"Yeah, and I'm the fucking Pope. Move."
They start toward the van, and I realize with growing horror that Shadow is going to be in here with us. That I'm going to have to watch him bleed from a wound he got protecting us.
Protecting me.
Because I was sitting closest to the door. Because Vulture's bullet would have hit me first if Shadow hadn't moved. The thought makes my stomach twist.
Tank, the massive biker who looks like he could bench press a car, climbs into the driver's seat. The other women press themselves further back, giving him space. Giving all the bikers space, like they're wild animals that might attack if crowded.
Shadow is the last one in, half-carried by Chaos despite his protests. There's blood all over his shirt now, spreading in a dark stain. He shouldn't have done that. Shouldn't have put himself in danger for us. For me.
I'm not worth a bullet.
"Hang on," Tank says from the front, his voice surprisingly gentle for such a massive man. "We'll have you at Luna's in ten minutes."
The van lurches into motion, and Shadow grunts in pain as the movement jostles his shoulder. Chaos is pressing something—a wadded up shirt, maybe—against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding.
"You're a fucking idiot," Chaos mutters. "You know that, right?"
"Noted," Shadow says through clenched teeth.
His eyes are closed now, his face even paler than before. But his breathing is steady, controlled. Like he's done this before. Like getting shot is just another skill he's mastered.
I should look away. Should focus on literally anything else.
Instead, I find myself speaking.
"Why did you do that?"
My voice cuts through the crying and whispering, and suddenly everyone is looking at me. But I'm only looking at Shadow.
His eyes open, and those cold gray depths find mine across the van.
"Do what?" he asks, like he genuinely doesn't know what I'm talking about.
"Take a bullet for us. You said we were just a responsibility. That you weren't interested. So why throw yourself in front of a gun?"
"Because it's what you do," he says flatly. "You protect people who can't protect themselves."
"Even when they're just a responsibility?"
His jaw tightens. "Especially then."
It's not the answer I want. Not the answer I need.
Because if he did it out of duty, out of some misguided sense of obligation to his club president, then it means nothing. It's just more proof that I'm nothing more than a burden to be managed.
But if he did it because some part of him actually cares—
No. I can't go there. Can't let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, there's someone in this fucked up world who would take a bullet for me without expecting something in return.
That's how you get hurt. That's how you end up crying over a man who cheated on you with someone younger and prettier and less damaged.
"You shouldn't have," I say, and my voice comes out harder than I intended. "We're not worth it."
"Speak for yourself," Sarah snaps. "I'm grateful he saved our lives."
"He didn't save us. He just postponed whatever comes next."
