Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
T he idea that Pumpkin had been hit by accident—the Hummer maybe not paying attention in the rain or hydroplaned out of control—was quickly disproved. The driver of the large black vehicle did not get out to check on Pumpkin or even to verify that they actually hit something. Instead, they continued making their sharp right turn, braked, and then backed over Pumpkin’s hog.
The motorcycle did not fare any better the second time and was crushed into pieces under the heavy tires. Perhaps the only saving grace was that Pumpkin had been thrown free at the first hit, landing yards away in the brush and trees lining the road, and was clear of being run over a second time. Through the rain, Pirate could not see him or his condition.
He sped his Charger up, needing to get to his club brother. Whoever the fuck this bastard was, he was dead!
Pirate braked, turning his wheel so he was blocking oncoming traffic from behind him. He saw the club’s SUV just about to crest the bridge and hoped that a club brother was inside with Frankie.
Throwing his Charger into Park, he was just about to get out when he heard a loud pop and saw a muzzle flash through the darkness of the storm.
“Get down!” he shouted exactly as something pinged off of the hood of his cage.
A barrage of bullets came after the first, telling Pirate they were using automatic weapons. Sophia ducked down into the wheel well just as the windshield shattered above them. The squeal of brakes was barely discernible over the hail of gunfire. He prayed that was Frankie stopping from coming closer. If she had any sense, she would back the hell up and call for help rather than try to assist them herself. Especially if she had any club kids in the cage with her.
Glass shattered, tires popped, and rain came pouring in on them. The Charger jolted with every hit. From the quick succession of bullets, Pirate guessed two guns were being used, but didn’t know if it was one gunman with two weapons or two gunmen with one weapon each. The front and driver’s side was the most susceptible due to the angle he’d parked the cage. His Charger was not armored and the bullets were cutting through it like Swiss cheese.
“Sophia!” he shouted. He didn’t dare pick his head up to see where she was.
“I’m okay!” came her loud reply.
“Unlock your door! We need to get out of here!”
She didn’t waste time arguing with him. He listened for the sound of her door being opened but the clatter of the bullets was too loud. Adrenaline was coursing through his system like an old drug. He hadn’t felt anything like it since the day he’d lost his leg when his unit was ambushed.
“I’m out!” Sophia shouted.
Pirate lifted his head enough to see her empty seat and immediately felt something akin to a bee sting against his left ear. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the sting. He clamored over the center console, adding to cuts he was sure he already had as his hands and side touched the glass shards from the windshield. The rain was an obstacle, but it hopefully helped shield them too.
Pirate crawled out face and hands first then torso and legs. The hard, wet pavement was a welcome contrast to the interior of the cage. He quickly sat up, kneeling on his left leg. Sophia was crouched by the side of the rear passenger door. He reached for her face.
She had a deep gash on her temple and glass in her hair. Other than that, she seemed unscathed.
“Are you okay?” he demanded.
She nodded, and then her eyes went wide. She reached for him. “Are you ?” Her right hand pulled away from his face with blood on it.
Pirate reached up and felt his ear. It stung like a sonofabitch, but he knew he hadn’t been shot. “It’s only a graze,” he told her. Damn lucky, that one. If he’d raised his head any higher, he would not be here. “Get in front of the rear wheel. It will help protect you!”
One of the guns had stopped and then started up again. Soon after, the second one did the same. The bastards had brought enough ammo with them to reload!
Fury coursed through Pirate. Not only were they shooting at Sophia, but they were keeping him from getting to Pumpkin to check on him.
Pirate opened the rear passenger door. Like most club members, he owned multiple guns. Part of the club’s bylaws was that no member was allowed to have an unregistered weapon or carry a weapon without a permit. Jumper was the only member who did not have a permit because he did not carry or own any firearms. All of Pirate’s were kept in lockboxes and he was licensed to carry concealed.
In addition to his nightstand, he had a lockbox in his room at the clubhouse and one in his cage. Unfortunately, it was under his driver’s seat.
Once more sliding onto his side, Pirate wormed his way back into the cage. He was on the floor between the bench seat in the back and the front seats. Not much glass was still flying. But the seat cushions above him were now spraying memory foam, which meant the bullets had pierced through the shell of the cage.
