“Someone’s coming to take care of it.”
He didn’t bother telling Wilder that wasn’t what he worried about.Theyweren’t the ones he worried about.
“Jacket,” he mumbled instead.
He wasn’t going anywhere without it. He didn’t want to freeze his ass off on Wilder’s bike.
Wilder looked around for a moment before heading toward the couch, hand still in Emmett’s. Wilder crouched down to push Emmett’s bag off his jacket to grab it, rising to hold it up for Emmett to place his arms in the sleeves.
Jacket on, Wilder pulled him across the room, and he kept his gaze locked on Wilder as they walked past the bodies. That was not a vision he wanted to add to his nightmares.
Their footsteps echoed as they made their way through the gym and into the hallway, making the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. The door opened before they reached it, and he found himself jerked behind Wilder while he pulled his gun fromits holster. Breath caught in his throat as his chest tightened, his heart racing so damned fast he could feel his whole body vibrating from it.
“Nice to see you, too,” someone said.
He couldn’t quite place the voice, so when Wilder lowered his gun, he peeked around him. Short, dirty blond hair, sparkling green eyes, and a wide smile. Maddox. His shoulders dropped, and his heart slowed down, breathing becoming instantly easier.
“The bodies are in the boxing room. I doubt they’ve got IDs on them, but if you find anything, get it to Ezra,” Wilder said. “I don’t have my phone, and Doc needs to have a look at Dash. They’re out front.”
Maddox inclined his head and took off down the hall.
Emmett let Wilder lead him out the door, and despite how thick his throat felt, he pushed out the words he desperately needed an answer to. “Did you really kill someone for me?”
Wilder snapped his head up, a fire raging in his eyes as he met Emmett’s gaze.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe.”
The gravel in that voice? The conviction in those words? It turned his insides to liquid.
“Is it wrong that I find that really hot?” he whispered.
Something akin to relief crossed Wilder’s face, and then he reached for Emmett, hands finding his hips to tug him up against that big body.
“Darlin’, there isn’t a damned thing wrong with you.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but his words were swallowed by Wilder’s mouth on his. It was a hard and insistent kiss, those hands traveling up his back to hold him closer. He wrapped his arms around the back of Wilder’s neck, pushing up on his toes to kiss him back.
“I need to get you out of here,” Wilder said, his voice sounding strained with the same feelings wreaking havoc inside Emmett.
Wilder stepped toward his bike, and Emmett’s mouth dropped open when he saw it lying on the ground. Had he…? His poor heart couldn’t take it, tears welling up in his eyes. Why did knowing Wilder had dropped his bike on the ground to reach him faster mean more than Wilder literally killing people to keep him safe?
He accepted his helmet from Wilder and pushed it over his head, letting Wilder tie the strap for him. He caught a glimpse of Wilder’s hands, bloodied and bruised as they were. He hated that it was because of him once again. He didn’t want Wilder to get hurt, and yet, there was a part of him that rejoiced in the knowledge that Wilder had raised those fists to people who would’ve hurt him. He didn’t even care if they were alive or not. Heath must’ve broken some part of him, not that he could find a single flying fuck to give about it. He’d never thought there was anything wrong with Emma or her fathers for being outlaw bikers. He’d never thought there was anything wrong with Uncle Nic, despite him having been an assassin in his youth. It was a mystery how he hadn’t been drawn to the club and bikers before. Perhaps it was lucky? He might not have met Wilder at the exact time and place in his life as he was becoming more and more certain he’d been supposed to.
Getting behind Wilder on the bike, he wrapped his arms around him, tighter than he probably ever had. Wilder flinched, his pained grunt just loud enough to hear over the bike’s engine. Emmett cursed under his breath and moved back, loosening his hold, but hands grabbed his arms and pulled him forward, plastering him against Wilder’s back right before the bike started moving.
He held on, barely breathing as they hit the road. He tried his best to concentrate on only breathing. In. hold. Out. Repeat. If he let his brain get even a second to think, it was as if everything screeched to a halt. All the fear, all the dread, came rushing in, and he ended up pressed harder against Wilder.
In. Hold. Out.
The sun was disappearing behind the mature trees surrounding the clubhouse as they drove up the driveway, bathing the fields in a soft violet glow. He breathed a sigh of relief, unsure if that feeling of safety was because he knew he was safe here or because he knew Wilder was.
Miles’s car was gone, which meant he was still working, and only a few motorcycles took up the usual long line across from the house. Emma and Remy were running out the door before Wilder pulled to a stop.
He was off in a second, undoing the chinstrap of his helmet and pulling it off. Emma crashed into him, and he nearly dropped the helmet, a soft smile gracing his lips when it was tugged gently out of his hand by Wilder.
“Scared the shit out of us,” Emma mumbled, pulling back to look him over. “You alright?”
“I’m fine. He’s the one who’s hurt,” he said with a wave of his hand toward Wilder.
