I tried to pull the door open, but it wasn’t budging. “Ma’am? Can you hear me? What’s your name?” She didn’t answer right away, so I tried again. “Ma’am?”
“Lyric.”
“I’m sorry?”
The woman chuckled. Her sweet laugh gave me pause and I finally looked at her. Jesus, she was gorgeous. Long, blonde hair brushed the roof of her car, giving her almost a halo effect, and when she turned deep blue eyes to me, I nearly lost my breath.
“My name. It’s Lyric,” she clarified. “My sisters are Harmony and Melody. Mom was obsessed with music and a little bit of a hippie. It’s weird, but kind of perfect. Sorry, I’m rambling. Um, can you get me out, please? I feel sick.”
“Alamo, she’s stuck. Grab a crowbar!” I yelled, then turned back to Lyric. “You hurt?”
“I don’t know. All the blood’s rushing to my head.”
She reached to undo her seatbelt, but I squeezed her hand. “Don’t. Let’s wait to see what the damage is before we move you.”
“Oh,” she said. “Right. That’s probably a good idea.”
I worked to clear the glass covering her, noticing blood on her airbag, so I moved her hair away from her face as gently as I could, parting it at her crown. “You’ve got a nasty gash on your head.”
“What constitutes a nasty one as opposed to a delightful one? Have you ever wondered that?” she asked. “I mean, does the nasty gash call you names instead of bringing you flowers?”
I was pretty sure she was in some sort of pain-induced fugue state, but I couldn’t help but notice she was funny as hell.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Doom.”
“Were your parents worried about the end of the world?”
“Something like that,” I said, and she smiled. My heart stuttered. Jesus, her smile was stunning.
“Why would they name their baby ‘Doom’?” she mused. “You must have been a beautiful baby. That just seems psycho to me.” She gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to call your parents psycho. They’re probably very nice people.”
“Lincoln Marxx,” I said, and then mentally shook myself. Inevergave anyone my legal name and I couldn’t figure out why the fuck I’d blurted it out to this stranger.
“Oh,” she rasped. “That’s such a cool name. It’s kind of a rock star name.”
“Crowbar,” Alamo said, pulling me out of my head as he shoved the tool into the seam of the doorframe.
“Goddammit,” Rabbit bellowed from my right. “Don’t move, asshole!”
While Alamo worked on the door, I went to back Rabbit up. He was currently in a fistfight with some redneck who was clearly drunk and I suddenly saw red.
I fuckin’ hated drunk drivers.
Rabbit was technically my recruit. I’d met him when he was sixteen right before I’d quit my stint as a firefighter. He’d been a kid on the streets at the time, his parents both dead from ODs and his foster family a shit show who didn’t deserve to look after kids. Our club had taken him in and he’d decided to become a prospect when he turned eighteen.
We’d called him Rabbit because he was fuckin’ quick in a seriously nervous kind of way. He was a hacking mastermind, too, which helped when we needed information that may or may not be completely legal to obtain.
I rushed for the drunk, grabbing the back of his collar and pulling hard enough to knock him on his ass, where I forced him onto his stomach with a knee in his back. “Where the fuck do you think you’re goin’?” I growled.
“Fuck you, asshole,” he slurred.
“You’re not my type.” I turned to Rabbit. “Go grab some zip ties.”
Rabbit nodded and ran up the embankment back into the shop, returning with two sets of zip ties, which I used to secure the drunk’s hands.
Just as I heard sirens in the distance, the drunk made the stupid mistake of trying to wrestle away from me again, so I slammed my fist into his face and he went down hard.
