“Wilder?”
His heart froze in his chest at the sound of Dash’s voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“Uh, there’s?” Rustling and a few low curses cut him off, and then Alvis’s voice sounded in his ear. “Two goons at the gym. We’re trying to scare them off, but they look intent on getting in.”
“Fuck!”
He took off running, phone slipping from between his fingers, Killian’s voice calling out for him, nothing but a distant hum because all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. Emmett. He had to get to Emmett.
He jumped on his bike, a small spark of relief rushing through him at having left the engine running. He kicked the bike into gear, wheels whining as he jerked the bike around. He saw his helmet fly off the handlebars where it had been hanging, though he was already halfway down the parking lot when it hit the ground.
He hit the throttle the second he was on the road, taking off with his heart in his throat, fear biting at his insides. He knew he wasn’t far from the gym, but every second mattered. Emmett was in danger.
The houses on either side of the road blurred together as he wove between cars, a dull thwack telling him he probably hit someone’s side mirror, but he couldn’t care less as the redbuilding finally came into view. A flash of motion jerked his attention to Alvis, who was standing by the front door of the gym, Dash sitting on the ground holding his arm against his chest. Alvis’s head snapped up, his gaze finding Wilder. His eyes were wide with fear as he pointed at the door.
Fuck.Fuckfuckfuck.
Not only had the boys gotten hurt, but those bastards were inside.
He drove straight through the neighbor’s lot, jerking the bike to the side while clutching the brake. The wheels skidded across the concrete, the squeal they made making him cringe. He dropped the bike, jumping out of the way and toward the door, hand shaking as he dug around his pocket for the keys. He would’ve kicked the door down if he wasn’t too fucking scared of what hearing that might make the goons do, considering they’d already hurt a pair of fucking kids.
He jammed the keys into the lock, leaving them behind as he got the door open and ran inside. He barely heard his own footsteps as he ran down the hallway and through the gym, the thump of his heart too loud. It skipped a beat when he saw the open doors to the boxing room, a flash of someone wearing black clothes disappearing inside.
He made his steps as light as possible as he rushed toward the doors and peeked inside. The first thing he saw was the men creeping up behind Emmett, the second was that Emmett wasn’t wearing his receivers, and the third was that Emmett’s focus was squarely on the book in his hands. He didn’t look up once as he headed across the room toward the couch.
It didn’t look like either of them was carrying guns, and he wasn’t about to pull his own. He wasn’t risking a shot going off and hitting Emmett.
The old-fashioned way it was.
He clenched his fists, a smile spreading on his face as he threw himself between the men and Emmett.
“You chose the wrong man to piss off,” he snarled, fist flying before either of them had time to reply or react.
His first hit landed square in Goon One’s face, the other grazing his abdomen. Goon Two shifted his weight back, and Wilder ducked under his fist, coming up swinging. Pain reverberated through his fist as it hit flesh, splitting the asshole’s lip. Blood dripped onto the floor between them, and he hoped the fucker’s jaw was broken. He deserved much worse, and he was about to get it. He was bigger than both of them, which meant he had more weight behind his hits. It didn’t mean that theirs didn’t take his breath away, but at least his broke bones.
A kick to his side made him stagger at the bright burst of pain. He dropped before Goon One could land another, rolling out of his reach and grunting as he pushed up on a knee. He knew what broken ribs felt like, and this wasn’t it. He’d be blue tomorrow, but he’d live.
Movement had his head snapping up. Goon Two was on his feet and heading toward Emmett, and Wilder used precious seconds to look in his direction. Emmett had stopped walking, his back still toward them as he crouched down to reach into his bag on the floor by the couch.
The next thing he saw was a fist flying at him. He blocked it with his arm, forcing the swing to go wide and past him, leaving Goon One wide open for his left fist to make contact with his gut. The man bent over with a breathless gasp, and he wasted no time grabbing him by the head and jerking it downward while he slammed his knee up. Something crunched, the sound making his stomach turn.
Goon One dropped to the ground, howling as he clutched his face, blood dripping down his chin. Wilder didn’t waste any time going after the other man, hauling him away from Emmettjust before he could reach him. He dropped the bastard to the ground, arms around his middle. He released his hold to get on top of him, fist flying. Blood spewed, and the man gurgled, hands waving around, reaching for something to use against Wilder, but he had too tight a hold on him.
A groan from the other goon had his gaze snapping across the room, and that’s when he saw the rope, discarded on the floor between them.
Red-hot rage sparked in his veins. They’d planned on tying Emmett up? What the fuck were they there to do? Take him? Torture him?
His sweet, kindhearted Emmett? They wanted to hurt him?
They were never getting the fucking chance.
His gun was in his hand, finger squeezing the trigger before he bothered thinking it through. He turned his gun on the other goon, sending a bullet through his skull before he could get up.
These were not lives that would weigh heavily on his soul. Not when they could have taken Emmett from him.
He rose to his feet, staring down at the bodies as his chest heaved with each breath. No, they wouldn’t weigh on him at all.
