They shook hands and Fighter held my gaze, giving me a nod and turning to leave.
I wasn’t sure if he was telling me that he didn’t hate me for everything, or if he was letting me know that he’d keep Battle safe and bring him back to me, but either way I was grateful for him being there. For keeping Skinny and I safe but also for being by Battle’s side through it all.
“Hold on tight,” Skinny said, and I wrapped my arms around his waist and held on tightly as he turned the bike and headed back down the street, away from the clubhouse. I wondered where we were going but didn’t bother to ask. I put my trust in Skinny because Battle obviously had. And Battle wouldn’t trust just anyone to keep me safe.
We drove for twenty minutes or so until he started to pull off down a small street. I watched the houses pass us as Skinny slowed the bike down. I tensed, knowing we weren’t nearly as far away from the Burning Eights clubhouse as I wanted to be.
“Staying here until Battle comes and then a truck’s coming to take you all outta here,” he said, turning his head to one side so I could hear him.
“Okay,” I called back to him, and loosened my grip.
He pulled onto the drive at the front of the house, looking sideways at the bike next to us. The lights were on inside the house and I started to shift so I could get off the bike when Skinny grabbed my arm.
“Wait,” he grunted, his head turning from side to side as he looked from the bike to the house and back again. “Something isn’t right.”
The moment slowed to a crawl. Time ticked by so slowly that I swore I could see a moth’s wings beating as it passed me.
The door to the house opened, the light almost blinding as it filtered out into the darkness, and I squinted as a shadow filled the space of the doorway.
“Fuck,” Skinny said.
“Who is it?” I asked, petrified.
“Well, it ain’t a welcome home party,” he replied as the shadow raised its arm and a gun rang out.
Skinny’s body jerked and then he pushed me backwards off the bike as he took another bullet. “Get down!” he yelled with a grimace as he fell from the bike.
I scuttled backwards into the dark of the bushes, but there was nowhere to go, no way I could escape. I watched as the shadow towered aver Skinny and fired the gun again, the small blast from the gun illuminating the face of the shooter.
He looked over at me, his hard eyes finding mine. “You’ve caused me a lot of fuckin’ trouble, bitch.”
I recognized him immediately—the voice, the face, and the arm that now held a gun pointed at me. My whole body was trembling, shivering from top to toe, so much so that I wasn’t sure I could fire the gun in my hand as he stalked toward me.
“Can’t see what all the fuss is about, if I’m honest,” he grunted, looking me over. “But maybe I should find out before I kill you.”
“You can try,” I replied, and squeezed the trigger.
~ 25 ~
Battle
“Where is he?” I growled out, my gun aimed at Lincoln’s temple.
The music was still blaring but the clubhouse had come to a standstill, and not a man, or woman, moved.
The door to Ripped’s office opened and he stumbled out, closely followed by a woman who was still putting her tits away. Ripped was swaying and his shoulder made contact with the doorframe.
“Fuck!” he hollered, looking up and seeing the entire clubhouse staring at him. “What the fuck are you all looking at?”
His gaze roamed over the men and women until it found Lincoln and me, just as the music cut off abruptly. A sneer rose to Ripped’s face.
“You gonna shoot him, motherfucker?” he said with a laugh. “You coming into my house and putting a gun to one of my brother’s heads, thinking you can kill him? Me? And then take my woman?”
I didn’t speak. Instead I watched him, assessing the best possible way to do it. After I saw the sadness on Quinn’s face, I’d hoped to be able to talk some sense into him, try to convince him to let her go, but I could see now that that wasn’t an option.
“Say something, motherfucker!” Ripped bellowed.
The room was eerily quiet, all eyes moving between me and Ripped, though I was surprised no one had made a move on me yet. I wondered if they were as sick of his shit as I was.
