Chapter 19
ROOK
I clenched my fists around the steering wheel of the truck, rage boiling and festering until I no longer had control. I didn’t think. One second, we’d been on our way to give PD some backup, the next we’d realized something was fucked.
I didn’t rationalize. PD was hurt and needed me, so taking our truck and slamming it into the cops’ bikes required no explanation. I hit the gas.
“Woah!” King gripped the handle above the door, whooping at the crunch of metal under the wheels as I drove over the bikes, then slammed on the brakes again.
Dallas jolted forward between me and King, grasping at King’s thigh tightly as we pulled to a sharp stop. I turned the vehicle so the headlights flashed across PD and the cops.
I shoved open my door and was out of the truck before King and Dallas had time to process. Gravel crunched under my boots as I stalked toward the six guys standing over a half-conscious PD. The wind whipped around my face, cooling the heat that spread across my cheeks.
One of the guys came at me and swung a fist, but my muscle memory kicked in, and I ducked, avoiding the punch while simultaneously jamming my knuckles into his gut. He grunted and went down to his hands and knees, and I kicked him across the jaw for good measure, dropping him fully to the ground.
By the time Dallas and King caught up, the other five guys were coming at me, ready for a fight I was more than happy to give them. Adrenaline roared through my veins, surpassing any pain that resonated from my ribs and spine.
My focus was on PD and getting him to a doctor. I couldn’t see him well from here, but I didn’t miss the silly smile he sent me. His eyes closed and he slumped into the grass. He had to be hurt somewhere, and I needed to get to him to assess the damage.
Two guys veered toward King, while one gave Dallas their attention. They had their guns out, but King and Dallas were quick.
A shot went off, but no one yelped or yelled, so I ignored it.
I focused on the two assholes in front of me as they yanked out their handguns, but I was already tackling one of them, throwing him to the ground in the long grass.
I slammed my knuckles against the guy’s jaw, and the crack that echoed through the air was one of the most satisfying sounds I’d ever heard.
I snatched his gun from him and rolled onto my back, hitting the trigger.
The bullet lodged into the forehead of the man still standing and he dropped to the ground.
Then, I was back on the first guy, jamming the butt of the gun against his temple.
He screamed, head flinging back against the grass. I pointed the muzzle at his forehead. It wasn’t easy to see in the dark, but I recognized his build. He was the cop PD drew. Martin Loubeck.
Well, I guess it was a good thing he wasn’t the cop I shot.
“Do you know who I am?” he yelled, and I was grateful we were on a somewhat abandoned road. It wouldn’t take much for someone to come along, though, so we needed to do this fast.
I glanced toward PD, cataloging the changes since the last time I’d seen him.
The headlights from our truck cut across his face.
He was still and pale, eyes closed. Too fucking pale.
Anger and worry bubbled in my chest, deep in my scarred and battered lungs, until it grew difficult to breathe around the emotions.
I wanted to kill and maim and destroy, while I also wanted to rush over to PD and take care of him the way he’d always done for me.
PD came first.
“King, here’s Loubeck,” I snapped over my shoulder. “Maybe this bastard can tell us where the cash is. PD needs me.”
Dallas was at my side in seconds, and I passed him the gun before I rushed toward PD. From the corner of my eye, I noted the other guys were down. Dead. All of them.
Sometimes I forgot Dallas was a badass, too.
Dallas wouldn’t be happy, though. He’d said we shouldn’t kill anyone. It would cause too much trouble.
But they deserved it. And from what Jayce had told us, Loubeck had some pull, so surely he’d be able to tell us where to find the money.
I dropped to my knees beside PD, the sound of my blood roaring in my ears. My fingers twitched over PD’s unconscious body, and I hesitated, scared to touch him. Then, all at once, I was punched with the realization. He needed help.
He was hurt.
Blood stained the thigh of his jeans, spreading and growing until my brain finally caught up with what was happening.
I screamed “help him” over and over in my head. My thought process had shifted from the speed of molasses to a Kawasaki Ninja. Finally, my limbs moved and I scooped PD in my arms, his weight heavy but steady.
I ignored King and Dallas, ignored the ache in my ribs and spine, ignored the yelling in my head as adrenaline fired in my veins, fueling my desperation.
PD needed help. Now.
I didn’t realize Dallas was right behind me until he yanked open the passenger door for me when I reached the truck. I cut him a glance, and he offered me a short nod.
“I’ll call for backup with the boys. Get someone out here. We’ll get these bikes off the road before anyone notices. Hide the cash they’ve got here.” A worried smile twisted his lips. “Get PD help. Grant’s at home. Take him there. We’ll let him know you’re on the way.”
Words caught in my throat, and I opened my mouth, only to close it again. Dallas’s smile told me he understood, and then he closed the door once I had PD secured.
“Go.” He waved me off.
I gave him a nod in thanks, and then I was in the driver’s seat moments later.
I didn’t let myself overthink. Didn’t allow myself to wonder what would happen if the cops pulled me over.
Technically, I didn’t have a license, but I didn’t care, either.
I had to get PD help, and Grant was our go-to when we didn’t want to come up with a plausible story.
