Jake
I hated waiting.
Give me a busted engine, a bar fight, or some asshole threatening my club, and I knew what to do. But sitting in my own clubhouse while federal marshals decided how to handle Derek Blackwell? That was a special kind of torture.
Especially with Emma sitting across from me, staring at a photograph of her sister.
“You’re going to wear a hole through that floor,” Nash remarked.
I stopped pacing long enough to flip him off.
“Love you too, brother.”
Raven came through the kitchen carrying two mugs of coffee and a plate of toast. She set the toast in front of Emma, who barely looked at it.
“Eat something, honey.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Neither am I, but I still had three cookies while making this. It’s called emotional support snacking.”
Emma smiled faintly.
That wom
