Page 55 of Surviving Midnight
I shake my head and rub my hands up and down her arms in an attempt to get her to relax. “Nothing to worry about right now.”
“It’s bad though, right?”
“Yeah.” Can’t lie to her, she deserves the truth no matter how bad or scary. “Real bad, honey.”
“Then it is something to worry about because Lola told whoever she was on the phone with that tonight is a perfect night for a hailstorm since the whole MC is here.”
“She said that? Said the storm was coming tonight?”
Her shoulders touch her ears. “Yes.” Theo chews her lip. “I’m sorry, Zak. I didn’t realize it was significant and I didn’t want to ruin Prez and Sofie’s day with what I thought was nothing. I should have told you sooner. I’m—“
I dip my head, give her a quick kiss then take her hand and start heading toward Prez. “You didn’t know, honey. You don’t need to apologize. You’re sure she—“
We aren’t even out of the hallway when a window across the room blows out, shatters into a million pieces before smoke starts filling the rec room.
Fuck.
I squeeze Theo’s hand and start running, shouting, “Hailstorm!” Seconds before shit hits the fan in the worst fucking way.
Not again.
This is the worst kind of deja vu, and while our losses were great the last time we were hit with a storm, this time would be devastating on a scale the club would not recover from. We barely managed last time, and now… now would be the storm of the century.
CHAPTERTEN
THEO
“Hailstorm!”Zak yells as he practically dislocates my shoulder while tugging me through the rec room.
I have no idea what’s happening, but it is definitely not good, and the thought of being grateful I took my shoes off flickers in my mind briefly before I start to panic.
Small, round spheres start breaking through the windows and the community room of the clubhouse begins to fill with smoke. Women are screaming, everyone’s running and shouting. Zak grips my hand so hard it feels like he’s going to break it, but I don’t dare let go. Visibility is becoming more and more obscured, and when we’re somewhere between the hall and front door, I hear Prez’s—or Snipe as I learned he was called before becoming the president—unmistakable voice tainted by years of non-filtered cigarettes, my heart rate becomes erratic.
“Sofie?!”
Oh god.
Oh no.
They must have gotten separated in the chaos.
My eyes strain against the smoke, try and fail to see through the thick clouds, but between Zak still dragging me around and what I’m guessing is merely a distraction of sorts, I can’t even see my own hand in front of my face.
“Sofie!” Prez sounds frantic, terrified. “Sofie, where the fuck are you, Cookie?!”
More glass shatters, followed by splintering wood, the ring of metal on metal, and suddenly my hand slips from Zak’s and I fall to the floor.
Oh my god, is thatgunfire?
I start crawling around on my hands and knees, my heart racing, my stomach tied in knots. A body drops in front of me, someone I don’t recognize but I know in this moment I will never forget him. No, I know without a doubt the dark brown eyes and look of shock on the face of this twenty-something prospect, according to his cut, will stick with me forever because of the bullet hole in the center of his forehead.
Oh my god.
I’m completely still, frozen, rooted to the floor beneath me.
We are under attack.
I’ve never heard gunshots before, not in real life, but I’m hearing them right now and it definitely sounds like many guns firing many bullets at an alarming rate.
