“Emma!” I roar, the sound reverberating through the house.
Silence. Too much silence.
We move fast, clearing the living room. Ghost checks the hallway while Riot heads toward the back. I step into the kitchen, and the world around me freezes.
Blood. So much fucking blood.
It’s everywhere—across the floor, splattered on the cabinets, pooling around an overturned table. My brain stutters, trying to process the horrific scene before me.
Then I see her.
Emma is lying on the kitchen floor, completely still. Blood covers her body, her hair, her clothes. For one horrifying second, I think she’s dead.
“No.”
The word tears from my throat, raw and desperate.
My gun clatters to the floor as I sprint across the kitchen, adrenaline flooding my veins. “Emma!” I shout, dropping to my knees beside her, the pain shooting up my legs barely registering.
Her skin is pale—too pale. Blood coats her hair, her clothes, her hands. The floor around her looks like a scene from a nightmare, and I can’t breathe. My hands shake as I grab her shoulders, trying to rouse her.
“Emma!”
Her head lolls slightly, but there’s no response. My heart races, and panic surges through me.
“No, no, no, no—” This can’t be happening. If I’d just answered her calls…
My vision blurs as tears threaten to spill. “Emma!” I shout again, my voice breaking under the weight of fear that threatens to consume me.
I press my fingers against her neck, searching, praying for any sign of life.
Then—there. A pulse. Weak, but there.
Air rushes out of my lungs in a ragged breath. “She’s alive,” I choke out, relief flooding my system, but I can’t let myself relax yet.
Behind me, the guys start moving faster, urgency in their actions. Ghost is already on the phone. “Yeah,” he says sharply. “We need cleaners and backup at Hawk’s place.”
A pause. “And get the fucking doctor ready at the clubhouse.”
Riot curses quietly as he glances around the kitchen, taking in the horror. “This is a fucking massacre.”
Diesel kneels near the dead man sprawled across the floor. “Guy’s dead.”
I don’t even look at him. I don’t care. All I see is Emma, her breathing growing weaker against my arm.
“Emma,” I whisper urgently, cradling her head in my hands. “Stay with me, baby.”
Her fingers twitch slightly against my shirt, a faint sign of life. Then suddenly—her body goes limp. Her eyes close.
“Emma?” Panic surges through me.
“Emma!” I shake her gently, desperation clawing at my insides.
Nothing.
“No—”
Ghost kneels beside me quickly, pressing his fingers to her neck. “She’s still got a pulse,” he says, relief mixing with urgency in his tone. “It’s weak, but it’s there.”
