Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“Shock,” Patch says, telling me I must’ve spoken my concerns out loud.
“Is he dead?” Scarlet asks. Somehow, her hoarse voice is both the most heartbreaking and beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
“He can never hurt you again,” I assure her, wishing like hell I could hold her in my arms.
“Do you promise?” She tries to keep her voice neutral, but I can hear the thread of fear interwoven into her words.
“I swear it to you, Princess.”
“Okay, good.” She nods once before her face crumples. “I just want...”
“What, Scarlet? Tell me and I’ll make it happen.”
“I want to go home.” Tears fill her eyes, blazing twin paths down her swollen, blood-smeared cheeks. “I want my mom.”
Oh shit. Her mom. “Don’t worry, I’ll get everything sorted. Promise.” I don’t know how just yet, but I will—one way or another. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”
She narrows her eyes and winces, the motion splitting the cut near her eye.
I hold my hands up and amend my previous statement. “Everything's going to be okay. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but you’re strong as hell, and I know you’ll overcome this. And I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way.”
“Should be good to go,” Patch says. “If it's okay with you, I'd like to follow you back in case she takes a turn. Once we get to your place, I can get an IV in her and do a more thorough exam.”
I glance toward Scarlet, whose eyelids are already drooping under the weight of her exhaustion. “Are you sure?” I ask.
“Wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t,” Silas says.
“Too right.” I fish my keys from my pocket and toss them to Patch. “Bring my truck back here so we can load her up?”
He pockets them and stalks out of the dilapidated storage unit, a man on a mission.
“What about—” I tip my head toward Clint’s body. The fucker died with a smirk on his face, like he truly thought he was going to best me. The sight of it sends a fresh surge of anger through me, making me want to kill his sorry ass all over again.
“We’ve got it handled. You worry about your girl—” He waits for me to argue, but we both know he’s right. Scarlet’s mine, and she always will be. “We’ll handle everything else.”
“I-I’m not...” I trip over my tongue, trying to find the right words. “I’m not patched in, or even a prospect. Are you... are you sure?”
“Goddamn positive.” His reply is swift and leaves no room for argument. “You may not wear our patch, but the same sense of loyalty and integrity we require of all our brothers runs through your veins. You’re one of us in spirit, and we protect our own.”
“Fuck, man.” A sense of brotherhood, belonging, and gratitude like I’ve never felt before wraps itself around me. “Thank you. I-I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“No repayment necessary, Wilder.” He thumps his chest. “Like I said, we protect our own.”
There’s nothing I can say to adequately express my thanks, so I settle for a nod before giving my focus back to Scarlet, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest like a hawk.
Today was fucking hard. But I’m not naïve enough to think the days that come won’t be harder. Her physical injuries may not be severe, but the emotional ones—they’re going to take some time.
THIRTY-NINE
SCARLET
Rhythmic beeping pulls me from a deep sleep. The deepest sleep I’ve ever experienced in my life. Almost like when I had my wisdom teeth removed, and they put me under.
There’s a pounding in my head, like a drummer trying his best to keep time with whatever’s beeping but failing miserably.
Where am I? The incessant beeping says the hospital, but the bed says luxury.
A groan works its way up my dry, aching throat as random bits and pieces—memories, maybe—flash through my mind, in dull, muddied sepia tones.
Work. Clint. Lunch. Needle. Dress. Knife. Blood. Ellis.
It all comes rushing back in full color, and a scream lodges in my throat as my eyes fly open.
“Hey, Princess,” Ellis says, rushing to my side. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
“It’s over?” I ask, trying to lift my hand to my throat, only to find my range of motion limited thanks to a sling. I try my other hand. It shakes as I drag my fingers over my neck. “Really over?”
“Yeah, it’s really over.” He helps me sit up, fluffing my pillow behind me. “You want some water?”
I nod, but the motion makes my head swim. My brain feels like a piece of fruit caught in a blender. Utterly pulverized.
“Take it easy.” Ellis brings a straw to my lips. “Slow sips.”
It’s a struggle to wrap my lips around the straw.
“You have a split lip,” Ellis tells me. Makes sense, because every little movement tugs harshly on the skin there.