Page 2 of Irresistibly Wicked

Zander grinned. Like their grandfather, their father had a serious sweet tooth. A few Boston cream doughnuts, combined with Zander’s ability to charm his way out of any situation, would help take the edge off their father’s irritation. “Thanks for the save, man. See you soon.”

He ended the call as he drove through an intersection, and never saw the silver pickup barreling through the red light until it was too late.

“WHERE’S THE FUCKING money, Shauna?” Brian hollered through the phone. “I can’t show up empty-handed.”

Shauna Flores bristled against the attack from her childhood-best-friend-turned-boyfriend-turned-roommate, gripping the steering wheel tighter despite being stopped at a traffic light. They had a long history of partying together to escape their volatile home lives, a pattern they’d carried forward for too many years, but they’d worked hard and had fought their way out of that mess. She’d thought for good. They’d both been sober for three and a half years, but Brian had fallen off the wagon a few weeks ago when shit had gone down at work and he lost his job. She knew what it took to fight addiction, and she was trying to be supportive rather than judgmental, but she was almost a year into her career as an EMT, and she was never going back to that destructive lifestyle.

“I told you I don’t think you should go to that party. I don’t care what John says. You know he’s still using, and you shouldn’t be around him. Especially no—” She gasped in horror as a silver pickup plowed into the side of a car in a horrifying collision of crushing metal and shattering glass in the middle of the intersection, sending the car careening on two wheels off the road and flipping as it rolled down the embankment.

As an EMT, instinct had her ending the call with Brian and calling 911 as she grabbed her seatbelt cutter from the glove pocket on the door and flew out of her car to get her first aid kit and crowbar from the trunk. Tires screeched as the truck fled the scene, and she sprinted across the debris-covered road toward the gully.

Thick, dark smoke billowed from the engine of the upside-down car, which was leaning toward the crushed passenger side, one tire spinning. Her heart thundered as she ran down the hill, scanning the surrounding area for bodies, but there was only debris.

She ran to the driver’s side, needing to get the people out before the car caught fire. The window was shattered, the airbag blocking her view. She heard moaning coming from inside.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” she shouted, working fast to clear away the glass from the window with her winter gloves.

“Yes!” a panicked male voice answered as she tore off her gloves, catching sight of the lucky number four tattooed on her left hand between her thumb and index finger.

If ever she needed luck, it was now. She cut away the airbag using the seatbelt cutter, and the driver came into view, hanging upside down, trapped by the seatbelt, a piece of metal lodged in his side. She did a quick visual assessment. Male, thirtyish, lacerations on his face, bleeding from his head and his left side. She tore away the airbag and looked for passengers, but didn’t see anyone else in the vehicle. “I’m Shauna. I’m an EMT, and I’m going to get you out of here. What’s your name?”

“There’s smoke!” Struggling against the seatbelt, his eyes wide with panic, he shouted, “Get me out!”

She was working on it. He was a big man, and it would be nearly impossible to get him out the window safely with that metal in his side. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out. Can you tell me your name?” She’d have to pry the door open.

Fighting against the seatbelt, he yelled, “I don’t…help me!”

She grabbed the crowbar and got to work, trying to pry the door open. “I need you to stay as still as you can while I get this door open. What’s your name?”

“Zeke,” he said as she fought with all her might to open the door.

She’d traded lifting bottles for lifting weights and, more recently, had added pole-dancing classes to mix things up. Both of which gave her killer upper-body strength.

Zeke flailed, panicking and rambling incoherently as she fought to get the door open. She urged him to stay calm, but he continued fighting, and just as the door gave way, he went limp. Fuck. The smoke thickened.

“Zeke, can you hear me?” She needed to get him talking, conscious, and out of the vehicle. “Zeke!”

His eyes fluttered open as she grabbed the cutting tool for the seatbelt.

“That’s it. What’s your last name?” His eyes closed again. “Zeke, stay with me. Can you tell me your last name?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came.

Between the shock and his head trauma, she wasn’t surprised by his inability to speak, but she didn’t like it. “I’m going to cut the seatbelt and get you out of here. I’m sorry, but it’s probably going to hurt.” Stabilizing his head and shoulders as best she could, she cut the seatbelt and used all her strength to drag him out of the car.

He cried out in pain as his body hit the ground, but getting him farther away from the vehicle was imperative. She dragged him a few feet, slipping under his weight, causing another anguished cry. Flames ignited from the hood of the car, and Shauna dug the heels of her boots into the dirt, dragging him a safe distance from the wreckage.

He was shivering as she laid him in the grass, that freaking metal sticking out of his left side. Worried about hypothermia, she shrugged off her coat and placed it over his right side, quickly checking for a medical alert bracelet or necklace. “I need to get my first aid kit. Try not to move.”

She sprinted back to the mangled car and peered inside to make sure she hadn’t missed any other passengers. It was empty, except for a shattered guitar and a leather vest. She snagged the vest to put over him.

Rushing back, she shook out the vest to rid it of glass and laid it over him, taking in the Dark Knights patch above a skull with dark eyes, sharp brows, and a mouth full of jagged fangs, with a Bayside Chapter patch beneath it. She didn’t know much about the Dark Knights, but she knew they were an important part of the community, and they held all types of charity events.

“You’re lucky you weren’t on your motorcycle,” she said as she put on sterile gloves from the first aid kit and withdrew the scissors.

He mumbled incoherently as she cut his T-shirt away from the metal and opened a package of gauze. “Zeke, do you know what day it is?” she asked as she used the gauze to try to stop the bleeding and stabilize the metal in his side.

He slurred a response.