Fuck! He hadn’t expected the Charger to shield them forever but damn it had not survived long.
Ignoring the bits of glass, Pirate reached under the driver’s seat from behind and searched blindly for his lockbox. Just as his fingers touched the cold metal, a very specific smell reached his nostrils.
Fuck!
Pirate quickly grabbed for the box, not bothering to open it. He needed to get out of this fucking cage! The bullets must have pierced through the gas tank. The reek of perfumed benzene permeated the air around them. All it would take was a lucky—or unlucky—shot to create sparks and the gasoline would ignite.
Pirate fell gracelessly out of the cage. He hit the ground harder than intended. Scrambling up to his knees, he set the box on the pavement. Looking around, there were no good options. He could not see headlights from Frankie’s SUV, which was good but also bad. Sophia had no place to run to.
They were on the very end of the bridge, the incline directly behind them. To get to the woods and cover, they would have to run at the gunmen. They couldn’t go under the bridge or through the river. The current was too deep, too fast, and too cold this time of year. They were, in essence, trapped.
But there was one small chance. The Hummer had its taillights to them. The red glow did not illuminate much. If they didn’t have night vision scopes and if Pirate could draw their fire, Sophia might be able to make a break for it by going up the bridge. She was small and it was harder to shoot a moving target than the movies made it out to be. She would have to be fast.
It was a chance. A small one, but it was better than staying where they were with a gasoline leaking cage for cover.
They would need to reload soon. That would be her chance.
It would mean leaving him behind. She would want to argue, stubborn girl, but he couldn’t let her. They wouldn’t have time. He saw no other options, no other exits.
Not for her at least.
For him, he saw none. He was not fast, not on his leg. Going up an incline would be even worse. Add the pain and the slick pavement… He would slow her down for sure. Plus, if he ran with her, there would be no one to cover their escape or to get to Pumpkin.
The absence of Frankie’s SUV was a beacon of hope. She would have called for help. But if most of the club was already at the steakhouse or on their way, they could be up to forty-five minutes away. That was an eternity in a firefight.
Using his thumb, he unlocked the lockbox. He sure missed his M4 Carbine rifle right about now. His Sig Sauer P320-M18 would have to do. He loaded the clip, chambered the first round, and flipped the safety. He pocketed the single spare magazine that was kept in the case. Between the two magazines, he had forty-two rounds.
“You’re not going to like what I have to say but we don’t have time for you to argue with me. My cage is one spark away from going up in flames. I’m going to draw their fire. As soon as I start shooting, you make a run for the bridge. Do not look back, Sophia! You run as fast as you can. That’s more important than staying low. Do you understand?”
Her frantic eyes glanced to the bridge behind them and then back at him. “You’re not coming with me, are you?”
Pirate’s trained ear picked up the ceasefire of one weapon. Now was her chance. “I can’t! Go! Go now!”
Without a backwards glance at her or time for farewells, Pirate rose. He kept the shell of his shot up cage in front of his abdomen. His eyes took in everything in a split second.
On the road directly in front of him was Pumpkin’s wrecked hog. Pirate’s headlights were completely shot out, which darkened him, his cage, and Sophia. There were no lights on the bridge. Between the storm and the darkness, he prayed she had enough cover to make it to the other side unscathed.
Behind the illumination of their red tail lights were two silhouettes. The doors of the driver and passenger sides of the Hummer were open. The gunmen were using the doors as cover while shooting through their open or broken windows at the Charger.
He couldn’t see the men exactly. It was far too dark and the rain was too heavy for that, but he could make out their movements. One was firing blindly in their direction. The muzzle blast looked like a sparkler against the darkness. The second was reloading, his head bent like a target in the center of his open window.
Knowing the flash of his own muzzle would give his position away, Pirate carefully lined up his shot before firing. He immediately dropped back down. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sophia was no longer by the cage. Relief filled him, but he did not let it distract him. He could not search for her beyond seeing she was gone.
The rain kept him from hearing the thud of a body striking pavement, but the immediate silence of all gunfire followed by indiscernible shouting told Pirate he’d hit his mark.
Not wanting to lose the advantage of the distraction, Pirate worked his way as quickly as he could to the front of the cage. When he saw no movement coming from the Hummer , he walked at a fast pace in a hunched position to its trunk. Running for him would have been less sturdy, especially on a rain-slicked road.
