Page 34 of Bram

I went to her. I was careful where I put my feet, and even more careful not to spook her or the girl. Julie’s head came up, her eyes clearing fast, and for half a second she looked ready to take my windpipe out with the bare edge of her hand. Then she saw me, really saw, and her face broke—not into relief, but into the old blank, the one she’d used as a lawyer and had to face men like me.

I squatted in front of her, kept my hands where she could see them. She was so close I could smell the blood on her breath, could see how every inch of her body was braced for the wrong move. I lowered my voice to something even I could barely hear.

“Where are you hurt?” I asked.

Julie’s jaw clenched. She flicked her eyes at Emma, then back to me. “I’m fine,” she said. Her voice was a whisper, but it didn’t shake.

I let that hang. Then I reached out, slow as you’d unscrew a fuse, and put two fingers under her chin. The skin was warm, fevered, but not as bad as it looked. She tried to shrug me off, but I kept my hand there, anchoring her to the moment.

“No,” I said, quieter. “You’re not.”

“Don’t lecture me, counselor,” she said.

“She’s in shock. We need to get them out.”

Julie punched me in the shoulder. “It was a joke, asshole.”

“Not fucking funny. At all.”

Her lips parted, and I could see the flash of her tongue, red against the white. She was about to argue, then she realized I wasn’t in a joking mood. I checked her pulse at the jaw, looked for swelling along the ribs, got a finger under the edge of her sleeve to check if the arm was broken. It wasn’t, just ugly. The rest would wait.

“Emma, are you okay?” Behind me, I heard Rusty shift his boots on the concrete. He’d gone straight to Emma, knelt so he was eye-level, but not so close she had to touch him. He was as gentle as I’d ever seen. “I’m sorry, I should have protected you.” His voice cracked. Julie shook her head at me.

Emma turned her face, just enough to get an eye on the stranger, then back to Julie. She said nothing, but she nodded, sharply.

“I’m gonna pick your ass up,” I said to Julie.

“I’ll walk.”

“The fuck you will. Let me take care of you. Quit fighting me.”

I got my arm around Julie, under her shoulders, and started to help her up. She fought me at first, embarrassed or ashamed or just stubborn. I didn’t care. I used my size and her angle against the wall to lever her upright, then let her lean against my chest while her head spun.

“You smell like a biker,” she said.

“My new cologne. Just for you.”

She was lighter than she looked. I could have carried her out with one arm, but I used both.

Rusty did the same for Emma. He was quiet, but when he saw her face, the way her cheekbone cut sharp and the smudges under her eye, something snapped in him. His jaw set and he didn’t make a sound, but the way he wrapped his arm around the girl’s shoulders was as close to tenderness as he got.

“I’m gonna fucking kill that asshole,” he said. He looked at me. “He’s mine.”

Julie’s breath hitched as we left the room. She tried to push off, to walk on her own, but I didn’t let her. I adjusted her weight so she wouldn’t have to use her wrists. She looked up at me, lip starting to shake, and for a second, I thought she’d try to say something. She didn’t. She just let her head fall against my chest.

My soul was deflating, my heart swelling. Julie was one tough S.O.B. Then guilt set in once again. I should never have left her alone. I should have insisted she join me at the clubhouse, at least until her father was dead. But it wasn’t just her father I was going to fuck up; it was the entire club. I was going to go scorched earth on the assholes, leaving none of them alive. They’d never kill or hurt another woman. The Desert Scorpions were done.

We made it to the end of the hallway before she spoke. “Is Emma okay?”

I looked past her, at Rusty and the girl. “She’s okay,” I said. “They’re both okay.”

Julie nodded, but she didn’t relax. Not all the way. She was running something in her head, a checklist or a calculation. I recognized the look. I’d used it myself for years.

“He’s not going to stop. Not until we’re all dead.” She fought back the tears and looked up at me. “I won’t let him make me cry again,” she said. “Not ever.”

“You know what I have to do?” I said. “I can’t you, the club, or Barstow take his shit anymore. Just because he’s out doesn’t mean people have to flinch.”

She nodded and took a deep breath. “He’s putting the Desert Scorpions back together, calling in old favors. Other clubs are sending muscle to help him.”