs, I narrow my glare at him. “You can laugh, Swamp Tosser, but it worked.”

Knox finally has enough of Reaper’s fussing and bats him away. “Yeah, scared the shit out of the guy; he was too stunned to know what was going on.”

Havoc’s grin widens. “Sounded like Steffi when she sees a spider in the clubhouse.”

Steffi tosses her hair back. “I do not scream.”

North grimaces. “Y’almost blew my fucking eardrum out when one crossed my ceiling, so, yeah, you do.”

It’s rare for North to talk about what happens in his room with club girls. There’s a rumor, but I can’t believe it’s true.

But thinking about my war cry, Bennett’s men came, expecting to intimidate, and I think that was their first mistake. The second was, apparently, not researching what motorcycle clubs do when a bunch of men turn up on their land and start acting like they are the rule of law.

We caught ‘em off guard. But we’ll only get away with that once. If Bennett truly is a former operative, he’ll learn and adapt.

Knox made things crystal fucking clear: The land isn’t for sale. Not now, not later. Even if Velaro offers enough money to buy every biker in Gator Flats a gold-plated airboat and a personal chef. If they try to develop around us, over us, through us, or in spite of us, the club will make it their life fucking mission to ensure every permit, contractor, investor, and government official involved regrets the day he learned the name Gator Flats.

“I think the only mistake we made was not keeping one of them,” Havoc says.

“Like a pet?” I ask.

Ridge reaches for his beer. “Feed him twice a day and take him for walks.”

Havoc huffs. “You know what I mean. Feel like we should have come away with something a little more concrete. How far along is this proposal? Like, is it already a go?”

Knox stands and refolds his faded denim shirt sleeves so they stop at his forearms. “There’ll be another chance to question one of them, I’m certain of it. We haven’t seen the last of him. And we should prepare for Bennett and his little band of weekend warriors to make a more concerted effort. But given the girls are here, now isn’t the time to discuss it.”

The clubhouse door opens behind us and a prospect rushes out. “Sunny,” he says. “That woman you’ve been hanging with is here and she’s crying.”

That’s all he gets out before I’m on my feet and running, in spite of the sharp arrow of pain in my ribs, because Della appears in the doorway. For one second, my brain can’t make sense of what I’m seeing as she stands with her bag sliding down her arm, her face crumpled, and tears pouring down her cheeks.

“Della,” I shout.

Her eyes find mine, and whatever she’s been using to hold herself together snaps because she makes this tiny broken sound.

“What happened?” I ask when I get to her. “Are you hurt? Did someone touch you? I’ll fucking kill them.”

“No.” But the word comes out strangled as I scan her face, her hands, her body for any signs of injury. But then, she launches herself at me, and I give her what she needs. Hugs. Space. Silence.

I wrap both arms around her, and she buries her face against my chest. My split lip stings, my ribs hurt like fuck, my knuckles are swollen, but I don’t really feel any of it.

"Hey!" I say, pressing my face into her hair. "I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay, Indy. Whatever it is. You’re safe."

She grips the back of my shirt in answer.

Knox and Ridge are on their feet but have stopped a short distance away to give her the privacy she needs.

Knox turns to the prospect. “Was someone following her? Is there trouble out front?”

The prospect shakes his head. “None. She just rode in, already crying.”

I press a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ve got you, Indy. Just tell me what you need.”