He drops instantly, lifeless weight slumping forward like trash finally hitting the ground.
Bri lets out a sob that sounds like it’s been trapped in her chest for weeks. I drop the gun. I don’t even remember doing it. I grab her and pull her into my arms, crushing her to me, breathing her in like I need oxygen and she’s the only source left in the world.
She’s shaking. Crying. Alive.
“I’ve got you,” I rasp into her hair, my hands everywhere, checking her, holding her, making sure she’s real. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m here.”
Her arms come up around me like she’s been waiting to do this forever, fingers digging into my cut like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
I don’t care about the docks. Or the guns. Or the bodies. I care about her heartbeat under my palm. And the terrifying, impossible thought pounding in my head. Because if she’s pregnant…Everything just changed.
I don’t know what else happens out there.
I don’t see who’s shooting who or how many bodies hit the ground or where Mason and the rest of the club are moving. All of that fades into background noise the second I get her inside the SUV.
I shove her across the seat and climb in after her, my body blocking the open door as another burst of gunfire cracks close enough to rattle the windows. I slam the door shut and lock it,hard, like that alone can seal us off from the world trying to tear us apart.
The SUV rocks with distant impacts. Shouting echoes. Sirens might be coming. Or maybe that’s just blood roaring in my ears.
I pull her into my lap and curl around her instinctively, one arm wrapped tight around her back, the other cradling her head against my chest. She fits there like she never left. Like this is still where she belongs.
Her body is shaking. Full-on shock. Silent sobs ripping through her, breath coming in sharp little gasps like she forgot how to breathe properly without me.
“You’re dead,” she whispers, her voice breaking, tears streaming down her face. “They told me you were dead. I saw you get shot. I thought I killed you.”
I tilt her face up with shaking hands, my thumbs brushing tears from her cheeks. Her eyes are wild, unfocused, like she’s still trapped somewhere between then and now. “Hey,” I say softly, forcing calm into my voice even though my heart feels like it’s trying to punch its way out of my ribs. “Look at me. Bri. Look at me.”
Her gaze locks onto mine, confused and terrified. “How are you here?” she sobs. “I watched you bleed. I watched you fall. I thought I ended you. I thought that was it.”
“I’m right here,” I say. “I’m not dead.”
She shakes her head weakly. “It’s not possible.”
I cradle her face fully in my hands and lean in, pressing my mouth to hers. Not gentle. Not hesitant. A deep, grounding kiss that leaves no room for doubt. I pour everything into it.Six weeks of fear and rage. Six weeks of missing her so badly it almost broke me.
She freezes for half a second, then melts, clutching my jacket like she’s afraid I’ll vanish again if she doesn’t hold on tight enough.
I pull back just far enough to rest my forehead against hers. “Could a dead man do that, baby?” I murmur.
A broken sound escapes her and she collapses against me, crying hard now, the kind of sobs that come from finally letting go after holding yourself together for way too long.
“I love you,” I say into her hair, over and over. “I love you. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I swear to you, I am not letting you go again.”
She clings to me like I’m the only solid thing left in the world. And for her? I am.
We don’t get more than a few seconds.
There’s a hard knock on the SUV door, followed immediately by Riot’s voice, urgent and sharp. “Blade. We gotta go, man. Grab her and let’s move.”
I open the door and the noise rushes back in, distant now but still ugly. Smoke. Shouting. Sirens creeping closer.
I look down at her. “Ready, baby?”
She nods, small and trusting, like she doesn’t have the strength to do anything else right now. I help her out, but her heels catch on the uneven concrete and she stumbles.
“Shit,” I mutter.
Before she can even apologize, I scoop her up, arms under her knees and back, holding her tight against my chest. She doesn’t protest. She just curls into me like this is where she’s supposed to be.
