“Got it.” He came over and Quinn moved to one side. Fighter sat Skinny up and grabbed his knife from the sheath at his waist before shoving the handle between Skinny’s teeth.
Skinny looked at me and nodded, his eyes wide, and I used my knife to cut into the bullet hole, digging around as Skinny screamed and fought against Fighter’s grip until he passed out. I felt the tip of my knife hit the bullet and I dug in a little deeper, trying to see past the blood that poured from him.
Quinn stood over me and doused the wound with the water from the tap, and I could finally see the bullet enough to get the edge of my blade underneath it and drag it out of his chest.
Blood oozed from the wound and I dropped my knife and grabbed the needle and thread and started to stitch him back up, praying like hell that he’d be okay.
*
Quinn hadn’t stopped staring at me for a full fifteen minutes, her expression a mix of worry and shock. I knew that I must have looked like something out of a horror movie—blood soaking my clothes, blood splatters on my face and hair, and my arms were drenched in a mix of Skinny and Ripped’s blood. She wanted to ask what had happened but also didn’t want to know, and I wasn’t sure how to tell her what had happened without scaring the shit out of her.
“House and street are clear,” Fighter said, coming back inside. He looked between Quinn and me, sensing the weird mood between us. He walked toward Quinn, blocking her view of me, and she did a double take at his proximity.
“Did you see who it was?” he asked.
She stared at him before slowly shaking her head. “No, it all happened so fast,” she said in a quiet whisper. Her eyes found mine over the top of Fighter’s shoulder.
Fighter turned to me. “I called Gauge and told him what happened, but he said he didn’t tell anyone. He’s looking into who could have known we were here. I guess Ripped’s men could have followed them.”
“Skinny would have been careful,” I growled out, my throat feeling raw.
Fighter nodded in agreement. He glanced over to where Skinny was still passed out. Since he’d stopped bleeding, we’d carried him to the small sofa in the living room after stitching him up and wrapping his wounds. He was alive and his pulse still felt strong, but he’d lost a shitload of blood. We needed to get him back to the clubhouse but were afraid to move him.
“Gauge has some prospects on their way to us. Bringing a cage to transport him back.” Fighter lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke heavily. “This whole fucking night is fucked!” he gritted out.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn said immediately. “I never wanted anyone to get hurt.”
Fighter turned and looked at her and I watched, ready to jump up and rip his fucking head off if he blamed her in any way for this shitstorm. It wasn’t her doing, it was Ripped’s. It was the club’s. It was Hardy’s for not having my back. But mostly it was mine for wanting what I couldn’t have and not being able to keep my hands to myself.
Fighter walked toward Quinn and I tensed, the chair underneath me feeling nonexistent as I slowly stood up, wary of what he was going to do. But when he reached her he leaned over and dragged her to his chest, pulling her into his arms.
“Ain’t nothing for you to be sorry about, darlin’,” he said gruffly. He held her tighter as she cried against his chest, and jealousy surged inside me because I wished it were me that she was crying on, and not him.
Fighter finally pulled her from his chest. “That’s it now. You don’t cry again for this shit, you hear me?”
She nodded.
“Your man over there just went through hell for you.” He nodded his head to me and Quinn looked over.
She pulled away from Fighter and took cautious steps toward me, her gaze roving over my bloody body and clothes. She stopped in front of me, her arms wrapped around her body.
“That’s not yours, is it?” she said quietly, and I heard Fighter scoff behind her.
“I’d be dead if it were,” I replied, and she nodded.
“Was it…”
“Quick?” I finished for her, and she nodded. “No,” I said with a shake of my head. “It was anything but quick.”
Her chin trembled and tears spilled from her eyes.
“I tried,” I replied honestly. “I tried to end it but—”
“I know,” she interrupted. “I know what he’s like. What he was like.” She frowned and looked down at the ground before reaching up and swiping at the tears on her cheeks. She looked back up at me. “So it’s over?”
“Yeah, Q, it’s over.”
She looked scared, anxious of what that would mean, and then she threw herself at me, her body colliding with mine as she reached up and took hold of my face. She stood on her tiptoes and I leaned down so she could reach my mouth, and then we kissed like it was the first time for us all over again.