Pirate put his back to the Hummer . Wet, cold metal touched his back. He paused, listening. The man he’d shot had been on the passenger side of the cage.
Dropping down onto his left knee, Pirate looked beneath the cage for feet. Outlined by the rain, he could make out a still form by the front passenger tire. He saw no signs of the second shooter.
“On your feet, asshole!” came from directly behind him.
Heart pounding in his ears, Pirate slowly rose. Of course, the shooter was behind him. Rookie mistake. In his defense, he was a bit rusty.
“Drop the gun!”
Pirate glanced over his right shoulder. His hands were raised with his M18 gripped loosely in his right hand.
Like him, the gunman was soaked through. The taillights highlighted a man of average height with a muscular body. He wore military fatigues, complete with green camo pants, tan long sleeve shirt, and boots.
But Pirate could tell right away that this man wasn’t military. The way he held the gun, the amateur stance of his feet, the fact that he was too close to Pirate.
Guns were long range weapons. The closer one got to their target, the better the shooter’s chances of hitting their target— but it also upped their chances of getting their weapon taken away from them. Even an unarmed man could disarm someone with a gun if they knew what they were doing.
Pirate continued to turn around as slowly as he could so he could assess the shooter. He was around Pirate’s age, thirty-ish. His gun was an AK-47, the most common assault rifle on the market and also the most unreliable. The guns were known to misfire, jam, and malfunction. They were cheaply made, which attributed to their poor craftsmanship. But a gun was a gun. Cheap guns that could hold thirty rounds per magazine and shoot up to six hundred rounds per minute were extremely effective, regardless of their deficiencies.
As often as the guns malfunctioned, Pirate could not rely on the fact that this gun would now. Or that the man was unknowingly out of bullets.
“I said, drop the gun, asshole!” the man shouted above the rain.
Flipping the safety, Pirate tossed his gun into the road away from where the gunman stood.
Quick as a flash, Pirate shifted his torso and head to the left while sweeping his arms to the right. His left palm smacked the barrel of the gun, forcing it to shoot wide past his right shoulder as the untrained gunman panicked at being attacked.
Only a fool would think having a gun rightfully gave you the upper hand.
Pirate kicked out with his right leg, connecting the boot of his prosthetic leg to the gunman’s kneecap. As he went down, Pirate lifted the AK-47 out of his hands. He immediately dropped the weapon and swiped it across the wet pavement under the cage with the side of his boot.
The man made to lunge at Pirate, but Pirate sidestepped him. His back to the Hummer , the man tackled empty air and landed in a splash on the road. Pirate dropped down, hard. Putting his knee to the man’s back, he gathered him up in a chokehold.
The man struggled and kicked. He managed to get one leg up and smacked his heel against Pirate’s right knee. Grunting in pain, Pirate only doubled his efforts rather than releasing the man as he desired.
He was not trying to get the man to fall into unconsciousness though. As soon as the gunman started to slump down from lack of oxygen, Pirate released his arms’ hold around his neck. Upon reflex, the man gasped in air and was not paying attention to defending himself. Pirate placed his hands strategically on the man’s jaw and the back of his head. He turned the man’s jaw to the right, releasing the tension much like a chiropractor would, and then snapped the man’s head in the opposite direction.
The loud crack of bone filled the air like a clap of thunder.
Neck broken, the man toppled to the ground. There was a slim chance he was still alive but, if he was, he would be paralyzed.
Pirate leaned forward, hands on his thighs. It took several seconds of remaining like that in the pouring rain to get his heart rate and breathing under control. It had been years since he’d had to fight for his life. There was nothing cool or fantastic about taking a life. Why humans were so fascinated by the concept was a flaw in their design. No species that was capable of such potential should be so wont to kill each other.
Gathering himself, he picked up his M18. Despite the rain, it would still function. He had to check if the first man he’d shot was dead.
Keeping his gun trained in the direction of the passenger door, he called out, “Pumpkin!” There was no response. Pirate worked his way over to the front of the Hummer . His right knee was throbbing from getting donkey-kicked during the second gunman’s takedown. “Pumpkin!” Still nothing. “Talk to me, brother!”
Just as Pirate laid eyes on the still form of the first gunman, he heard the echoing calls of sirens. Thank fuck!
