I hawk-eyed the back door, waiting for the bikers to emerge, nerves wound tight enough to snap.
Saint put a hand on me again, squeezing my shoulder—a minor miracle, but I barely felt it.
Bodies began to blur the shadows at the back door. Men in leather and denim.Bikers. But they already wore helmets, visors down, concealing their faces, obscuring any chance we had at identifying them, and the only indicator I had to work with was the renewed gut-punching roil in my belly as my gaze fell on the stocky figure leading them out.
It’s him.
Couldn’t say how I knew, I just did, and every instinct I hadscreamedfor me to burn out of this ditch and kill him stone dead.
Only Saint’s hand on my shoulder stopped me, forcing me to watch them mount up and roll out with a stark reminder that if I blew my top and exposed us, it could get all of us killed before I came within spitting distance of the man who’d left such brutal marks on Locke’s body.
Goddamn. I’d never felt hate like it. It seared my fucking soul, branding me with evil.Distractingme from the visceral reactions of the brothers flanking me.
Too late, I realised every vicious thought tearing me up had obliterated Ranger’s heart too. He surged from the ditch and took off, sprinting for the bikes, blind murder in every step.
Fuck!
I bolted after him, boots squelching the sodden ground, knee protesting the messed-up impact of every crazed step. Fuckingfuck.Ranger was fast, his long legs giving him a sizeable head start.
But I was fast too, spurred on by the need to protect Saint as much as him, and I gained on him as he neared the bikes.
Panicked, I hurled myself onto his back, tackling him to the dirt, and we went down hard, skidding in the mud, the rough ground abrading the skin from my forearms, Ranger’s thick skull clashing with mine.
Oxygen left my lungs in a pained gust. My ears rang and my jaw clenched. Ranger fought me, his anger as strong as his lean body, but I used my heavier weight against him, pinning him down, accepting an elbow to my ribs for my trouble.
I got my arms around him as Saint reached us, squeezing the fight out of him. “Stop. I want this cunt dead as much as you do, but we don’t have the manpower or the weapons to do it right now.”
“I don’t care,” Ranger snarled. “Let me kill him. I’ll take the fall.”
Saint crouched low, calm in a way he had to have learned from Alexei. “Not how this works. You go, we go.”
“Then let’sgo.”
I clamped my arms harder. “No.”
The weight of Saint’s eerie stare and the constriction of my hold on Ranger finally hit home. He stopped struggling, tipping his head back against my shoulder. Our wrestling match turned into a hug because, fuckme, I understood. Sickening rage still blocked my throat. The need to end it all so strong I’d rather die right now in this moment than let Priest ride away. But it couldn’t happen. Not yet. We needed reinforcements and better intel.
We needed our brothers.
I released Ranger.
He rolled off me, sprawling on the wet ground, catching his breath. “Sorry.”
I knocked a fist to his bicep. “No need.”
“Does your head hurt? Mine fucking does.”
Yup, but the dull throb was a distant nuisance compared to a deeper pain.
I sat up, resting my forearms on my knees. I wanted a cigarette but couldn’t find the wherewithal to reach for them.
Saint helped me out, raiding my pockets and jamming a Mayfair Light into my mouth.
He did the same for Ranger and produced a lighter from his pocket of tricks.
We smoked.
He watched.
