“I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly.” She pokes her head up once more and looks acrossthe field. “He’s stopped shooting.” I stand, and she grabs my hand and yanks down on it. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“You’re right. He’s stopped, which means he’s dead or gone.”
Gwen stands and hits me in the arm. “I could have been wrong!”
Grinning, I shake my head at her. “Something tells me, Gwen, there’s not much you’re wrong about.”
Reaper jogs to stand near us. “You two okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod.
“Boys are beating the bushes looking for the shooters,” Reaper informs us.
“They’re gone,” states Gwen.
“We’ll see,” replies Reaper as he jogs away.
“I’ve gotta go.” Gently, I put two fingers under her chin and tilt her head back. “Stay. Safe.”
Gwen smiles. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”
Bending, I press my lips to hers and then pull back an inch. “Here I was thinking Lucy was the wild one. But you, you’re a whole different type of crazy.”
The kiss sends a static charge through me as though the air is filled with electricity, almost like a magnetic pull.
“Nah, not crazy. Calculated risk taker. The shooter wasn’t focused on us until everyone scattered.” She holds up her camera. “And I got some crazy good shots.”
“Find someone to take you back to town.” My lips turn down. “Anyone but Justice.” I press my lips to hers once more, then jog after Reaper.
Not waiting to see if Gwen obeys, my boots pound the gravel as I sprint toward Reaper, our VP, who is hovering over Creed. The president of the Royal Bastards MC is down, his white T-shirt soaked in crimson. Devil is there, her fingers white-knuckled, pressing hard against the gushing wound on Creed’s shoulder.
“Stay with me, brother,” Reaper growls, his voice tight with command and barely concealed fear.
Creed bares his teeth and snarls, “It’s a through and through. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” replies Devil, with a quiver in her voice.
My heart slams against my ribs. “We got you, Prez,” I say, though it sounds more like a promise than reassurance.
“Highway!” The shout snaps my head around.
Damn. Gwen didn’t listen. She’s right behind me, her chest heaving, eyes wide but determined. There’s no mistaking it—she’s got guts. Fear is there, sure, but she’s standing strong amidst the wailing chaos as if she belongs in this screwed-up world of ours.
“Should’ve known you wouldn’t run,” I mutter, half-annoyed, half-admiring.
“Not my style,” she fires back, breathless.
My gut twists.
Protect her.
The thought slams into me with the force of a sledgehammer.
Seeing her there, fierce as hell, it ignites something—a need.
To guard.
