Her breath choked out.
A siren wailed in the distance.
Her fingers went toward the shooter’s chest. She could stop the blood flow. Get answers. She could?—
She was yanked up before her fingers touched the bloody mess that her two bullets had made when they tore into him.
“Hell, no, princess. He’s dead. You’re not bringing him back.”
She struggled, but Cass’s hold was unbreakable.
“And he’s a good message to leave for our enemies,” Cass added.
Her struggles ceased. That was a brutal thing to say. She whirled in his grip.
He’d put on a t-shirt. His jacket. Someone had moved super fast.
“She needs shoes,” Javion pointed out.
She still wore her pants. Her shirt. No shoes. She hadn’t stripped before climbing into the sagging bed, but she had at least kicked off her heels.
“Get the shoes or leave without them,” Cass ordered.
What?
The siren’s shriek grew louder. Actually, it sounded like multiple sirens.
“Fuck it.” Cass tossed her over his shoulder and rushed out of the motel room. She kept her grip on the gun because no way was she leaving that behind.
He carried her to his motorcycle. Dropped her on the seat. He glowered at her. “Give me the gun.”
“You’re one of them.” Something he should have mentioned. And maybe…maybe her gun was aimed at him. “You told me they were boogeymen. As if they weren’t real. Just made-up monsters. And you have one of their tattoos on your back.”
“I have a lot of tattoos. On my back. On my arms. All over.”
Yes, he did have lots of tats. Only one both terrified and infuriated her. The two-headed cobra. “Are you one of them?”
The two heads…two allegiances. An allegiance to his main MC, the Night Strikers. And a secondary allegiance to the Twins.
The sirens were louder. Closer.
Javion ran past them and jumped on his motorcycle.
Cass stepped closer to her. Her gun pressed into his chest. “Either pull the trigger or scoot the hell back and let me get us out of here.”
She didn’t pull the trigger. She also didn’t drop the gun. “How did that shooter know which room we were in?”
“He must’ve followed us.”
She’d searched when they’d been driving on that motorcycle. Agnes had not spotted a single tail. “Why weren’t you in the bed with me?”
His eyes narrowed.
“He only shot at the bed.” A whisper. “I was in the bed. Not you. You were on the floor.” She wet her lips and kept the gun pressed to his chest. “Why weren’t you in the bed?”
He leaned in toward her. Completely ignored the gun pressing into his chest. “Because I was trying to be a gentleman and not fuck you into oblivion.”
She snorted.
