“On it,” Syn said, taking it and tucking it into his waistband before casually walking off.
There was a crunching, rolling sound, making us all turn to realize Jack had walked off only to come back with a large garbage bin.
“Should fit,” he said, shrugging.
“Dunno. He’s kinda big,” Saint said, eyeing Drake’s body with cold indifference.
“So we break his legs,” Hail, who I was starting to worry about, said.
Jack said nothing else, just turned and disappeared back into the motel.
Another moment later, several more of the bikers came around the building, taking in the scene as Saint and Hail shoved Drake’s body, head down, into the bin, leaving his legs hanging out in a way that was so movie-like comical that a strange snorting laugh escaped me.
“Raff,” Slash said, tossing a set of keys in our direction, making Raff snatch them out of the air. “Get Lula to the clubhouse for now.”
“On it,” Raff agreed, getting to his feet.
With his arm around me, I had no choice but to follow.
“It’s not fitting,” Slash said.
“Sure it is,” Hail said, followed by a loud crunching sound I could only assume was him breaking Drake’s leg. “See? Just a little… maneuvering,” he said with another loud crunch.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Raff
I was crossing the street to head back to the clubhouse, trying to convince myself to let her have her space, that pushing was only going to backfire, when I stopped, glanced over at the motel, and sighed.
“Fuck it.”
Then I started in that direction, deciding I’d given her enough space. I was done wondering, done hoping for the best. We were going to hash this shit out once and for all. And she was going to feel whatever way she wanted, make whatever choices she thought were best for her. And I was just going to have to fucking accept that. Case closed. No more ambiguity. No more uncertainty. No more crushing sensation in my chest.
There was something close to anger inside me as I rounded the back of the motel, knowing guests were notorious for taping down the door catch so it never locked like it was supposed to.
But all that anger evaporated the second I focused on the scene in front of me.
Lula on her hands and knees on the pavement with Drake behind her, suffocating her.
Then I watched in horror as Lula deliberately pulled up her arms and fell face-forward toward the ground.
I reached for my gun without thinking about the noise, about how many people might be inside the motel, about how close everything was in this main part of town to the police station.
All I cared about was getting that motherfucker off of Lula.
So I pulled the safety, aimed, and put an entire lifetime of target practice to good use.
After that, things moved fast until I had Lula safely nestled in Slash’s car and was driving carefully toward the clubhouse, not wanting to catch the attention of any cops who might be around.
Sure, we had some of them in our pockets. But it was a small force. And there were a frustrating number of them who had actual morals.
Lula was silent the whole ride and the walk up to the door of the clubhouse.
“Come on, baby. Sit on the couch and I’ll get the first aid kit.”
“Can we… can we go to your room?” she asked, sniffling.
“Of course,” I agreed, leading her to the freight elevator then down the hallway to my room.
