Sean yelled in horror at the splatter of blood and flesh pieces that decorated the spot where his friend once stood. The body fell straight forward in a gory mess of exposed bone and tissue. “Benny! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!”
Ear-piercing screams filled the air as the crowd of patrons ran in whatever direction they thought would take them away from the gun. Two women fell to the floor as a large man in a suit pushed them. Another man dove over a flimsy lobby chair and landed on his face. His nose crunched audibly, and he rolled onto his back, clutching it as blood ran between his fingers.
Quillon didn’t give a shit. His focus stayed solidly on Tracie, who was on her hands and knees as she tried to crawl away.
AR-man yelled and sent bursts of bullets into the air. More screams. More haphazard frantic movements. He expected the cops to raid the place at any moment, and they wouldn’t go lightly.
Quillon ran and threw himself on top of Tracie, lifting as he caught her. He flipped them both back behind the front counter, putting the heavy wood between them and the shooter. A burn sliced across his right calf as he made it over and twisted to take the impact of hitting the floor on himself. He rolled and pushed her beneath his large body for protection.
“Son of a bitch!” he growled, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“What happened?” her shaky voice asked beneath his ear.
“Grazed. Stay still, baby.”
The screams kept going, ones of pain and ones of fear. Sean yelled for Benny a few more times, then gave a hoarse cry that abruptly cut off.
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” she asked.
“Not if I can help it.”
He reached down his leg to check the wound. Not as bad as he thought, but it still hurt like a motherfucker. He ignored the pain as he supported himself on one cocked elbow and pressed into the bleeding as hard as he could stand it with the other hand.
She lay under him, the tips of her breasts brushing against his chest with every breath. Their legs tangled together, and he was sure he’d rucked her skirt up her thighs when he tackled her. Her glasses were gone, knocked off somewhere. Those beautiful eyes stared into his, and that gaze burned down to his toes.
She gasped and closed her eyes as another loud burst of automatic gunfire hit their ears, along with shattering glass and more cries.
Quillon strained what hearing he had left for the sounds of the cops. He’d expected them to invade once the bullets starting raining. His club brothers had no problem running into danger to protect anyone they cared about. Wolf, Baghouse, Camshaft, Melter, any of those guys would risk a bullet—or a hail of bullets—if it meant saving family.
Family. So much meaning behind that three-syllable word.
“Look at me, baby.”
She opened those gorgeous eyes to him. Flecks of gold floated in their chocolate depths. They were also wet again.
“Timing sucks, beautiful. I wanted to ask you out tonight and do this later, but circumstances as they are now? Please don’t hate me.”
He bent his head and took her mouth. She jumped at the contact, then opened to him, letting him in. She tasted like sugar and cinnamon, probably from the candies she kept at her station. He’d tossed a few in his own mouth from time to time on previous visits. He slanted and swept his tongue inside, taking them both deeper. He felt rather than heard her moan, and a thrill coursed through his body.
Fuck, I can’t believe I’m getting hard.
She actively took part in the kiss, biting at his lips and drawing them in. The noise continued around them, but for a moment, they escaped to their own place. It was crazy to be doing this while surrounded by extreme danger, but perhaps that was why they’d connected—this potent mix of fear and arousal. Whatever happened in the next minutes, this woman was his, and he would happily beat the shit out of anyone who tried to separate them.
He ended the kiss but kept his mouth close and hovering over hers.
“Quillon.” Her shaky whisper puffed against his lips, and her need was tangible.
“The next time you say my name, baby, it’ll be while I’m inside you, making you come.”
A tremendous explosion rocked the building, filling the lobby with acrid smoke. Quillon let go of his leg and pressed into Tracie, covering as much of her as he could. Debris rained down on them, and his ringing ears just barely detected the sounds he’d been waiting for. He lifted his head to spot a group of SWAT officers crowding through the lobby, barking orders no one could hear.
What was left of the lobby looked like a war zone. Some people sat on the floor with dazed expressions, clutching themselves, while others were laid out flat and moaning. A few didn’t move at all. Holes and gashes covered the walls. The generic town painting appeared ripped to shreds, and some of the furniture hadn’t fared well either.
Quillon coughed at the dust still floating in the air from where the cops breached the building. Sean was down on the ground, but from the condition of his head, he wasn’t breathing anymore. AR-man was fighting the three SWAT officers who had him pinned.
Quillon curled his lip. The jagoff ought to be damn glad it was the police who’d taken him into custody.
If it were me or any of the Iron City Knights, he wouldn’t be walking out of here.