It had seemed like such a long time from when the first bullet hit the hood of his cage, but adrenaline always skewed with one’s sense of time. In reality, it had been maybe ten minutes.
Pirate knelt in the rainwater, feeling for a pulse. It was too dark for him to get a visual on the man. They’d turned off their headlights before they’d plowed into Pumpkin’s sled.
“Pumpkin!” Pirate shouted once more.
The scream he heard chilled Pirate to his core. Because it wasn’t masculine or close by. It came from the top of the bridge.
Whirling in that direction, Pirate fought through the pain to make his legs work faster. “Sophia!”
Soaked in a matter of seconds, Sophia crouched down by the side of Pirate’s car. Someone was shooting at them. Fucking shooting at them. What the hell? They were on their way to a celebration dinner, not traveling through a war zone! What the hell was going on?
Pirate worked his way out of the car too. He would have had to crawl over the center console to get out. What if he’d been hit?
But of course, Pirate’s first priority wasn’t himself. It was her. After checking she was unharmed, other than some minor scrapes, he brushed off getting fucking grazed by a bullet on his ear like it was nothing. Did he not fucking realize he could have died ?
Sophia couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Her heart was hammering so loudly that she barely heard the continuous pinging of the bullets or the splatter of the heavy rain.
And Pumpkin! Poor Pumpkin. Sophia desperately searched the side of the road for him but could find no sign of his body through the downpour. Was he even still alive? Her mind went to his baby boy. Pumpkin was a single father. Who would take care of his son if he died? Sophia didn’t even know who SJ’s mother was. One day, it was just announced that Pumpkin had a son. The baby looked too much like Pumpkin to not be biologically his, but there’d never been a mom in the picture as far as Sophia knew.
Sophia barely heard Pirate as he pushed her towards the back wheel. Something about it being safer there. Was that even true or was that a load of horseshit to help keep her calm? Either way, it wasn’t keeping her calm. How the fuck could he think at a time like this? She felt like her muscles had turned to putty and stone all at the same time.
It took her a second to realize Pirate had climbed back inside the car. What the fuck was he doing?
Sophia opened her mouth to ask but the air caught in her throat. There was a pungent smell that thickened the air and made her crinkle her nose in disgust.
Pirate suddenly fell out of the car. He landed hard on the wet ground, splattering Sophia with even more water. Not that she cared. It was just water.
He quickly sat up. He placed a metal box on the road in front of him. It wasn’t fair how evenly he was breathing, how calm he looked. She supposed he was used to this sort of situation when he’d been in the Marines, but he’d been out for years. Was it one of those muscle memory things? Did soldiers retain combat memory?
He turned to her. His voice was loud over the rain, steady. How the fuck was he not panicking? She felt like she was going to throw up any second. “You’re not going to like what I have to say but we don’t have time for you to argue with me. My cage is one spark away from going up in flames. I’m going to draw their fire. As soon as I start shooting, you make a run for the bridge. Do not look back, Sophia! You run as fast as you can. That’s more important than staying low. Do you understand?”
The bridge? Her eyes looked to the bridge directly in front of where she knelt and then back at Pirate. She knew immediately what he wasn’t saying. “You’re not coming with me, are you?”
As if by some signal he understood that she didn’t, Pirate suddenly stood and raised his gun. “I can’t! Go! Go now!”
Sophia stared up at him in horror. He wanted her to leave him? She couldn’t do that. What was the military saying? No man left behind? How could he expect her to do that to him?
Pirate shot his gun.
It was like a race’s starter pistol in her brain. Her legs filled with lead, Sophia bolted to her feet and started running.
Sophia was not a runner. Jasmine often joked that there were only two things in life Sophia would run for: donuts and a clearance sale. She wasn’t wrong. There was a reason Jasmine and she were pro-zombie when the apocalypse came—because neither of them had a desire to run for the rest of their lives! Sophia didn’t train or go to the gym. Hell, the most exercise she’d gotten recently was the continuous and constant sex with Pirate. Technically, that could be considered a cardio workout. But it certainly didn’t make her a marathon runner.
Adrenaline certainly helped. She probably made it further on fear alone than she would have if she just woke up one day and started running.
A stitch immediately pinched at her side. She was trying to talk herself into continuing upward when headlights creased the bridge.
