The customer spun around and started screaming. “You psycho freaks! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill youall!”
Fuck! It was the preacher from thecorner.
Before anybody could do anything, the preacher pulled a Glock out from beneath his jacket and began waving it around. Seconds later, the sound of a bullet leaving the chamber echoed around thegarage.
A pained sound behind him had Peter clenching his muscles to resist looking. He didn’t dare turn his back on the danger in front ofhim.
“You bastard.” Scott leapt over the counter using his wolf speed. He grabbed the customer by the throat and shook him. The Glock fell from his hand and clattered to the garage floor. The sound snapped Peter out of the shock over his mild-mannered employee taking out theshooter.
Peter spun around to find Quain lying on the floor. Blood spread across his shirt and continued to pool before Peter’s horrified gaze. “Quain!”
His mate didn’t stir. “Callen call Anthony!” he shouted. The Alpha Mate could save Quain if anyone could. None of the men in the garage was a skilled healer. Peter’s fingers shook as he ripped Quain’s shirt apart to expose the wound. The garment Quain had borrowed just an hour before now lay in bloody rags around him. “Hang on, babe. Help iscoming.”
Quain’s eyelashes fluttered, but he didn’tspeak.
Peter continued muttering what he hoped were soothing words, but Quain didn’t respond; even his hand lay lax in Peter’sgrip.
“I’m on it.” Callen yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and quicklydialed.
Peter didn’t pay attention to what he said, more focused on stopping the bleeding from Quain’s oozing wound. Most shifters healed quickly, but the danger of healing over a bullet could cause other issues. A careful, quick lift of Quain’s torso revealed there wasn’t an exitwound.
“I’ll be fine,” Quain whispered. Pain-etched wrinkles marred his forehead. “If you stop moving mearound.”
Peter growled out his frustration. “I had to see if the bullet was still inside you. Why didn’t you duck? You had enough time to warn me. You should’ve followed your own advice.” Peter rambled as he pressed scraps of his shirt to his mate’swound.
Quain cupped Peter’s cheek with a bloody hand. “If I had, it would’ve ricocheted off the scrap metal over there and hit you in theback.”
“You getting injured isn’t any better.” His inner wolf wanted to rip the attacker to pieces, but first he had to make sure his mate would survive his injuries. Vengeance would comelater.
The bullet wound bled sluggishly. He pressed the remnants of Quain’s shirt against the hole, trying to stop theflow.
“I could heal that,” Quaincomplained.
“No. Don’t shift. We still need to get the metalout.”
“What happened?” Anthony appeared out of nowhere. Silver stood beside him, gripping his mate’sshoulder.
“Quain was shot.” Peter didn’t waste time on niceties, not when a bullet remained embedded in hismate.
“Who shot him?” Silver asked, a frown marring his handsomeface.
“That guy over there. I think he’s the preacher from the corner.” Peter still couldn’t understand how the man had gone from waving a sign and screaming at pedestrians, to bringing guns into his garage and shooting up the place. It didn’t seem a natural transition, but maybe he couldn’t handle all the hate burdening hissoul.
Anthony crouched down beside them. He placed his right hand against the spot of Quain’s wound. A white glow shone beneath his palm. Quain sucked in abreath.
“Does it hurt?” Peter asked inconcern.
“No. It just feels weird.” Quain tried to smile but didn’t quite pull itoff.
“Stay still a few seconds more,” Anthony urged. “I’m trying to disintegrate the bullet. The wound has mostly healed on its own, but if the bullet stays there, it could cause other issues lateron.”
Silver remained silent. He probably knew not to distract hismate.
“Thank you.” Quain’s smilebrightened.
Peter twitched, itching to take some kind of action. “I’m going to go check on your attacker. Listen to Anthony.” If Quain got up too soon, he could cause moreproblems.
“Do you have a place for him to rest for a little while?” Anthony asked over Quain’s mutteredobjections.
