“I think I’ve changed my mind.” The leader pointed the gun at my head. “You’re not worth the trouble. We can take care of the Vipers on our own.”
He leaned toward me, a wicked smile on his face. “Never trust a woman to do any job.”
The men around us snorted.
Well shit.
This was it, then.
This was how I died.
Not in a shootout with drug dealers or a high-speed chase but beaten and broken in some nameless alley because I’d fallen in love with the wrong men and made the wrong choices.
“Should have minded your own business, reporter.” His finger tightened on the trigger.
I braced, prepared to launch myself at him or to the side.
I might not be quick enough, but hell if I’d stand here and get shot without trying to live.
All the regrets from not trusting Rafe and the others gave me strength. I had to live long enough to tell them I was sorry.
I stared into his eyes, looking for that telltale widening that warned me of his intent to fire.
It came, and I dove.
A sharpcracksplit the night air with the power of thunder.
I was too slow.
A heavy weight crashed into my side.
Not the pain of a bullet—I knew that feeling after a bust gone wrong a few years ago—but something hard enough to once again push the air from my lungs.
Familiar arms tightened around my waist as I hit the ground.
Bishop.
My beautiful, protective Bishop, crumpled beside me.
Blood seeped from a wound in his chest, staining his shirt crimson.
He’d appeared out of nowhere and thrown himself between me and the bullet like he was my very own guardian angel in leather and denim.
“Bishop!” The scream tore from my throat.
My ears rang from the gunfire, but I still heard the sound of roaring engines screaming to a stop.
Rafe’s voice boomed over the resulting chaos.
Ash materialized beside me.
He took in the sight of me and Bishop, and his face twisted in rage.
He spun in a blur of motion and launched himself at the nearest man.
Gunshots echoed off the buildings.
Men shouted and cursed.
