That smug tone was irritating as hell. “What do you want from me?”
“At the moment? Nothing. That’s another reason I’m so good at what I do – I look at the big picture, play the long game. Short-term gains mean nothing, not in this world.”
Hudson was officially sick to her stomach, and not because she’d downed a full glass of whiskey in ten seconds flat. The thought that Tamara might hold this over her head – indefinitely – sent a wave of nausea spiraling up to her throat.
“Don’t worry,” Tamara assured her. “I’ll give you fair notice before I come collecting. And you know what? Just because I feel terrible for upsetting you, I’ll get your meds for free – how about that? No repayment necessary.”
“Oh, gee,” Hudson said sarcastically. “Thank you.”
“Don’t look at me like that. I promise you, I can be a very good ally to you if you let me.” She smiled broadly. “I’ve got your back, Hudson.”
She had her back? Yeah, right. She had a gun to Hudson’s head was more like it, and she could pull the trigger whenever it suited her.
The queasiness got worse, churning and twisting her insides until Hudson was afraid she might actually throw up. She breathed deeply, trying to keep the nausea at bay and steady her frantic heartbeat. Panicking wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Tamara would keep her mouth shut, at least for the time being, so there was no reason to freak out right now.
She had to relax. And breathe. And figure out how to silence her new ally.
For good.
16
There weren’t many official marriages in the free land, not unless one or both parties happened to still believe in religion, which had been the case with Connor’s wife.
Maggie’s father, who’d been alive for the war and had continued his work as a minister after it, had raised his daughters to believe that a union needed to be sanctioned by God or else it wouldn’t be binding. Connor had agreed to the ceremony because he wanted to make Maggie happy, but their titles of husband and wife were rare outside the city.
Most outlaws referred to their partners as “my woman” or “my man.” Their commitment to each other was usually an unspoken one, unless they needed to send a message. To stake a claim in public and make it clear to everyone around them that one or both of them was untouchable.
Connor had sent a message tonight.
He hadn’t done it intentionally, or even consciously, for that matter. His men messed around in the main room all the time. He didn’t. And by doing it tonight, he’d pretty much held up a sign to everyone at Lennox’s that Hudson was his. That she was important to him. He’d shown them his weakness, and although Lennox was a valuable ally, Connor knew the man wouldn’t hesitate to exploit that weakness and use Hudson against him if it ever came down to it.
Hudson didn’t say a word as she settled behind him for the long ride home. He appreciated her silence, because he sure as shit wasn’t feeling talkative either.
With the moon shrouded by thick clouds tonight, he had no choice but to switch on the headlights, which only added to his agitation by making him feel exposed. But it was either risk an Enforcer patrol spotting the lights, or risk breaking Hudson’s neck on the pitch-black road, and he wasn’t about to endanger her life.
The fact that he was putting her well-being ahead of his own was a fucking mind-boggler. When had he started viewing her as part of the group? He wasn’t sure how that had even happened. All he knew was that keeping her safe mattered to him.
They’d been driving for thirty minutes when the headlights caught a flash of movement on the side of the road.
Connor made out two shadowy figures. Had to be outlaws, because bandits traveled in larger groups and Enforcers wouldn’t be walking. He slowed down instinctively, then cursed himself for it because at the sound of the engine, the dark figures halted in their tracks and began waving their arms in the air. The words stop and please and help carried in the night air, and Connor would’ve kept driving if Hudson hadn’t squeezed his shoulders, her voice urging him to pull over.
Shit. He didn’t need this right now.
“Stay on the bike,” he ordered as he came to a stop. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”
He already had his gun in hand and the safety clicked off as the stragglers stumbled toward the motorcycle. Two males. One in his forties, one in his teens. Both froze at the sight of Connor’s weapon.
“Don’t shoot,” the younger one blurted out. “Please. We need help.”