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“We’re getting that looked at.”

She snorted quietly. “With what? Duct tape and biker wisdom?”

My eyebrow lifted. “Hospital.”

“Oh good,” she muttered. “Because I was worried you were about to say whiskey and a wrench.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

Ghost.

I answered without letting go of her. “Talk.”

“Got something,” Ghost said.

“Yeah?”

“That guy she punched.”

My eyes narrowed. “What about him?”

“Couldn’t find him,” Ghost said. “But I hacked the bar’s security cameras.”

Of course he did. “And?”

Ghost continued. “Got a clear shot of his face when he walked out front.”

My jaw tightened. “Black Reapers.”

Well, that complicated things.

The Black Reapers were a rival club two counties over. Not friendly. Not neutral. Enemies.

Ghost kept talking. “Name’s Cutter. Prospect. Been causing problems lately.”

I hummed quietly. “Still breathing?”

“Yeah. Took off before anyone got back outside.”

Pity.

“Keep digging,” I told him.

“Already am.”

I hung up.

Emma shifted slightly in my arms. “Is he dead?”

I looked down at her. “He will be.”

Her shoulders sagged slightly. Not relief. Acceptance.

Then she whispered one quiet word. “Good.”

Not scared. Not shaken. Just certain.

A slow smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.