Page 42 of Coveted By Cupid

Something inside me goes haywire, red filling my vision and my veins coming to the surface of my skin, thrumming like a heartbeat. I’ve felt rage before, but nothing of this magnitude. Seeing the woman who has captured my mind, body, and soul sprawled out on the cold cement road and possibly hurt has me wanting to do bodily harm to the man advancing on her.

The perpetrator limps along, closing in on Vanessa…

Not a chance in hell.

The thug is too focused on my woman to realize I’m running him down until I’m already on top of him. I skid around him on my bike, leaving tire marks on the pavement and a thick cloud of exhaust. The smell of burning rubber penetrates the air as I circle him and Vanessa on my hog, again and again, hoping to disorient the fucker and distract him from Vanessa.

The guy appears startled, his eyes bulging with shock beneath his balaclava. He spins in a circle on his heels, following me on my bike. Judging by the growing look of concern in his eyes, he’s probably freaked out by who I am and what I’m doing.

As he should be. Nobody touches what’s mine and goes unpunished.

And Vanessa is definitely mine.

When I finally come to a screeching halt, I’m off my bike and on him faster than he can blink. My hand fists around the collar of his shirt while my other fist swings forward to punch him square in the face.

“You think you can take my woman, do you?” I roar in his face before I punch him again, harder. The guy drops like a sack of potatoes, unmoving.

The van nearby fires to life, it’s headlights blinding me from seeing who’s behind the wheel. A man holding his masked face as if he’s afraid it might fall off takes a running leap into the open side door of the van before it takes off down the road.

“FUCK!” I shout, fisting my hair and pissed that the others got away from me.

“Cupid?” Vanessa whispers weakly from where she lies on the ground.

Worried, I go to her, kneeling in front of her. I tenderly brush her hair away from her face, afraid to touch her when I’m not sure where she might be injured. “I’m here, Psyche, and I won’t let anything happen to you. Tell me what hurts.”

“M—My head,” she says, wincing. “I hit him.”

The assailant who jumped into the van holding his face comes to mind. “Are you telling me you hit the fucker with your head?!”

“Twice.” She moans, closing her eyes.

My fingers flutter over her face anxiously. She may have a head injury. “No, no, no, Vanessa. Stay awake. I need you to stay awake until Scalpel examines you.”

Vanessa frowns, her eyes remaining closed. “Who’s Scalpel?”

“My club’s medic,” I say evenly, fighting to keep my anxiety from coming to the surface. I don’t want to alarm her, but the goose egg on her forehead doesn’t look good. She needs to be seen by a health professional—stat.

I yank my cell from my cut, calling Oaks.

He answers on the first ring. “Why are you calling me when you’re with your woman?”

“Oaks, I need you and Scalpel to come to Fort Collins—NOW! Bring a good handful of our crew, too. No cuts. No hogs. Tell Crypt he can drive my truck. But I need you here as fast as you can.”

I ramble off Vanessa’s address, looking around the deserted street to see if anyone in the area overheard the commotion. All the windows are dark or have closed curtains. It’s at least one thing I don’t need to worry about.

Oaks must hear the worry in my tone. “What’s going on?”

“Vanessa was almost abducted. I have one asshole knocked out, but the others got away. She’s hurt—a head injury. I need Scalpel.”

“Holy shit! Okay, I’m rounding up the guys.” He yells to the surrounding men at Whiskey Wheelers to get in the trucks we keep on-site for smuggling operations.

“I want this sick fuck brought back to Loveland for questioning,” I hiss down the line to Oaks, moving away from Vanessa to avoid her hearing what I say next. “I also need Vanessa’s apartment cleared out. It isn’t safe anymore—the traffickers likely know where she lives and I’m not leaving her as sitting bait in an apartment with shitty security.”

Truck doors slam on the other end of the line as Oaks and our crew head to Fort Collins. “Understood. Are you moving her in with you, or are we putting her in a safe-house?”

“Mine,” I say without hesitation. “I want her entire apartment packed and hauled tonight. Her space is small—it won’t take long to move everything. But leave the couch. She hates that thing.”

“Okay, we’re en route. We’ll be there soon.”