Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
But her hand flew up, reaching blindly for it.
“Courtney, let this guy in,” I said as soon as I saw her put the receiver to her ear. “He can keep you safe.”
“What the fuck is going on, Bonnie?” Courtney asked, her voice tight, but she was crawling from behind the desk to unlock the door.
“I will explain… later, okay? I have to get Sully to the doctor,” I added, adjusting the seat so I could reach the pedal. As soon as I could, I threw the car into reverse and actually peeled out of the lot.
I’d always been a cautious driver.
Fine.
An overly cautious one.
Someone who triple-checked before they pulled out into traffic.
I braked on yellow.
I counted to five at stop signs.
But the tires literally squealed as I flew out of the lot. A car laid on its horn, but I was too busy trying to concentrate on breathing so my vision didn’t go all hazy with my panic as I drove.
It was just all of two minutes away.
It was going to be okay.
“You’re really fucking hot right now,” Sully said, leaning between the seats.
“What are you doing? Sit back! You’re bleeding.”
“That’s it,” he said, and I could hear the smile on his face. “Boss me around, baby. I might be into that.”
“Stop,” I said, but a strange, hysterical little laugh escaped me. “Put pressure on your wound,” I demanded.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, leaning backward.
“How are we going to get in the gates?” I asked, flying through a yellow light.
“They’ll be waiting,” he assured me. “Just drive right into the garage. It’s almost over.”
Almost over?
He was shot.
“Shouldn’t we be going to the hospital?” I asked.
“It’s not that bad.”
“But it still needs to be treated.”
“Remember how we didn’t call the cops with that little bomb situation?” he asked.
That little bomb situation.
I would have laughed if I weren’t so worried.
“Yeah.”
“Well, we don’t do hospitals unless we’re dying. They have to report it,” he explained as I rolled right through the stop sign at the corner leading to the clubhouse.
Sully was right.
I could see several of the men already waiting, automatic guns strapped to their chests. The gate was wide open, and I whipped right through it, only hitting the brake when I was rounding the garage.
More bikers were ready and waiting inside the garage.
I barely put the SUV in park before the doors were flying open and men were pulling Sully out.
“Wait. Wait,” Sully snarled. “Bonnie…” he tried as the men pushed him toward the interior door.
“We got her,” one of the men said.
We were safe.
He was going to get taken care of.
It was okay.
The adrenaline that had been eaten up with purpose just moments before kept surging through my body. Without an outlet, my body started to shake. My palms grew sweaty even as a chill moved through me.
My heartbeat punched against my ribcage. A hand closed around my throat, around my chest, tightening with each passing second, making it hard to breathe.
My door pulled open, but I couldn’t even force myself to turn to see who was there.
Until, suddenly, a paw swiped at me, catching my focus.
Sure enough, there was Zima, making little whimpering sounds. Like she knew I was struggling, like she was upset about it too.
“Hey, baby, hey,” I cooed at her, reaching a shaky hand out.
“Thought that might work better than me trying to talk you down,” the giant known as Perish said, standing back a few feet, hands tucked in his pockets, looking almost humorously helpless for a man his size. “I’m not good with the… soft shit,” he admitted.
“No?” I asked, forcing myself to climb out of the SUV on my wobbly legs. “I saw you dancing with Zima,” I told him.
Sully and I had been heading out, and I’d wanted to check on Zima one last time. But I found her in the prospect room in the arms of Perish, who was swaying around and singing to her.
“Dogs are different,” he said with a shrug.
And even if our reasons for saying so were different, I couldn’t help but agree with him.
“I get that,” I said, sitting down right there on the garage floor, letting Zima climb in my lap and lick my face.
“He’s gonna be fine,” Perish said. “Sully,” he clarified. “He’s gonna be fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Got shot myself recently,” he said, shrugging. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, but you’re… an island,” I said.
“It was a through-and-through to his shoulder. They just gotta clean him up. Make sure he doesn’t get an infection. No biggie. You need something? A blanket?”
“Blanket?” I repeated, focusing on breathing deeply through my nose and the soft feel of Zima’s hair.
“You’re shaking.”
“It’s just the anxiety. It’ll pass.”
He gave me a nod. He clearly didn’t understand, but I appreciated that he wasn’t the sort to ask a bunch of questions.
“Did you tear up the grass?”