Sophia threw her hand up to block the sudden light. Her feet skidded to a halt and then slid out from under her from the slickness of rain on pavement. She went down hard, jarring her shoulder and elbow. Rain pummeled her face as she tried to catch her breath and focus on her surroundings.
Regaining her feet, she heard a car door open. Looking up, Sophia’s jaw almost dropped. “ Fletcher?! ”
Her ex was half-in and half-out of his expensive sports car. She had no idea the model type, nor did she care. Fletcher used to talk all the time about This Sports Car or That Sports Car, but it just went in one ear and out the other. Though she could afford ten of them, she did not understand the point of buying an expensive car just because it was expensive. A cheap car got her from Point A to Point B just as effectively as an expensive car.
“Sophia?” Fletcher called back. He had his hand up to his eyes as if to block the rain so he could see better.
She didn’t care if Ted Bundy had just gotten out of that car. She needed help. Pirate needed help. He was facing who knew how many assailants at the bottom of the bridge—and poor Pumpkin! Who knew if he was even still alive?
Sophia rushed to Fletcher. “I need your phone! Call nine-one-one! There’s been an accident and I…”
Her voice trailed off. Like a chess master suddenly realizing the trap his opponent had set, everything came to focus in perfect clarity. It was so stupid, so simple. And yet, pure Fletcher.
Back in high school, Fletcher used to have two lackeys. They were also jocks who played every sport Fletcher did, but never had any real talent. It was lucky if their asses ever got off of the bench during a game. Any time someone said something derogatory behind Fletcher’s back or a boy liked the same girl as Fletcher, that person would somehow find themselves locked in an enclosed space with those two lackeys. Because Fletcher was incapable of doing his own dirty work.
Though there was no proof, there’d been rumors about Fletcher setting others up to take the fall for his actions. Copying off of a test or cheating on a bigger exam. Fletcher was always working some angle.
As Sophia’s feet landed just out of arm’s reach to Fletcher in present time, her mind fell back into the past. She recalled Fletcher getting pissed off that Sophia had dumped him. Did he honestly expect that she would date him and allow him to sleep with other girls? To be the head of his little harem? Of all things to remember just then, Sophia recalled how pissed Fletcher had gotten that she was going to her senior prom with someone else. After she caught him cheating on her. Then how her prom date had ended up in a severe car accident the night of prom and it was later discovered that his brakes had been cut.
Had that been Fletcher? It had to have been. Why hadn’t she put it together until now?
What had Pirate called her recent glitches in the Matrix? Nuisance crimes? That was exactly what Fletcher’s MO was, only he wasn’t the culprit. He always had lackeys or friends, in the loosest sense of the word, doing the jobs for him.
So of course Fletcher had had alibis for the little things happening to her around town or the nights her Boot Mover had broken into her apartment. Of course , because Fletcher was incapable of taking responsibility for his own actions. And, when he did get in trouble, his daddy always bailed him out.
The man was thirty years old with the exact same habits he’d had at thirteen. Joining the Army hadn’t humbled him in the slightest, hadn’t taught him any life lessons or helped to make him a better person or man.
It was Fletcher. It had all been Fletcher.
He turned his evil glint on her. As she stopped running, he took a step forward. Momentum took her right to him.
Sirens whirled in the background. Her ears perked up at the sound just as Fletcher closed his hand around her wrist. Sophia tried to pull away, but he did have one thing going for him. His ego to have the perfect body drove him to the gym daily and he had muscle she did not. He pulled her effortlessly towards his car.
Sophia screamed, trying to claw at his skin, his eyes, anything… She planted her feet and locked her knees but only ended up being dragged behind him.
Flashes of red and blue lights rose up on the bridge.
Fletcher turned as if noticing the cops for the first time. He increased his pull on her. Sophia doubled her efforts to break away. She even pulled on his hair like they were in a cat fight at a bar.
Finally, her nail collided with his eyeball. Fletcher roared out in pain, releasing her arm to put a hand over his eye.
Sophia turned and started running back down the bridge. Between the choices of gunmen and Pirate or Fletcher Montague, she’d choose the option that had Pirate in it any day.
