Chapter Twenty Nine

"CLEAR OUT," SHOUTED Jagger.

"The children are sequestered in the back room." Maverick dropped Ruger in the chair at the table.

"Have the women escort them out the rear door. The party is over." Jagger looked behind him. "Someone get Cord."

"I'm here, Prez." Cord tossed a duffle bag on the table. "Are you shot?"

"No." Ruger motioned toward his eyes. "Cut them, so I can fucking see."

Jagger stood back, assessing Ruger's condition. Bikers got roughed up a lot—most of them when they were drunk and having a good time. Wherever Ruger had been over the last six weeks, he wasn't partying.

Cord removed a sterile razor blade from the kit he carried in his bag. "I'll need some towels and water."

"On it." Brett jogged down the hallway.

Regardless of the situation, Jagger needed to know what the fuck was going on. He had to prepare his men in case others were coming after Ruger and headed their way.

Jagger leaned against the table across from Ruger. "Who did this to you?"

"Nobody important."

"Are you being followed?" he asked.

"If I was, why the fuck would I bring them straight to the clubhouse?" Ruger tilted his head back.

Cord made a small slice in Ruger's eyelid. Blood gushed down his face.

Jagger pushed away from the table in frustration and spotted the woman who came with Ruger running out of the hallway. "Catch her."

He moved toward the hallway to find Katrina, knowing she was caring for the girl, and almost ran into her.

"Are you okay?" He held her arms, looking her over.

"Yeah." She blew out her breath. "She just took off."

"Stay the fuck away from her."

Jagger turned to find Ruger standing up, blood running down his face, and limping toward the woman. He glanced at Katrina in question. She shrugged. No one seemed to know what the hell was going on.

He palmed the back of Katrina's neck and brought her closer. "I need you to talk to your dad and find out why he came here in that condition."

"He won't tell you?"

If he pressured Ruger, the confrontation would become physical. Katrina's dad was already in rough shape but that wouldn't stop him from swinging.

"He's not saying much." He watched the activity on the other side of the room. "Did the girl say anything?"

"Nothing." Katrina lowered her voice. "Something freaked her out in the room, and she bolted. I'm surprised she can walk. She's hurt all over, Jagger."

Ruger held the woman against his chest, cradling her head in his hand, hiding her from the others. Jagger recognized the protective pose.

"Oh, my God," mumbled Katrina.

Before he could stop her, Katrina went to her dad's side. "You're bleeding all over. Sit down and let Cord help you."

Ruger returned to the chair and put the woman on his lap, shielding her face against his chest. "Get at it."

Cord moved forward, cleaning up the eye that continued to drain. Jagger pulled Katrina back, giving them room.

"You can see your dad after Cord is done with him," he whispered in her ear. "Let's get them both settled first. Then, we'll figure out what's going on."

"The police aren't after him, are they?" she whispered back.

"Doesn't look like it."

The first thing he'd done was send a crew out to ride a perimeter around the clubhouse. No one would get past them.

"Get them out of here." Ruger flinched from Cord's touch. "God damnit. I'm going to start fucking blowing heads—"

"Everyone out," said Jagger quietly. "Cord. You stay and patch them up."

Katrina lifted her chin. "Please, Dad. Let Cord help you."

A look passed between father and daughter. Luckily, the silent exchange quieted Ruger.

When the others left, and Ruger calmed enough to let Cord stitch his eye, Jagger pulled out a chair and motioned for Katrina to sit. She was pale and shaking. The whole ordeal was taking a lot out of her.

"Do you have any injuries on your body?" asked Cord.

"Broken ribs."

Cord dropped the bloody rag on a towel. "Pull up your shirt, and I'll have a look."

"No."

Katrina gasped. "Dad."

"Give me a bottle of pills." Ruger looked at Jagger. "For her."

Ruger had him up against the wall. He knew Jagger would do everything possible to help him. He owed him that much and more.

He motioned at Cord to do what Ruger wanted. Cord handed over a pill bottle, picked up his supplies, and walked out of the clubhouse.

Ruger met Jagger's gaze. "Are we alone?"

Katrina put her hand on Jagger's thigh. He nodded.

"I need somewhere to stay for a while." Ruger paused. "For both of us to stay."

"Is someone after you?"

Ruger remained silent, finally shaking his head as an answer to the question. He wouldn't put his men in danger without knowing the whole story. Not even for Ruger.

Katrina scooted to the edge of her chair. "Dad, you have to tell us what's going on. We've been looking for you this whole time. Jagger has had men out riding every day. Hatchet has men out looking."

Ruger inhaled deeply, bent his neck, and put his lips on the top of the woman's head. "I got a call from a guy in prison, who I owed a favor. He wanted me to save his sister. She was stolen by those who work for the cartel."

"Fuck," muttered Jagger. "I take it the cartel has a name we both know."

Ruger dipped his chin. Jagger rubbed his jaw. He wanted no involvement with Los Li. Like a bad fucking penny, they always seemed to pop up when he least expected them.

"How did you get her away," he asked.

Ruger looked at Katrina and shook his head. Jagger gritted his teeth. He wouldn't say how he'd escaped with his daughter in the room.

Katrina scooted her chair out and walked around the table. She picked up a clean towel and held it to her dad's face, where his eye continued to ooze blood. Though the swelling was down enough that he could see out of it.

She looked across the table at Jagger. "Can they stay here, or should I contact Hatchet for help?"

"Kat." He gritted his teeth.

Katrina tilted her head and raised her brows, challenging him. She'd go to war for her dad, even if she had to go up against the president of Havlin. It was one of the things he admired about her. But he had to think of everyone in the club.

"I need a smoke." He walked away from the table and stepped outside.

It was impossible to deny Katrina anything, but to bring Ruger under his roof and welcome retaliation from Los Li was asking too much. He lit the end of the cigarette and held his hand up, keeping the others away from him while he ran through every scenario in his head.

He would do anything for Ruger except give up Katrina.

Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes. He knew what he'd do, and so had Ruger when he decided to pull up to the clubhouse instead of going to the mother chapter.

Opening his eyes, he looked at the men lingering outside. In the blink of an eye, the party ended. Children were taken home. Half the club split. Those that hung around looked at him, ready for any sign that he needed something.

He stubbed out his cigarette and reentered the clubhouse. Kat and Ruger still sat at the table. The woman appeared asleep in Ruger's arms.

He sat beside Katrina. "You can stay at the clubhouse on one condition."

Ruger looked away, irritated that he'd ask more from him. But he wouldn't be president if he let his guard down.

"Tell me what happened?" he asked.

"I went in to rescue her and got caught. They kept me chained to a pipe in the basement of some fucking house. Once a day, they came in and beat the shit out of me, probably to see if I was still alive." Ruger met his gaze. "She was tied to the same pipe."

Katrina grabbed his thigh. Jagger knew without being told what his MC brother would go through to protect the woman. Every hit. Every kick. Every second of pain Ruger received was a second the woman wouldn't feel the pain.

He would do the same thing if it were Katrina.

"What kind of defense are we looking at?" He cleared his throat. "How many will be coming for you?"

Ruger's gaze steeled, and several seconds later, he gave his answer. "None."

Ruger slipped his hand over Katrina's and kept her from reacting. They both knew that however many men were involved, they were now dead.

It was information he would've preferred to keep from Katrina.