“Get the fucking med room ready!” Ghost shouts behind me, urgency lacing his voice.
The words snap everyone back into motion. Boots pound across the gravel, doors slam open, and someone yells for the medics. But I don’t stop moving.
Emma’s head rests against my shoulder, and I can feel the chill of her skin beneath the streaks of blood. Her lips are parted slightly, but her breathing is so faint that it feels like I’m holding a whisper.
“Stay with me, Trouble,” I whisper roughly, my throat tight with fear.
Her body doesn’t respond, doesn’t move.
“Come on, baby,” I murmur, brushing a blood-soaked strand of hair away from her face. “You fought too damn hard to quit now.”
As we reach the clubhouse doors, they swing wide open, brothers clearing a path instantly. Inside, the air is thick with whiskey, smoke, and engine grease, but tonight it’s layered with palpable tension.
Two men in cuts step forward immediately—Doc and Reaper, medics from one of the sister chapters. They stop short when they see her.
“Jesus Christ,” Doc mutters, disbelief etched on his face.
Reaper gestures sharply down the hallway. “Medical room. Now.”
I follow without hesitation, each step feeling too slow, too long. Emma’s blood drips onto the floor behind us, a macabre trail of desperation.
When we reach the med room, Reaper steps in front of me, blocking my path.
“Hawk,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I don’t stop. “I’ve got her.”
“Hawk.” His voice sharpens, authority cutting through my panic. “We need to take her.”
My grip instinctively tightens, the protective instinct surging within me.
“No.”
The word leaves my mouth low and dangerous. He doesn’t flinch.
“If you want her to live,” he says calmly, “you let us work.”
My chest feels like it’s collapsing inward. For a moment, I just stare down at Emma. Her face is bruised, her throat already darkening with ugly fingerprints. Blood covers her shirt, and her ribs rise weakly with each shallow breath.
My jaw clenches. Slowly… reluctantly… I lower her onto the table.
The second my arms release her, Doc and Reaper move in fast. One starts cutting through her shirt while the other checks her airway and pulse.
“Pulse weak,” Doc mutters, urgency creeping into his voice. “Possible rib fractures.”
“Severe bruising around the throat,” Reaper adds, his focus unwavering.
Their voices blur together in my ears, panic surging through me. My hands are shaking.
“Out,” Doc says without looking at me.
I don’t move.
“Hawk.”
Ghost appears beside me, his presence grounding. “Come on,” he murmurs, his voice low but firm.
My eyes stay locked on Emma. They place an oxygen mask over her face, and blood stains the white plastic instantly. My chest tightens painfully.
