But my body doesn’t care about timing. My body just knows he’s here, he’s holding me, and for the first time in hours, I feel safe.
“Get in the car, Isabel,” he says finally. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”
For a moment, I think she’ll refuse and take off running into the darkness and we’ll never see her again.
Then she glances at me—still cradled against Stone’s chest, broken and bruised and completely helpless.
“Fine,” she mutters, and climbs into the SUV.
Stone settles me beside her, and I feel the loss of his warmth immediately. He gets in the front passenger seat. Tank slides behind the wheel, and Hawk loads the cartel henchman in the back, climbing in after him.
We pull away from the hospital into the cool night air.
Isabel stares out the window, her reflection a ghost against the glass.
I lean my head back against the seat, exhaustion crashing over me in waves. My ribs throb. My head pounds. Every part of me aches, inside and out.
Tonight, we’ve both survived. That’s enough for now.
5
STONE
The clubhouse has never looked so much like a fortress.
I’ve called ahead from the hospital, and by the time we pull into the lot, every light is blazing and half the club is waiting. Hawk climbs out of the back, and is already barking orders at the prospects.
“Main room clear. Guest rooms prepped. Maggie’s got the medical supplies ready.”
“Good.”The word comes out clipped, harsh. I don’t bother softening it.
Rage is a living thing inside me right now—coiled tight, waiting to strike. Someone got past my man. Someone walked into her hospital room and tried to smother her in her bed, and if it weren’t for a scared girl with a bedpan, Josie would be dead.
On my watch. Under my protection.
I want to put my fist through a wall. I want to find every single person connected to Summit and tear them apart with my barehands. I want to burn their entire operation to the ground and salt the fucking earth.
Instead, I channel it into movement. Into purpose.
I’m out of the SUV before it fully stops, rounding to get Josie.
She’s pale in the harsh overhead lights, dark circles under her eyes, her jaw tight against the pain she’s trying to hide. Stubborn woman. She’d probably insist on walking if I gave her half a chance.
I don’t give her so much as a whisper.
“I can—” she starts.
“No.” I lift her out of the vehicle, ignoring her huff of protest. “Save your strength for arguing with me later. You’ll need it.”
“Promises, promises.”
Despite everything—the attack, the fear still coiled in my gut, the knowledge that someone has gotten close enough to kill her in her hospital bed—I almost smile. She’s bruised, broken, and still giving me shit.
That’s my girl.
Isabel climbs out behind us. Her eyes sweep the lot, the building, the men gathered outside. Taking stock. Planning.
I watch her for a beat, noting how she seems to be seeking out exits and weaknesses.
