Thunder (Hell's Handlers MC #10) - Lilly Atlas Page 0,138
relief, but she’d expected…more, somehow. Maybe it just hadn’t resonated yet. Perhaps once the sheriff confirmed the names of the dead, she’d have a stronger reaction, but for now, all she felt was the strong desire to move forward with her life and forget where she’d come from.
Thirty minutes later, she had the dough for chocolate chip cookies chilling in the refrigerator when there was a knock on the door. Assuming it would be Copper, she jogged to the door and pulled it open with a flourish. “Oh, Kristy, hey.” She took a step back. The club had agreed it’d be safe enough for Kristy to be home since Monty had no problem keeping an eye on both houses.
Her friend laughed as she stepped into the house. “Don’t sound so excited to see me.”
Laughing, Mak waved her into the kitchen. “Sorry, I was expecting Copper with the kids. Come on into the kitchen. I’m just about to throw some cookies in the oven.”
“Well, that was good timing on my part.” Kristy followed her through the house into the kitchen.
“How are you feeling?” Mak asked over her shoulder. Her friend’s face looked even more colorful this morning.
“Not terrible. Sore, but…” She shrugged. “Suppose it’d be weird if I wasn’t.”
After pulling the large bowl of cold cookie dough from the fridge, Mak asked, “How do you feel about the news?”
The grin on Kristy’s face could be described as elated, but with a bit of evil pleasure thrown in there. “Pretty damn good. You?”
“’Bout the same. Not that I wish death on people, but…” These deaths freed both Makenna and the MC from so many potentially deadly problems. And the men who’d died were the worst of humanity.
“Trust me, I get it,” Kristy said. “Mind if I grab myself a cup of coffee?” she asked, indicating the coffee pot.”
“No, of course not. Help yourself to anything.” Mak scooped a hunk of cookie dough, rolled it into a ball, and placed it on the lined sheet, giving a little press to flatten it a bit.
As Kristy prepared herself a mug of coffee, Mak filled the cookie sheet then popped it in the oven. “Drink that slowly, and you can have a cookie to go with it in about ten minutes.”
“Perfect.”
This time, there was no knock, just the thwack of the door bursting open as the kids came barging in.
“I smell cookies!” Emmie yelled as she barreled into the kitchen with the force of someone three times her size. “Kwisty’s here!” She threw herself at Kristy, who caught her practically in midair with a wince.
Mak flinched right along with her. She’d been on the receiving end of a child’s boisterous love when her own body had been battered, so she knew firsthand it didn’t feel great. But being the sweet friend she was, Kristy didn’t so much as make a peep of protest. She scooped Emmie up and planted a noisy smooch on her cheek.
“Hey!” Copper’s voice came from the front door. “I’m telling Thunder your door was unlocked.”
Mak walked toward his voice. He stood in the doorway, head peeking in. “Ahh, I’m sorry!” Mak called as she reached him. “I wasn’t thinking. Thank you for dropping off the kids.” The older two had gone straight to their rooms.
He propped a massive shoulder against the doorframe. “No problem. Thunder at the hospital?”
She nodded. “Yeah, he should be back with Kara and Lee any time.”
“Sounds good. I’m out. Lock the door!” Copper said, giving her a scowl that had her shivering. How did Shell deal with that mountain of a man? The woman deserved a medal. He was one scary dude when riled.
The moment the door shut, she clicked the lock and deadbolt into place. “Good girl,” she heard through the door.
Once all the cookies were finished baking, they all piled into the den, munching, laughing, and sipping coffee—well, milk for the kiddos.
Mak was about to bite into a second—fine, third—cookie when a succession of pops sounded from outside.
She froze, gaze meeting Kristy’s equally stunned one.
“What was that?” Rissa, mouth full and eyes wide. “It sounded like gunfire.”
“It was,” Amy said, voice extra high.
They were right. It was a sound Mak knew well but hadn’t heard in over two years. The rapid-fire of a semi-automatic machine gun. An AK-47 if she had to guess. It’d been the daily soundtrack to her childhood.
“We need to move,” Mak barked as she jumped to her feet. Years of repressed training kicked in. Her brain moved on autopilot, not allowing