Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
So it was just some of my very basic training that had me grabbing the bastard’s head and chin, then, with one fast, firm motion, breaking his neck.
Then there she was.
Flying into my arms.
Clinging to me.
My arms tightened around her, probably squeezing too tightly, but I couldn’t bring myself to loosen my hold.
Not even as the gunshots rang out in the clubhouse, making Dylan jerk and stiffen.
The silence that followed had my gut twisting.
Until, suddenly, Saint’s voice moved into the doorway and called out, “Clear!”
He was probably talking to his brother, the two of them doing a sweep to make sure no one slipped through our fingers.
“We’re gonna need Dylan,” Saint said, catching my eye. “The girls,” he added, his voice lower.
A pained sound escaped her at that, and I held on a little tighter for a second.
“Are you okay? Hurt?” I asked.
“Bruised, mostly,” she admitted, finally pulling against my hold until I had no choice but to let her go. “You’re bleeding. You’re bleeding a lot,” she said, grabbing at my shirtsleeve and yanking it up. “Oh, my God. Are you shot? You’re shot.”
“Grazed,” I clarified.
“It’s not bleeding like it’s a graze,” she said, reaching down to grab her tee and yanking it up over her head. “Don’t,” she said when an uncontrollable rumble moved through me at seeing her in that lacy black bra of hers. “I’m trying to stop the bleeding, idiot,” she told me, pressing the shirt hard into my arm.
A hiss escaped me at that, but if she wanted to take care of me, I was going to let her.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Your knuckles are all busted open.”
“They’re fine.”
“And your face.”
“Fine too. Everything is fine if you’re alright.”
“This is not the time for being sweet,” she said, rolling her eyes at me. “Hold this,” she demanded, pressing my arm harder.
Deciding to placate her, I reached across my chest to hold the shirt to my arm. Only to have her yank up my shirt.
“Weird time to wanna fuck, but I can rally,” I said, making a pained laugh escape her as she pressed her hand to my ribs.
A curse escaped me at the sharp pain that shot up my side.
“Can you take a deep breath?” she asked.
“It’s—”
“I swear to God, if you say it’s fine one more time, I’m going to beat you up myself.”
My lips curved up at that. “I think they’re just bruised. I’m not short of breath. Got a lot of muscle protecting me from too much damage.”
“Is he okay?” Saint asked, returning, a phone pressed to his ear.
It was time to stop pretending I was taking the lead on any part of this job. Saint was the more natural leader. Besides, I was happy to hand over the reins. I’d rather focus on Dylan.
“He was shot,” she explained. “And his ribs are bruised. His hands…”
Her voice went suddenly thick, and when I looked down at her, her eyes were swimming.
“I’m gonna be alright, baby,” I assured her. “It’s all minor.”
“It doesn’t look minor.”
“Look, I’m barely bleeding anymore,” I said as Saint came over, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder so his hands were free to pull the shirt away to check out the wound himself.
“It’s a graze,” Saint said.
“Told you,” I said, getting a glower from Dylan.
It was my first good look at Saint.
The guy looked like a horror movie. His shirt was soaked with blood. His face was covered in it. His left eye was half swollen shut. There was a gash down the side of his neck. And the way he was holding himself made me think he’d fucked up his leg.
“How’s Syn?”
“Beat up. But he’ll be fine. Slash, a few of the guys, and some of the girls are on their way. We’ve got a lot of fucking work to do.”
“The girls?” I asked, brows pinching.
“Yeah, uh, Morgaine and Vienna. Because of their pasts,” he added. “You know… to help with the girls.”
A little whimper escaped Dylan at that.
“Are they okay?” she asked.
“There are only three here. The woman from outside—”
“Diana.”
“Diana,” Saint said. “A pixie-cut blonde, and one with pink hair.”
“What? There should be… a dozen. More.”
“Seems like this operation is split. Some are working over in L.A. Some are here.”
“This isn’t all of them?” I asked, stomach churning.
“They pimp out the girls in the city, and bring the money back here.”
The pained animal sound that escaped Dylan had my heart aching for her.
These were her people.
She had to be feeling some kind of responsibility for what happened to them, however misplaced that was.
“Here,” I said, shaking out Dylan’s shirt, then gathering it up and pushing it down over her head. Was it soaked in my blood? Sure. But it was better than her walking around in her bra when she talked to her girls for the first time again.