Page 18 of Dark Savior

The fucking hospital.

I tried not to picture the worst-case scenarios, but it was damn near impossible not to. Because why the fuck would Rachel need a hospital unless it was really fucking bad? We didn’t go to the hospital over minor shit. I hadn’t even taken her when she’d clearly been suffering from a concussion.

I aimed my eyes on the road, inching the speedometer up higher to deadly speeds.

I had to fucking get to her. Because clearly, I was the only fucking person capable of protecting her. And right now, she was vulnerable as fuck and unable to protect herself.

I rushed through the emergency room doors, my gaze immediately homing in on Brittany. Her shirt was ruined, blood staining the fabric. Her jeans were splattered in mud, and her boots were coated in the dark substance. A smear of dirt was on her cheek, and her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed.

Nausea churned in my gut.

Please don’t let that be Rachel’s blood.

“Callan…” she breathed, rushing to me.

I crushed her in a hug, and she immediately dissolved into tears, her shoulders shaking with sobs. As if she’d been remaining strong until someone could come home and take the strain off her shoulders.

“Talk to me,” I rasped, gently easing her back some. “I’m going out of my fucking mind.”

She stepped back and brushed at a tear as it ran down her cheek. “Rachel had the shit beaten out of her before I got to her.” I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “The president of the Souls of Grim had her, and his sergeant at arms and his secretary were with him.” She swallowed thickly. “I only managed to incapacitate the SAA and the secretary. The prez got away. I tied them up and got Rachel to the hospital as fast as I fucking could. She was already unconscious, and her pulse was too slow. I didn’t have time to get them to the clubhouse. She needed immediate medical attention, or she wasn’t going to make it.”

I ran my hands down my face and tugged roughly at my beard, letting the pain settle me so I wouldn’t spiral out of control. I could find them again if they’d gotten away—no problem. Rachel was my only fucking concern.

“She’s in surgery.” Brittany swiped at her cheeks, smearing the dirt there. “Her spleen is ruptured. Her wrist is broken and has to be reset. She’s got some broken and cracked ribs. A severe concussion. And um…” She paused, drawing in a deep breath, then licked her lips and grabbed my hand in hers. “Rachel was in the very early stages of pregnancy.”

No.

Fuck no.

“She miscarried, Callan. And the damage done there is so bad… the doctor doesn’t think she’ll be able to carry more kids. They beat her nearly to death. We’re looking at a possible hysterectomy.”

I blinked. Blinked again. And then, I sagged heavily into a chair, my hands trembling. Brittany sat beside me, her hands still grasping mine. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

I shook my head, trying to resettle myself. I couldn’t bring back what we’d lost, but I sure as fuck could make someone pay. And I was going to. Vengeance would be mine.

“The two men,” I rumbled, looking at the club’s VP, “where are they?”

Brittany blew out a soft breath. “Carter said he was going to get them to the clubhouse if they’re still where I left them.”

“And Genesis?” I asked as I stood back to my feet.

Brittany tried to force a smile to her lips, but she couldn’t. It was rare to see Brittany, who was always so strong because her position called for it, splintering apart at the edges.

“Concussion. She lost a tooth when her mouth hit the steering wheel. Fracture around her right eye socket. Two broken fingers. Ruptured her spleen and fucked up her knee, but she’s okay otherwise.”

I nodded once. It was better than dead, I supposed. Fucking sucked we lost Henry. He hadn’t been the brightest tool in the shed, but he’d been loyal and eager to prospect.

“Call me when Rachel is out of surgery.”

She nodded once, and I could feel her eyes burning holes into my back as I walked back out of the hospital, an eerie calm settling over me where there’d just been burning anger and raw, searing loss.

These fuckers were going to pay for what they’d done to my fucking woman.

Carter shook his head when I walked in. “They were gone,” he told me when I stopped and stared at him, wondering what the hell he was doing at the bar instead of down in the basement.

I rolled my jaw around before stalking to the other side of the bar and pouring a shot, not bothering to say a word. I downed it before pouring another, throwing that one back, too. Then, I set the glass down loudly and flattened my hands on the countertop, staring down at my fingers. Brittany had done what she could, but she’d done right by choosing to save Rachel instead of getting those fuckers back to the clubhouse.

But fuck, I was so angry that I couldn’t beat the shit out of them. Couldn’t torture them. Cut them open and rupture their spleens like they’d done my woman. Couldn’t cut off their dicks like they’d taken a child from us—a child we hadn’t even had a fucking opportunity to find out about. Couldn’t rupture their insides like they’d done her, preventing her from possibly ever having children.