Flying into my arms.
Clinging to me.
My arms tightened around her, probably squeezing too tightly, but I couldn’t bring myself to loosen my hold.
Not even as the gunshots rang out in the clubhouse, making Dylan jerk and stiffen.
The silence that followed had my gut twisting.
Until, suddenly, Saint’s voice moved into the doorway and called out, “Clear!”
He was probably talking to his brother, the two of them doing a sweep to make sure no one slipped through our fingers.
“We’re gonna need Dylan,” Saint said, catching my eye. “The girls,” he added, his voice lower.
A pained sound escaped her at that, and I held on a little tighter for a second.
“Are you okay? Hurt?” I asked.
“Bruised, mostly,” she admitted, finally pulling against my hold until I had no choice but to let her go. “You’re bleeding. You’re bleeding a lot,” she said, grabbing at my shirtsleeve and yanking it up. “Oh, my God. Are you shot? You’re shot.”
“Grazed,” I clarified.
“It’s not bleeding like it’s a graze,” she said, reaching down to grab her tee and yanking it up over her head. “Don’t,” she said when an uncontrollable rumble moved through me at seeing her in that lacy black bra of hers. “I’m trying to stop the bleeding, idiot,” she told me, pressing the shirt hard into my arm.
A hiss escaped me at that, but if she wanted to take care of me, I was going to let her.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Your knuckles are all busted open.”
“They’re fine.”
“And your face.”
“Fine too. Everything is fine if you’re alright.”
“This is not the time for being sweet,” she said, rolling her eyes at me. “Hold this,” she demanded, pressing my arm harder.
Deciding to placate her, I reached across my chest to hold the shirt to my arm. Only to have her yank up my shirt.
“Weird time to wanna fuck, but I can rally,” I said, making a pained laugh escape her as she pressed her hand to my ribs.
A curse escaped me at the sharp pain that shot up my side.
“Can you take a deep breath?” she asked.
“It’s—”
“I swear to God, if you say it’s fine one more time, I’m going to beat you up myself.”
My lips curved up at that. “I think they’re just bruised. I’m not short of breath. Got a lot of muscle protecting me from too much damage.”
“Is he okay?” Saint asked, returning, a phone pressed to his ear.
It was time to stop pretending I was taking the lead on any part of this job. Saint was the more natural leader. Besides, I was happy to hand over the reins. I’d rather focus on Dylan.
