Chapter Twenty-Six
Cassie was screaming, cursing, barely coherent.
One second she’d been limp in Nash’s arms. The next she was fighting hard enough that he had to lock his grip and haul her back against him before she pitched off the couch—a piece-of-shit sofa shoved crooked between the worktables.
“Easy—easy, Cas—” he said, but there was nothing easy about it.
Her palms shoved weakly at his chest, her breath coming fast and ragged as she fought him blindly. She was in the middle of active withdrawal—confused and panicking as the Narcan dragged her back.
“Cassie,” he said harder. “Look at me.”
She didn’t. Her eyes were open, but they weren’t there—wide and unfocused, catching on everything and nothing at once.
“Don’t—” she choked out. “Don’t fucking touch me—”
“She’s coming out of it,” Sarge said from somewhere behind him. “Don’t know what she’s sayin’ right now—you remember Con. Gotta ride it out…
“If she drops again, we hit her again.”
With Cassie still thrashing in his arms, Nash spared Sarge a glance. The man barely looked rattled despite the shitshow around them, arms crossed over his chest like half the club wasn’t bleeding all over the goddamn cabin.
“How they doin’?” Nash asked, his gaze cutting around the room.
It landed on Boone, slumped in a chair, a cigarette hanging from his mouth—the same chair Cassie had been cuffed to—blood soaking through the makeshift wrap at his thigh.
“Missed the important shit,” Sarge said. “He’ll live.”
“Here, here,” Boone muttered.
Then to where Snake leaned against the counter, spitting curses while Rook tried to stop the bleeding on the through-and-through in his bicep.
“I’m great,” Snake snarled. “Peachy-fuckin’-keen—OW. Jesus fuck, Rook—watch what you’re fuckin’ doin’—”
Nash turned back to Sarge. “I’m assumin’ you got a plan.”
“When don’t I? Blade’s gone. Anything comin’ back on Cassie’s gone. Called some favors in—got a few boys comin’ back with gasoline.”
Sarge glanced at his phone. “Should be here any minute.” His gaze flicked toward Ollie. “Leavin’ him to you.”
Ollie lay on the floor across the room, hands bound behind him, Crusher standing over him, weapon drawn. Blood had dried dark across his clothes from multiple gunshots, one leg twisted wrong where the four-wheeler had thrown him.
He wasn’t moving—but he wasn’t dead either.
Yet.
Nash dragged his focus back to Cassie, who was still trying to twist away from him, her hands weak against his chest.
“I don’t wanna leave her,” Nash ground out. “But yeah, Caldwell’s mine.”
Sarge dipped his chin. “You want Margie up here? I’ll help her handle Cas while you do what you gotta do.”
Sarge was pulling his phone out when Cassie—still bucking in Nash’s arms—suddenly went slack.
Her palms hit his chest in a weak slap. “Fuck—you—” she gasped, breath catching. She still tried to move, but there wasn’t much behind it. Another shove—faltering halfway before dropping against his chest.
“It’s a deal, Strawberry—” he muttered, pulling her in tight. “Soon as you’re better.”
Her lips moved again, something low and slurred—his name, maybe.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he murmured, brushing the damp hair back from her forehead, his hand lingering there before dropping to her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath his palm. “I ain’t going nowhere. You rest now. I got you.”
Fifteen minutes later, trucks hauling fuel pulled up, the boys moving quick through the cabin—getting the wounded loaded up, swapping out ruined bikes, grabbing whatever they needed. Sarge barked orders over all of it, splitting them off in pairs and shoving gas cans into their hands.
Thirty minutes after that, the front door slammed open.
“Where the hell is she—”
Margie stopped dead when she saw Cassie.
Then she was moving, dropping to her knees in front of Nash.
“Hey—hey, Cassie-girl—look at me—”
Cassie barely reacted, her head lolling where it rested against Nash’s shoulder.
“She’s breathin’ good,” Nash said. “Got a nasty bump on her head, though—”
“I got her,” Margie murmured, pulling Cassie toward her. “I got her—you can let go.”
When Nash didn’t quite fully relinquish her—because he goddamn didn’t want to let her go—Sarge stepped forward.
“We ain’t got all day,” he said quietly. “Don’t know how deep this goes or who else might show. We’re ready to light this place up when you are.”
Nash only looked at his VP, expression hard.
Sarge gave him a knowing look before dipping his chin once.
There was a whole lot more buried under this mess, and Nash meant to dig every bit of it up.
Forcing his grip to loosen, he let Margie take Cassie’s full weight. “Careful—” he started, only to be shushed by the woman.
“Now you ain’t goin’ nowhere yet, Cassie-girl,” Margie was saying, cradling her close. “You hear me? Hell, we just got you back.”
With one more look at Cassie, he crossed the room, grabbing Ollie by his bound wrists and hauling him up hard enough to pull a ragged sound from him.
“Let’s you and I take a fuckin’ walk, shithead.” His grip tightened on Ollie’s wrists. “Crush—bring the gas.”
Ollie sagged in his grip, dead weight dragging as he hauled him across the cabin and into the cellar, his broken leg slamming against the steps on the way down.
By the time they hit the first cellar, Ollie was screaming.
Nash dropped him beside Maya’s body; he landed with a broken shriek, rolling onto his side, groaning as he tried to get his bearings.
“My old man had your number way back when,” Nash said. “Knew you were the type to stab a brother in the back if it meant linin’ your own damn pockets.”
Ollie blinked up at him, dazed.
He stepped in, grabbing a fistful of his blood-soaked shirt and wrenching him up just enough to meet his eyes.
“But you should’ve left Cassie out of it.”
He let him drop, grabbed the gas can from Crusher, and twisted the cap off.
“No—” Ollie rasped. “Na—”
He cut off with a gurgle as gas filled his mouth, choking him.
“No—no, wait—” Ollie choked and coughed, trying to roll, to get away, wrists useless behind him, his broken leg dragging across the dirt. “Nash—”
Nash didn’t look at him. He turned and headed back the way they came, Crusher trailing behind, pouring gas and whistling as they went.