Shadow's eyes are still on me, and I can see him trying to figure me out. Trying to understand why I'm being such a bitch when he literally just took a bullet for us.
The truth is, I don't understand it either.
All I know is that the anger is the only thing keeping me together right now. If I let go of it, if I let myself feel grateful or relieved or any of the other emotions that are threatening to break through, I'll shatter into a million pieces.
And I can't afford to shatter.
Not again.
"You're welcome," Shadow says quietly, and then he closes his eyes again.
Chaos shoots me a look that's somewhere between confused and pissed off, but he doesn't say anything. Just keeps pressure on Shadow's wound and mutters something under his breath that I can't quite hear.
The other women have stopped crying, but they're still huddled together, seeking comfort in each other's presence. I stay where I am, pressed against the cold metal wall, watching Shadow's chest rise and fall with each breath.
Watching the blood seep through Chaos's makeshift bandage.
Watching and hating myself for caring.
Chapter 3 - Shadow
The pain in my shoulder is a dull throb that radiates down my arm with every bump in the road. I've been shot before. Twice in Afghanistan, once during a bar fight gone wrong in my early days with the club. This isn't the worst wound I've taken.
But it might be the stupidest.
I didn't think. Didn't calculate the risk versus reward. I just saw Vulture raising that gun toward the van, saw Rachel sitting closest to the door, and my body moved before my brain could catch up.
Fucking idiot.
"You good, man?" Chaos asks, pressing harder against my shoulder. He has good instincts, even if he talks too much.
"Fine," I grit out, keeping my eyes closed so I don't have to see everyone staring at me.
So I don't have to see her staring at me.
*You shouldn't have. We're not worth it.*
Rachel's words echo in my head, and I can't figure out why they're bothering me so much. She's right. She doesn't know me, doesn't owe me anything, and has every reason to be suspicious of bikers after what the Iron Eagles did to her.
But there was something in her voice. Something broken and bitter that went beyond simple distrust.
Like she genuinely believes she's not worth saving.
I know that feeling. Lived with it for years after I left Jamie's body behind in that cave, after I chose the mission over my brother. The military gave me a medal for completing theobjective. Told me I made the right call. They didn't understand that some choices can be right and wrong at the same time.
"We're almost there," Tank calls from the driver's seat.
He's worried, even if he won't show it. Tank doesn't do emotions well, too much time spent as a cop, then as a soldier, learning to shut down everything human in order to survive.
I understand that too.
The van turns sharply, and I can't stop the grunt of pain that escapes. Chaos mutters an apology and adjusts his grip, trying to keep pressure steady despite the movement.
"Seriously, man," he says quietly, leaning closer so only I can hear. "What the fuck were you thinking? You could've taken cover and shot Vulture before he fired."
"Wasn't thinking," I admit. "Just reacting."
"Yeah, well, next time react by not getting shot."
