“Do you seriously think your sister brought my children into a den of criminal bikers?” I growl, my teeth clenching. It’s one thing for me to bring my children near Barbarianheadquarters, which I’ve never been stupid enough to do in the first place, but at least I could protect them. Tylee might think she’s all-fucking-powerful, but if any of our enemies find out that they could use our children as leverage…
“He doesn’t look so good,” Wyatt says. “Listen. Isaac. I promise, I won’t let my sister hurt my nephews or my niece. They’re babies. Our families babies. I promise.”
“What if they’re already gone?”
I can only muster up the courage to express my deepest fears out loud because enough liquor runs through my body to destroy every sensible urge I have to bury these horrific thoughts of my own children. Dead.
“Get him some whiskey,” Hunter says. “Knock those worries right out of him.”
Wyatt nods, patting all the pockets of his cut until he turns up a white flask that doesn’t look all used up and grease-stained.
“Haven’t cracked into this one yet,” he says. “Spiced Hollingsworth bourbon.”
I wouldn’t care if it was rubbing alcohol at this point.
The ruse Wyatt and Hunter used to steal us some alone time comes to a close and the rest of the men return with enough fuel for us to have a basement rager that lasts well into the morning.
“If Anna knew I was doing this, she wouldn’t like it,” Wyatt says. “But… anybody up for a hand of poker? No real gambling.”
“It’s less fun without real gambling,” Ryder says. “But I understand.”
I’m too drunk to protest and I want to get even more drunk. None of this is good news, especially not the news of Tylee having an affair with some biker.
Winning a hand of poker could really boost my spirits. “I’m in.”
“Let’s do it then,” Hunter says. “But if you fall off the wagon, I’m telling Anna it was your fault.”
“I’ll be fine,” Wyatt says. “We have plenty of bullshit ahead. We’ll be better off getting drunk and blowing off steam now while we can.”
It’s hard logic to argue with, especially with this much alcohol in my bloodstream.
“Let’s fucking go. Woo!” I cheer drunkenly and let the night take my worries as everything fades to black.
13 Days After Zebulon’s Wedding
Missouri
Wyatt drags my ass to his dining room table at eight in the morning with a stiff announcement.
“We got her.”
He means Tylee. But judging by the look on his face, this isn’t all good news. It could be the fact that he’s been up all night, but Wyatt doesn’t look happy at all. His beard is overgrown and looks like he hasn’t groomed in a while. The baseball cap on his head smells from where I’m sitting, and there are deep dark bags beneath his eyes.
No sign of Owen, which means he’s probably holding Tylee prisoner. They don’t get along as well as Wyatt and Tylee used to.
“Are my kids okay?”
“According to Oske, they’re safe.”
“I want to see them.”
I stand up, but Wyatt gestures back to the chair.
“Sit. They’re not here.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Oske and Brinley are doing their best.”