Fletcher took her down to the wet pavement. Sophia’s chin scraped along the rough hardness. She cried out in pain. Fletcher’s weight pinned her down. He was so heavy, she was barely able to take an inhale of much-needed oxygen.
Suddenly his weight was gone. Sophia struggled to get to her knees. Two deputies in uniform were wrestling to take Fletcher down. Though he was under them, he was kicking and punching them to keep them from cuffing his wrists.
Sophia stood up and turned, her back to the rail of the bridge. She hadn’t realized she’d gotten so close to the edge of the road.
Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her notice. Enhanced by the illumination of the headlights now shining through the rain on the bridge, she saw Pirate trying to run up to her. His right leg wasn’t moving exceedingly fast, almost like there was a delay in his step—but he was alive!
Elation filled her. At the same time she took a step towards him, she registered the horror on his face.
Like a movie put in slow motion, Sophia turned her head to the left in time to see Fletcher’s hand land on one of the deputies’ holstered guns. The three men were standing now, Fletcher still fighting them with all his might. As his hand landed on the gun, his eyes met hers and Sophia just knew.
Her bones turned to stone, a permanent fixture of shock and horror. Like a gargoyle unable to stop his descent off of a steeple’s roof.
She saw it all in perfect clarity. Pirate was too far away. She wasn’t even sure Superman could have reached her in time if he switched roles with Pirate. The gun was unhooked from the holster. It was raised into the air. Fletcher’s finger went to the trigger.
He pulled the trigger.
Sophia didn’t know much about guns, but she knew which end the bullet came out of—and it was aimed right at her.
Something moved. A shadow, a figment of her imagination, she wasn’t sure.
Suddenly there was a figure standing before her. Dressed all in black, she could only see the Caucasian skin of his neck and his black hair flowing loosely. His back hit her front like a bowling ball and she was the lone pin standing between him and a spare.
Sophia lost her balance, the weight of him knocking her backwards and the slickness of the wet pavement making her footing unstable. The back of her knee collided with the guardrail. Rushing water filled her vision out of the corner of her eye.
In the next second, both Sophia and the man who’d stood between her and a bullet toppled over the side of the bridge.
“ No! ” Pirate shouted.
He was too far away! Damn his leg, he was too far away! The deputies were wrestling with Fletcher in the glow of his headlights. Pirate saw him reach for the holstered gun and knew in that instance that he’d failed. Failed to protect her.
The laws of physics were not on his side. There was no way he was going to make it in time. He was going to watch as the love of his life was shot before his eyes.
Fletcher raised the gun. Pirate continued forward. Even knowing the odds, he couldn’t stop. He had to get to her in time. Failure was not an option. He couldn’t let her die! Not Sophia. She was too good, too pure, too much of a pain in his ass to die. He loved her heart, body, and soul—and he was going to have to watch her be shot right in front of him like some sick twisted broken record for the rest of his life. Knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’d failed her.
That gut wrench, heartbreaking, soul crushing fear broke him in indiscernible, indescribable ways.
This exact moment in time would permanently be etched into his brain to torment him for eternity.
There was no logical explanation for what happened next. As Pirate pushed forward, Fletcher pulled the trigger. The bullet crossed the ten-foot distance between Sophia and her murderer.
Then, as if Pirate had conjured him up out of pure desperation, Scar stepped in front of Sophia. The former Via Daemonia enforcer placed himself as a living shield before Sophia.
The bullet struck.
As if in proof that he was not an aberration, the momentum of the bullet thrust Scar backwards and into Sophia. She toppled, unbalanced in the rain and from the weight of a fully-grown man slamming into her. They wobbled, teetering on the precipice, and then tumbled over the rail.
“ Nooooo! ” Pirate was seconds too slow. If his arms were only longer, he might have been able to catch them.
Completely forgetting about the fight behind him, Pirate collided with the rail. His hands gripped it as if to keep himself from leaping off after them. All he saw for several seconds was a flood of rushing mountain water beneath him. No bobbing heads, no signs of flailing arms.
“Pirate!”
The feminine shout of his name was nearly drowned out by the roar of motorcycles rising up like a pack of lions raining vengeance upon the night.
Pirate changed his angle, looking immediately down instead of outwards towards the water below. Dangling precariously by fingertips white with strain were Scar and Sophia.
