“Carter! Oh my God,” I sob. “Are you all right?”
“Uh, I’ve been better.”
Marcel grumbles something in the background.
“I’m okay, Charlotte,” he says with more confidence. “Wrath gave me a road name.”
“What?” Laughter cuts through my tears. Who worries about road names during a rescue mission?
“Yup. Scribbles. I like it.”
“I like it too,” I whisper. It’s perfect, actually. “When are you coming home?” I need to see him and make sure he’s really okay.
“Uh, you know your ol’ man’s not fond of me asking questions.” He lowers his voice. “And, uh, Rock’s MC president face is much more terrifying than his boss face.”
I’d seen a small glimmer of that side of Rock when we were in Mississippi. “Well, keep that to yourself.”
“Believe me, I will.” He’s quiet for a second. “Uncle Chuck actually came too.”
“He did.” I strain to hear what’s going on in the background. “Is my ginger twinny okay?”
Carter chuckles. “Yeah, he’s on the phone with Heidi, I think. Oh, your man wants you again.”
“Charlotte?” Marcel’s low rumble comes over the line.
“Do you need me to come help with anything?”
“No, we’ll be a little longer. Where you at?”
“Uh.” I blink and take in my surroundings. All my laughing and sobbing seems to have woken Bianca and Swan. They both stare at me with wide, expectant eyes. I nod quickly to indicate Carter’s okay. “Clubhouse downstairs,” I answer. “Swan and Stash brought Bianca up and we crashed in the living room.”
“Good. Stay there.”
“I will,” I promise.
ROCK
“Good news.” Z tucks his phone in his pocket and joins us. “Doc said he’ll come up and treat our injured soldiers.” He slaps Teller on the shoulder. “Bad news, he’s going to charge us triple.”
I stare Z down. I’ve known him for far too long. There’s something else he’s not telling us.
“Really bad news.” Z takes a careful step away. “Carla’s coming with him.”
“Jesus Christ. This night keeps getting better and better.” I stab my fingers through my hair.
Teller snorts. “Who gives a shit? Getting her out of your life was the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“While that’s true,” I answer, “I don’t want her bothering Hope.”
Murphy steps up. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“See,” Teller jerks his thumb at Murphy. “Hope’s ginger-headed personal superhero won’t let anything ruffle Mom’s feathers.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. It’s too late for this. “A lot of punchable words in that sentence.”
My son has the nerve to wag a finger in my face. “What’d I say about child abuse?”
“In your case, it should be swift and often?” Murphy guesses, throwing a fake punch at Teller’s gut.