From what I could see in the limited sight I had from the headlights, PD had bullet wounds in his leg and he was beat up, but nothing told me it was life threatening.
Still, I hit the accelerator hard, my heart jumping and battling in my chest.
The drive took forever, and my mind fought between slow reflexes and racing with the energy of a jackrabbit. My thoughts were jumbled and stringing together two wasn’t feasible, not while my blood pressure skyrocketed and my adrenaline worked overtime.
Get PD to Grant.
That was my goal. It didn’t matter what was going through my head. I needed to get PD to Grant.
I took corners sharply, missed cars as I weaved in and out of traffic. Someone beeped their horn at me and a biker on a Yamaha gave me the middle finger.
I didn’t care. Didn’t stop.
Desperation surged and I went faster. A sound never left PD. The silence scared me more than anything in the world.
Finally, I swept down Grant’s street and veered into his driveway, narrowly avoiding Reaper’s bike. I slammed on the brakes.
“Shit. PD? You with me?”
Nothing.
I shot out from my side and around to PD’s, yanking open the door and carefully extracting him. As soon as I reached the front steps, Grant threw open the door, concern flashing across his face in a furrowed brow and scrunched nose.
He looked nothing like King, despite them being brothers. Grant had always been softer with short blond hair and gentle brown eyes. He barely came to my shoulders, but he was resolute and firm as he stepped across the threshold and waved me inside.
“What happened?” he demanded with the dominance of someone twice his size as he led me into his kitchen, where Reaper was already rolling out a tarp onto the kitchen table.
This wasn’t the first time we’d shown up to Grant’s house with someone injured, wouldn’t be the last. He knew his shit when it came to medical stuff, and while he wasn’t a doctor, a physician assistant was as good as one as far as we were concerned. He’d saved our asses a lot.
“I don’t know. Shot. He passed out when we got there.” I laid PD on the table as gently as I could and the tarp crinkled under his weight.
Reaper moved around us like a man who knew his job.
Within seconds, he passed Grant a duffel bag.
Grant unzipped it and yanked out tools with a calm that I couldn’t remember ever feeling.
I pulled in air through my nose sharply as my chest heaved.
Panic buried itself in my throat and I forgot how to swallow. I had to remind myself to do it.
Reaper grasped my shoulders and shifted me, and I went because my muscles ached and my limbs hung loose and useless. Thankfully, he only moved me out of the way and forced me into a chair. “You okay, brother?”
His gruff voice startled me, and I shot a look of surprise at him. “What?”
Reaper frowned, his forehead scrunching as he went to one knee in front of me. Even the fire dancing in the eyes of the skull tattoo on his neck managed to look concerned, but maybe I was imagining things there. “Are you all right?”
No. Not while PD was lying on that table, unconscious and hurt. But I didn’t say that. I nodded. “Yeah. He . . . . Is he okay, Grant? I love him.”
It felt like a confession and sat heavy between us. We hadn’t told anyone yet, even if it was probably obvious. No one else knew. Until now.
Grant threw me a small, strained smile as he cut PD’s jeans from the ankle up with a pair of scissors, then tore at the material until he had access to PD’s thigh.
“I don’t know yet. I need to check for wounds.
He’s been shot twice in the leg.” He was careful as he turned PD’s leg, searching.
“Both bullets are still inside. Kai, I need a hand.”
Reaper moved fast. One moment he was beside me, the next at Grant’s shoulder. Or maybe my brain was traveling slowly. Too fucking slowly. What was wrong with me?
I fell back against the chair and watched.
Or at least, I thought I did. At some point, my mind shut off.
Time warped and shifted. When I came back around, Reaper was in front of me again, the worry scrunching up his nose and narrowing his deep brown eyes.
Behind him, Grant was cursing. The simple “fuck” was enough to make my spine snap straight.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, barely recognizing my wrecked voice.
Grant glanced up from where he was leaning over PD’s leg, the gloves on his hands bloody. He was holding a scalpel and tweezers. “Are you with us?”
“What’s wrong?” I repeated, shoving to my feet. Pain ripped through my chest from my ribs and I hissed, slapping a hand to my side. I ignored the fiery agony and took the two steps between me and the table.
PD was still unconscious, his skin pale and clammy, mouth parted slightly. I stroked his cheek with my knuckle, the ache in my chest not from something physical.
“I managed to get one bullet out.” Grant gestured to a plate with a bullet on it, dented and damaged but whole.
“But the other one fragmented. It’s dangerous.
If I miss one piece, he can get sepsis or have long-term damage.
I can’t do this alone. It tore through his muscle and hit bone.
PD needs surgery. Femurs this damaged don’t heal on their own.
We have to take him to the hospital. If we don’t, he could die or be permanently screwed. ”
My breath stuttered, air dragging from my lungs. My fingers curled into fists against my sides.
Hospital. Fragmented. Dangerous. Sepsis. Hit bone.
The words repeated in my head until they were all I knew. All I could hear.
It didn’t matter that this might mean the cops got involved. It didn’t matter that we could be in trouble. I’d take the blame if I had to. PD came first. Always.
Somehow, I managed to make my tongue move.
“Let’s take him. Now.”