“Nowhere yet. I was getting changed then getting in my car to track down these idiots. If I need somewhere to crash after that until I’m sure the cops aren’t after me, I have somewhere. But I needed some of my shit.”
“Alright. But doesn’t it make more sense to have help to find them? They outnumber you.”
“Trust me, I can take them.”
“And if someone else is involved in this now? Can you take them too?”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
“Noa, come the fuck on. Don’t be stubborn for the sake of being stubborn. We are all on the same team here. We should be working together.”
“I’m not on any team. I work alone.”
“Normally, yeah, but right now, this is something that involves all of us.”
“I will keep Zayn abreast of any updates. But I don’t need a half a dozen bikers tailing along while I’m trying to work. Not to be rude, but you stick out like a sore thumb. I’m sure the rest of your club brothers do as well. This needs to be done under the radar.”
“I’m not sure that’s an option.”
“So much for niceties, huh?”
“Still being… hold up,” I said when my phone vibrated in my pocket. “Just reaching for my phone,” I said when her posture stiffened.
She took a few steps to the side, watching my hand as it slid into my pocket, and only relaxing when she saw it was what I said it was.
“What’s up?” I asked after hitting the call.
“A car has been down this street three times. Could be nothing, but—”
But chances were, with all this shit going down, it wasn’t.
“Get out of here,” I demanded.
“I can—”
“Now, Dixon,” I demanded.
I moved toward the window, but I heard his bike rumble to life and pull off.
Not two seconds later, there were tires screeching.
And the first bullet ripped through the window.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Noa
I was too far to hear the other side of the conversation on the phone, but everything about the way Caymen stiffened and his tone went sharp had my stomach tensing.
“Down!” Caymen yelled.
But before I could even move, he was throwing himself at me, taking me down to the ground as the bullets ripped through my apartment.
His hand had grabbed my wrist on the way down, holding it up above my head so I didn’t accidentally shoot him on impact.
My fingers automatically loosened and dropped it, though, at the adrenaline surging through me, the sound of glass breaking, of bullets lodging in the wall, in my solid wood headboard, and—I suspected—my laptop, if the crashing sound was anything to go by.
Caymen curled more tightly around me, his face pressing to the top of my head, his arms caging in my sides.
