“Where…” I cough violently before forcing the rest out. “Where is everyone?”
“Running,” he pants.
And then I hear it.
Shouting. Doors slamming somewhere down the row of houses.
“Everyone, hurry the fuck up,” I hear Max yell.
Patch’s grip tightens around my legs.
“Hold on,” he mutters.
A sharp whip of sound cracks through the air.
Patch jerks sideways, slamming both of us into the side of the clubhouse we almost made it inside of. We hit the ground hard, my shoulder bouncing off the packed dirt as his body falls next to mine.
For one frozen second, my heart simply stops.
And suddenly, the quiet compound I’ve lived in for years feels like a battlefield.
Men pour out of the clubhouse like a swarm of hornets, guns already drawn as they fan out across the yard. Boots pound against gravel.
I push up on shaking arms.
“Patch.”
The moment I try to stand, another crack splits the night, and my leg collapses beneath me.
“Don’t fucking move,” Patch grunts beside me.
His voice is tight. Strained.
“Damnit all to hell, that fucking hurt.”
I blink at him.
Patch never curses.
The absurdity of it hits me, and a wheezing laugh escapes my throat even though everything around us screams danger.
“I think,” I cough, my voice barely there, “that’s the first time I’ve heard you swear.”
Patch glares at me through the darkness.
“This ain’t the time, Abby.”
“I got Abby. You get Patch,” Max says, suddenly appearing above us.
Before I can protest, his arms scoop me up like I weigh nothing.
“I got myself,” Patch snaps. “It’s just a graze.”
He jumps to his feet like a man who absolutely didnotjust take a bullet hit.
“Get her inside. Now.”
Another shout echoes from somewhere near the outer fence.