Scar had one hand on the edge of the bridge while the other held Sophia’s two hands as she swung freely in open air. Her legs flailed as if she was swimming and trying to kick herself up to the surface. The pain on Scar’s face was doubly intense because Pirate was pretty sure it was the first time he’d ever seen an emotion cross the other man’s features.
But even through the pain, the man was still utterly silent.
Tires skidding to a halt on wet asphalt met his ears as Pirate carefully stepped over the guardrail. There was a small lip, barely wide enough for his boot to fit on between the bridge and a very wet landing. Slowly, carefully, Pirate sank down until his knees just barely touched the bridge. He kept one hand wrapped around the guardrail as he lowered the other down towards Scar and Sophia.
His heart thundered in his chest.
Shadows bathed them, but there was just barely enough light for Pirate to see how pale Scar looked. Scar’s sapphire eyes met his, like blue lights on a Christmas tree. There was something in them, something Pirate couldn’t discern.
When Pirate went to touch Scar’s wrist, he saw Scar shift. Sophia slowly began to rise up towards Pirate. Their frantic eyes met. She was clinging onto Scar’s hand with all her might. There was no doubt that, if she let go, she would surely die.
Like a bodybuilder doing an arm curl, Scar lifted Sophia up to Pirate’s outstretched hand. Noises came from behind him, but Pirate didn’t dare look. Shouts of shock and yells for assistance only served as distractions. As soon as Sophia was lifted up enough, Pirate grabbed her wrist.
It was difficult to get her to let go of Scar’s arm. As if she’d glued herself to him in fear. Pirate couldn’t blame her in the slightest. From what he’d seen of their fall, Scar had not only caught her, but also caught himself on the edge of the bridge. It was an unprecedented feat.
“I’ve got you, baby!” he shouted over the rain. “Let go!”
Finger by finger, Sophia finally released Scar. The man seemed to sag once he lost her weight. It was then that Pirate realized it wasn’t just rain splattered on her face—but blood too. Scar had been shot! In the fear of their pending free fall, somehow that fact had skipped his mind. It was too dark to see on the black material of his shirt, but Pirate estimated the bullet had entered in the proximity of his chest.
Pirate lifted Sophia up, the metal of the guardrail biting into the palm of his left hand. Hands were suddenly there.
The club had arrived. Pirate subconsciously took note of Bulldog, Steel, Lucky, Ghost, and his brother standing on the other side of the rail. They easily took Sophia’s weight from him and lifted her to safety on the surface of the bridge.
As soon as his hand was free, Pirate looked back down and saw to his horror that Scar’s eyes were starting to roll back in his head. His hand was slipping. In a frantic haste, Pirate made a desperate grab for Scar’s wrist.
He caught the other man just as his fingertips left the edge of the bridge. Unbalanced and rainwater treacherously making everything slick, Pirate fell forward under the pull of Scar’s dead weight. His front landed on the thin edge of the bridge. His right arm dangled down with his hand clasped firmly around Scar’s wrist. Pirate was just barely able to keep his grip on the guardrail. Hands grabbed for him. He could feel them on the back of his shirt.
The momentum of the fall smacked Scar’s front against the bridge girder. The man seemed to jerk back into consciousness. But he wasn’t all there. Even in the dim lighting, Pirate could see how bad off Scar was. No doubt, he was losing a lot of blood.
Pirate started to slide over the edge. His grip on the guardrail slipping and his shirt tearing against the strain of the hands trying to keep him where he was. His bicep burned under Scar’s weight, the rain making his hold on Scar’s wrist weak at best.
Sapphire eyes met his. Determination brightened them. Gritting his teeth, Scar swung his other arm up to take hold of Pirate’s wrist. Relief filled Pirate at the reprieve. Scar was going to help him pull him back up to the surface.
But then Scar’s fingers of his left hand dug between Pirate’s fingers and Scar’s right wrist.
“What are you doing!” Pirate shouted even as his chest lost another inch and he hung over open air. The hands holding his shirt were losing the grip, but Pirate refused to let go.
Even as he saw consciousness leave Scar one more time, somehow Scar was still able to break Pirate’s hold on his wrist. In what felt like hours but was only two devastatingly long seconds, Pirate watched, horrified, as Scar’s body floated silently down on the wind until he struck the ridged, rushing cold water below and disappeared.