Sin stands in the middle of the lot, chest heaving, his knuckles bloodied from where he’d beaten one Alliance soldier unconscious with his bare hands. His mismatched eyes scan the retreating vehicles until the last taillight disappears into the desert heat’s shimmer, then finally, finally, he allows his shoulders to relax a fraction.
The smells in the air, the intensity of the smoke, are all-consuming. My ears ring from the gunfire. My hands shake with residual adrenaline. But as the dust settles and the immediate danger passes, I realize something has changed forever.
This isn’t just a story anymore.
This isn’t research or investigation or professional curiosity.
This isreal.
This isdangerous.
And despite every rational thought in my head telling me to run, to get out before I’m in too deep…
… I don’t want to leave.
I want to stay and see how this war ends.
Even if it destroys me along with it.
Chapter Eleven
ELIZABETH
The hose feels like it weighs a thousand pounds in my trembling hands. My arms ache from fighting the water pressure, muscles burning as I struggle to keep the stream aimed at the flames that seem to mock my efforts. Smoke stings my watering eyes as I battle against the fire that threatens to devour everything.
“Here, let me take that.”
Strong hands cover mine, gently but firmly taking control of the hose. I look up to see Mace, his face grim with determination as he takes over, directing the powerful stream with practiced ease. Within minutes, what seemed like an impossible battle becomes manageable. The flames retreat, hissing in defeat as they’re finally subdued.
I stumble backward, my legs shaking with an adrenaline crash. My lungs burn from the smoke, each breath feeling like sandpaper against my throat. The pungent smell clings to my hair, my clothes, my skin.
“Elizabeth.” Sin’s voice cuts through the chaos, and suddenly he’s here, his hands on my shoulders, his intense eyes scanning every inch of my face with laser focus. His touch is gentle but urgent, checking for injuries I don’t even realize I might have.
“Are you hurt?” His voice is rough with concern, one hand cupping my face while the other runs down my arms, checking for burns or cuts. “Fuck, Elizabeth, you’re shaking.” I try to speak, but only manage a cough. He pulls me against his chest, one hand pressing my head to his shoulder while the other rubs soothing circles on my back. “You’re okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
For a moment, I let myself melt into his strength, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my cheek. But the moment is broken when he pulls back, his hands still framing my face. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice carrying that tone of command I’m becoming familiar with. “I have to leave you for a while. I need to take care of the clubhouse and make sure my people are okay. Will you be all right?”
I nod, finding my voice finally, “Yeah, of course. I’m going to stay and help patch people up.”
His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, wiping away a streak of soot. “That’s my wildcat,” he says softly, and the pride in his voice makes my chest warm in a way that has nothing to do with the lingering heat from the fire.
He takes my hand, and we walk toward the clubhouse together. Smoke lingers in the air and inside the clubhouse, organized chaos reigns. The damage isn’t as severe as it could have been, thank God, but there are still injured brothers and club girls who need attention. Sin glances at me, dips his head, then takes off to do his presidential thing.
Inhaling deeply, I take a moment to just take this all in. I’m here, in the middle of a biker clubhouse after they have just been attacked by their enemies. This isexactlythe type of shit I am here for. The kind of stuff I should be documenting to take back to my superiors. The exact hard story I need to be selling on why these guys are the bad guys I always thought they were.
But as I stand back, watching the club girls tending to the brothers, and the men helping each other, the general camaraderie and family atmosphere here, I can’t help but pull up my big girl panties and dive in to help them too.
Getting dirt on them can wait.
Right now, I need to help them.
Making my way to the kitchen, I begin to rinse my hands, washing soot and God knows what else off my skin at the kitchensink when a woman approaches me. “You must be Elizabeth,” she says, extending a hand. “I’m Dr. Sarah Chen. The boys called me in to help with the wounded.” She’s petite with kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, her dark hair framing her face in a short bob. There’s something immediately trustworthy about her, a calm competence that puts me at ease.
“Just Elizabeth is fine,” I reply, wiping my wet hand on my thigh, then shaking her hand. “I’m a journalist, but I have some first-aid training. How can I help?”
“Perfect. I need someone with steady hands to help me clean and dress some of the guys’ wounds. Nothing too serious, but better safe than sorry.”
“Put me in, Doc. Whatever you need, I’m happy to help,” I tell her.
