Cobra jumped off his bike and virtually pushed the cop out of the way to look into the SUV. I’d told Hammer to only tell him that Ratbag had been shot. I wanted to deliver the news of the kidnapping myself.
I caught Summers pulling in a sharp breath when he saw Cobra. It was as if he couldn’t believe that the president of the Scorpio Stinger MC was standing in front of him. I couldn’t put my finger on it; there was just something strange about the way he stared.
My fucking head was throbbing. My gaze fell on Ratbag’s body, his arms stiffening in the folded position I’d laid him in on the back seat.
“Fuck. All that blood.” Cobra bent over and threw up, inches from Harrison’s boots. The cop took a step back, but his scrutinizing gaze didn’t leave Cobra’s face. Even I looked away when he vomited, but not the cop. Either he had a strong stomach, or he was looking for something. Why? Why did he look at Cobra as if he were seeing a ghost?
“Take off your helmet,” he ordered.
What the fuck? Cobra wouldn’t take off again now he was here. What was the cop on about?
Cobra didn’t hesitate. He plucked it off his head and threw in onto the front seat of the SUV. He was pale and breathless, and I hadn’t even told him about Jamie yet. He was going to lose his shit when he found out.
Harrison’s gaze went straight to Cobra’s head. “No tattoos,” he muttered under his breath and walked away. I didn’t understand what the hell he was talking about. Cobra was covered in tattoos. Everywhere except from his neck upwards had been inked. Summers must have been hallucinating.
“Brother. Sit down.” I nodded toward the front seat of the SUV. Before he could protest about sitting in the car where a dead brother lay, I pushed him backward gently then cleared my throat. “There’s something I have to tell you. How Ratbag died.”
“Yes. How the fuck did that happen?” He narrowed his eyes and stared at me. “I left the two of you to look after the women and kids while we were gone. You chose Ratbag to help you. How the hell did you get him killed with a fucking dagger?”
My throat felt dry and restricted, as if I couldn’t breathe. I tugged at my T-shirt. Why did they have to make these so fucking tight?
Raking my fingers through my hair, I looked down at the ground and kicked a stone while I tried to formulate the words in my head. So much was going through my mind that I could barely make sense of what had happened.
I looked up into piercing eyes. “Quit stalling, Ryder. Tell me,” he demanded, his patience wearing thin.
Might as well cut to the chase. “Jamie. He’s been taken.”
Cobra sucked in a breath. “What do you mean? Where to?”
“Someone came over the wall. I’d gone inside for five minutes. The fucker jumped the wall and scooped Jamie up. Ratbag tried to stop him. The lowlife knifed our brother.”
“What the fuck? Where’s my kid?” He flew off the seat, breathing hard in my face. “Mia . . . does she know?”
I nodded. “Mia saw the fucker take him.”
Cobra snarled and banged his forehead with his palm. “Fuck.”
I pointed to Harrison and his partner. “The cops are working on it. There’s something weird going on. The two of them have been talking quietly without letting me hear. A black van was waiting out here. They saw something—”
“Saw something? As in—they were here when it went down?” he bellowed.
Before I could stop him, he stormed off toward the cops. I followed closely.
Cobra stood in front of Summers and his partner, his legs spread wide, his hands on his hips. “Why in fuck’s name did you not stop them? Do you know how small the chances are of getting him back alive the longer we take to find him?” He was shaking with rage, a thick vein in his neck throbbing as he clenched his jaw.
“Mr. Malone. Calm down. We have a good idea of who took him. I've just had confirmation from the office. Something I saw put me on their track.”
“What did you see? It better be good, or there will be hell to pay.”
Savage took a step closer to Cobra and poked a finger on his chest. “If you weren’t so fucking busy with illegal shit you could’ve been there for your own kid. So shut the fuck up and listen. The kid was taken by your archenemies. The L.A. Demons have him.”
“What?” Cobra roared. “This is full on fucking war. They should know better than to kidnap a Scorpio Stinger kid. They’re dead—every one of them.”
“How can you be so fucking sure?” I asked, directing my question to Summers. It was my turn to be suspicious and to smell that something was off. Were these fucking cops trying to fuel the hatred between the two clubs for their own purposes? Maybe it was all a fucking setup. Maybe they’d staged the whole thing to let us think it was the L.A. Demons. That would be genius on their part—to let the two rival clubs take one another out. That would make their job a whole lot easier.