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He could only imagine that the youngest sister, Scarlet, wasn’t much different.

Brave and fearless. Allergic to dresses, makeup, and heels. They wouldn’t whine about breaking a nail or even getting dirt caked under them.

It would take a strong-willed man to hitch their wagon to any of them. A set of steel balls, too.

Luckily, he had both.

Not that he had plans to hitch himself to any woman any time soon.

“I guess you’re right,” she responded with a grin. “That said, I was sent to get you for a meeting in the conference room.”

Why the hell was she grinning? “Vi didn’t say shit about any meeting.”

Indie simply shrugged and walked away.

Suspicion filled Reaper’s chest. The Dougherty women didn’t walk away from a challenge. But he had no time to analyze that fact since, apparently, he was late for a meeting. He didn’t know why Vi didn’t add it to the team’s shared calendar.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered and climbed down from the armored vehicle. The Gurkha was totally badass and he would consider trading in his beloved Bronco for one.

If he could afford it.

Since it would require a hefty mortgage payment, he couldn’t, so he found excuses to borrow the company’s. But since it was such a rare vehicle and drew attention, he couldn’t take it into Pittsburgh for his current mission.

No, instead he had to take one of the beater cars. Cars that Shadow Valley Body Shop, also owned by the DAMC, slapped on a different color of cheap paint every few months so they weren’t easily recognizable.

He headed out of the main area of the Warehouse and strode a few feet down the hallway before taking a sharp left into the conference room.

His steps immediately faltered.

He had clearly walked into a fucking trap. The so-called “meeting” seemed to be not an official meeting at all, but a goddamn setup.

Since Vi wasn’t anywhere to be found, he also doubted his boss knew anything about it. That meant she’d be pissed once she found out. The Warehouse was her domain and she took that seriously. It didn’t matter that all the retired Shadows sitting around that table preceded her and her much younger team.

Only, it wasn’t only the OG Shadows in the room. Their former boss, Diesel, leaned against the back wall with thick, tattooed arms crossed and wearing his DAMC cut and a scowl.

He could see why his ol’ lady had nicknamed him The Beast. The man might be almost twice Reaper’s age but his presence was still intimidating.

He took in the seven larger than life men in the room one by one.

Steel smirking with a toothpick tucked between his lips. Even at his age, his body was still perfectly honed and muscular. Most likely due to the fact, he had nothing else to do but work out at Shadow Valley Fitness all day, every day.

Brick pointing a shit-eating grin in Reaper’s direction.

Ryder, Ghost’s father, with his quiet strength.

Grim’s father, Hunter, and Walker, T-Bone’s father, both wearing guarded expressions and simply observing.

And then there was Mercy.

Reaper offered his hand to Mercy first. “Sergeant Major.”

The former Delta Force Operator only stared at him. The large scar crossing his face pulled one corner of his lip upward so it looked like a sneer. Though, from the vibe the big guy was giving off, Reaper could guess Mercy would be sneering even without the scar.

Even so…

All were legends. Every last one of them.

Despite all of them having his utmost respect, he wasn’t one to accept being fed a shit sandwich without a fight.