RIDING DIRTY (Steel Titans MC Book 4) by Franca Storm (ebook voice reader .txt) 📕

I sat forward in my chair and clasped my hands on the desktop as I looked out at the boys. “Van, get me Powell’s number. We’re in this together, then I want him to damn well show it. I want some of his manpower up here protecting Warlow’s borders, just in case. Mason, ease up on security protocol and let Willa in there with you. She’s got some mad research skills. She’ll get us that name and more. Van, once you get me that number, I want you and several of the prospects with eyes on Freeman. I want to know where he’s at every second of the goddamn day from here on out. He’s gonna be distracted trying to search out Willa and figuring out a way to get at Nolan that won’t expose him. Liam, you and me are gonna work a plan to move on Freeman and put him down for good once the militia ain’t an issue.”

They all stared at me for a good few moments, taking in my words, trying to wrap their heads around my strategy, I figured. Although, it didn’t usually take them that long to jump on the bandwagon and get to work on a task.

“What?” I asked.

Was there an issue about them taking orders from me right now, because I’d technically deferred command to Liam?

My gaze swept over each of them in turn.

And that was when I saw it.

Emotion bleeding from them. They’d realized that this was the last time I was going to do this, give an order, lay out a strategy. It was the last time I’d be leading them.

Liam cut through the rapidly building intensity. “Let’s make this last mission count, brothers.”

A chorus of yells of agreement sounded.

I sat back in my chair and smiled bittersweetly.

I’d miss this.

The camaraderie.

Having one another’s backs no matter what.

The close-knit brotherhood.

The family.

That was gonna be a big regret to shoulder.

But as much for them, as for me, it was time for me to walk. They deserved the best. They needed the best. And that weren’t me anymore. It weren’t the me I wanted to be anymore.

***

Fifteen minutes.

I shot a look at the bathroom, wincing as I heard it yet again.

Willa suffering.

I finally forced myself to stop pacing right outside the door like I had been ever since she’d bolted from the bed and locked herself in there, then chucked up over and over again.

The club doc had been by to see her a few hours ago, pretty much right after I’d finished up that meet with the boys. He’d checked her out, taken her blood, urine, and whatever the hell else, but he’d had to take it back to his lab to get it all tested.

Right now, he’d tentatively marked it as being some sort of exhaustion brought on by everything, but he weren’t willing to make a definitive diagnosis until he got the results back. I knew it wouldn’t be that long, maybe by the end of the day. The guy worked fast. But right now nothing seemed fast enough while Willa was going through all this.

I leaned against the wall beside the bathroom door and blew out a weighty sigh.

Fuck, she was sick. In a real bad way. It had to be that. It screwed with people’s emotions and shit, the way they handled things and those close to them, as well as causing symptoms like weakness and what she was suffering through in the bathroom. Stress could bring it on, too, worsen it, speed all that up, and there’d been a lot of it lately.

“What’s wrong?”

I jerked my head up to see Willa emerging from the bathroom.

The sight of her had me doing a double take. What the hell?

She looked… normal. Fine.

Sporting a pair of gray jeans tucked into her go-to combat boots, and a white, strappy tank that had my eyes riveted on her tits for several moments, she strode toward me with that sassy, verging-on-arrogant swagger of hers, each step as strong and as powerful as usual.

The only signs that she’d been ill, were the shadows under her eyes and her cheeks being a little red.

I saw her squinting at the lightbulb in the center of the ceiling. “Do you have a pair of sunglasses I can borrow?” Her eyes darted to the go-bag we’d picked up at one of her properties on our way back to the clubhouse the other night. “I just have the necessities. I didn’t think shades would qualify, but my head is killing me.” She blew out a breath. “Fuck, it feels like I’m hungover, even though I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol.”

My gut twisted at her hurting.

“Sure, yeah,” I said as I crossed to my nightstand and opened the top drawer. I pulled out a pair of Ray-Bans and handed them to her.

“Thanks,” she said, sliding them on. “Better.”

“Fucking warrior, ain’t you, darlin’,” I said wrapping my arms around her and holding her tight to me.

“You know it,” she spoke against my chest.

Hell, I really did.

29

~Slade~

DAMN.

I’d never seen anybody type so quick.

Willa’s fingers were flying across the keyboard faster than my eyes could track.

She was in a state of hyper concentration. She had been for the last four hours since I’d brought her down to the surveillance room to help Mason extract the intel that we needed from Nolan’s files. After a few moments of seeing what she could do, Mason had surrendered the computers to her. He didn’t let pride get in the way of doing what needed to be done. He didn’t let anything.

And that was exactly what I was normally known for too. With everything going on, the threats still out there, the stakes of the entire fucked-up thing, I should be sticking to that more than ever.

But I couldn’t take it there.

Because of Willa.

Everything was different now.

The way I saw things.

Tried and true strategies had gone out the window.

My list of priorities had been revamped.

She was at the