The temperature had dropped, and the forecast was threatening snow, but that didn’t discourage the bikers one bit. Wearing tactical vests under their cuts, they mounted their bikes and rolled out in formation. I followed in Dad’s truck, and a foreign sense of belonging I’d never experienced before struck me. Not even in the service.
It was early Sunday afternoon, so traffic was light. We rolled up on the industrial district in as much broad daylight as the frigid day could offer. Just twenty concerned gun-toting citizens casually taking justice into our own hands. Totally normal. Nothing to see here.
The industrial district was quiet. Most surrounding businesses were closed on Sundays, so finding nearby parking was no sweat. We gathered in front of the bikes as we dismounted or exited our vehicles, then approached the warehouse as one.
A combat calm settled over me as I locked in like I was back in the service, my unit moving in on enemy territory. Link signaled for us to stop, pointing out the security cameras as he spoke into his comms. Seconds later, we were on the move again.
The main door was too visible, so we circled around to the side entrance by the loading dock, where the van Mercy had been hauled in still sat. This door was locked, but Rabbit unrolled a small tool bag and had it open in no time. Out of the public eye, we slipped into the building, drawing our weapons as we spread out.
A muffled gunshot cracked the air, echoing from somewhere deeper inside. The unit moved instantly, surging forward in perfect formation, clearing rooms with practiced precision. Later, I’d wonder how often they ran similar ops to be so well synced, but right then, all I felt was gratitude as I kept my guard up and stayed with them.
A shout came from somewhere ahead, followed by the sounds of a scuffle.
Seconds later, Rabbit popped out of a doorway and shouted, “Someone get the medic!”
The bikers parted like the Red Sea, clearing a path, and I charged after him, skidding to a halt as soon as I entered the room. Ben was on his side, zip-tied to a chair. Mercy was strapped to a second one, toppled over, and draped across his. A deep purple stain covered the entire left side of her blue sweater dress.
The instant it hit me that she was bleeding, something inside me cracked open, and I tore across the room to get to her.
In my periphery, I could see a couple of guys on the floor with zip ties around their wrists and ankles, and I could hear Wasp on the phone, describing the scene to a dispatcher. But I couldn’t take my eyes off that purple stain.
“What do you need?” Rabbit asked, jolting me back to life.
Closing the distance, I righted Mercy’s chair, forcing myself to stop freaking the fuck out and do something. But this wasn’t a battlefield, and she should never have been in danger.
She was conscious, but her skin was pale, a dark bruise covered the side of her head, and the bloodstain on her clothes was growing.
“First-aid kit. Clean towels. Whatever you can find.”
He sprinted off, and I got to work.
“Talk to me, babe.” Tugging the knife from my boot, I cut away the ties binding her ankles. “Tell me what happened.”
“You came for me,” she said.
“Of course I did.” I moved up to release her wrists.
She sagged forward. I caught her and lowered her to the floor, trying not to think too hard about the plastic that crinkled under my boots. Whatever these assholes had intended for Mercy didn’t matter because we’d arrived in time. Now, I only needed to keep her from bleeding to death.
“Where’s Ben? Is he okay?” she asked.
I glanced over to find Kaos tending to her brother. He’d received another beating, but his injuries didn’t look critical. “He’s fine and cut loose. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Mercy?” Ben asked, sounding hysterical. “Is she okay?”
“I’m okay,” she assured him. Lowering her voice, she added, “My shoulder. That bastard shot me.”
I cut away the bloody section of her dress, finding the cause of the blood loss. Projecting my voice so Wasp and the dispatcher could hear me, I said, “Gunshot wound. Entry point, front left shoulder.” Gently maneuvering her as she hissed with pain, I cut away the back of her dress. “No exit wound.”
“Always tryin’ to get me out of my clothes,” she joked.
I couldn’t even fake a smile because I was too busy panicking. The bullet was still inside her, but I needed to focus on stopping the bleeding. I eased her flat on her back and apologized before kneeling on her shoulder, right beside her wound. Mercy cried out in pain, and I apologized again, pressing down hard enough to slow the bleeding. My bad knee shrieked in solidarity with her, but I needed my good knee to support the rest of my weight.
Rabbit reappeared with a stack of towels, and I snatched one up, pressing it hard against the wound as I balanced my weight between my knee and hand. Mercy’s muscles were relaxing with exhaustion. With sweat shining on her skin, her teeth clenched in agony, she sucked in sharp breaths.
“You’re gonna be fine.”
I wasn’t sure which of us I was trying to convince. The towel darkened to red in seconds. Panic clawed at my throat, but I shoved it down and stayed the course. This would work. It had to.
