Prologue #2
Ranger’s eyes flicked to Becks’ for one terrifying heartbeat before turning his attention back to Cameron. The injection was for him? “What’s in it?”
“Something to make you more compliant,” Cameron answered unhelpfully.
“And before you try to do anything macho or super soldier-y, remember that I can pull the trigger a lot faster than you can bolt across this room, throw my purse, or do anything to try to stop me. One slip and bam!” she shouted, making Ranger flinch.
“Bye, bye, baby sister.” The mocking tone of her voice pissed Ranger off more than he could express in that moment.
He had no idea what was going on or why.
Cameron had called the bomb hers, but why would Cameron have a bomb?
How did she even know how to make a bomb?
What could she possibly want with Ranger and/or Becks that she couldn’t have gotten over the past year?
Why now? The way she spoke of their sex life, she made it sound like she’d been forced to sleep with Ranger? Forced by whom? Certainly not him.
Ranger stared down the woman he thought he knew so well. He didn’t move, didn’t reach inside the purse as instructed. He tried to keep his voice steady, almost soothing, as he asked, “Why are you doing this? What is this about?”
“Don’t try to stall,” she snapped, clearly running out of patience. “There’s no ‘talking me out of this’ or ‘pleading to the goodness inside me’,” she ridiculed. “I just blew up your fucking bar. Do you really think there’s anything you can say that will stop me from pulling this trigger?”
And that’s what it came down to. The explosion wasn’t staged.
Maybe a sound could have been, but not making the ground itself tremble from the force of the blast. And did she just say the bar?
She blew up Demon on the Rocks? Fuck! At this time of the evening, business would certainly be picking up and Ghost would most definitely have been inside.
Who else? Ranger wasn’t due in until later that night, but it wasn’t uncommon for the single club members to gather at the bar for a drink and some company.
Ranger shifted his attention to Becks again.
He stared at her tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.
She was so terrified, and she’d asked for none of this.
She came over here for him, because he’d been such a dick to Ghost recently.
He knew the blame lay with Cameron, but how could he not take some of it as well?
He was just standing here, unable to get to her.
Trying would mean her certain death. Ranger knew when an amateur held a gun, and while Cameron might not be a superior marksman, she certainly wouldn’t miss with the muzzle pressed directly to the side of Becks’ skull.
What did you say to the person who meant the most to you in the world, knowing that you’d failed them?
How did he even begin to apologize for putting her in this position, even if it wasn’t directly his fault?
She was here because he was here and he was here because he’d had a stick up his ass about knowing, or guessing, what she and Ghost had been up to in the bedroom.
It seemed so inconsequential now. Was Ghost even alive?
If Ranger somehow got Becks out of here, the chances were slim that he would be walking away unscathed.
Would she lose her brother and her husband in the same night?
Ranger didn’t care about himself, but Becks and the baby she suspected she carried would survive this night. They had to. He would not walk out of this room otherwise. But injecting himself with what he could only assume to be a sedative was also not an option.
He turned his attention back to Cameron. “It couldn’t have all been an act. I refuse to believe that you’re that good of an actress. You care about me?—”
“Oh, please!” Cameron scoffed. She even rolled her eyes like a petulant teenager.
“You were nothing more than a dick to ride, and a means to an end. I feel nothing for you. Now, stop fucking stalling. If you took away anything from our time together, Ranger, just remember how ruthless I can be when it comes to getting something I want.”
In the next second, Ranger did not need to remember the times she tested his feelings for her, the backhanded slights towards others, the way she treated herself first or manipulated a situation in her favor.
Instances on their own that were too subtle to mean anything, but now slapped him in the face for being a blind fool.
“Wait, wait! Stop!” he shouted in pure desperation as Cameron’s finger tightened ever so slightly on the trigger.
“I’ll do it! Just…” Fuck! He didn’t know what was in the syringe, but she’d already admitted that it would make him more compliant.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! “How do I know you won’t hurt her once I do? ”
“I already told you that,” Cameron snapped. “Lev-er-age.” She spoke like she thought Ranger nothing more than a fucking moron. “So make your choice, soldier boy, needle or bullet, because I’ve already made mine and nothing is going to keep me from it.”
Time seemed to freeze. He was out of options.
Out of choices. The barest fraction of a millimeter more, and Becks would be lying dead on the floor in a pool of her own blood and brain matter.
What the fuck was he supposed to do? The club wasn’t coming.
Rescue wasn’t coming. Even if they did somehow miraculously know that Ranger and Becks were in danger, they had their own problems to worry about.
Ghost and who knew who else might be dead, the bar had exploded.
Was there even anything left of it? And what about the businesses and buildings surrounding it?
What about the people around the bar, not just in it?
What was so special about Ranger and Becks that Cameron would go to such extremes to get to them—when she was already a part of their lives!
But she clearly wanted them alive. Given Ranger’s history and their size difference, of course she would want him out of commission. Likely believing it was the only way to get him tied up. For what, he had no idea.
But despite the unknowns, the endless questions racing around his mind, there really was only one that mattered. Bullet or needle. Those were her words, the choice she gave him. It wasn’t hard. Wasn’t even a decision. Not really. Because he’d never choose the bullet.
Ranger slowly reached into the purse. True to Cameron’s word, there was a syringe and a teal rubber tourniquet inside.
He dropped the empty purse like it was the anchor about to pull him down to the bottom of the sea.
His eyes never leaving Becks’, he tied the tourniquet around his upper arm, pulling it tight with his teeth.
Popping the plastic cap off the needle, he took note of just how steady his hand and heartbeat were. There was no waver to his voice as he told his little sister, “I love you,” before pressing the needle into the crook of his elbow.
* * *
One Month Later
He should have chosen the bullet. Not for Becks, but for himself.
Should have told that fucking bitch to turn the gun on him and just shoot.
He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t go on like this, a stranger in his own skin.
Nothing felt normal, nothing tasted right.
Everything was too loud, too noisy, too painful, and he just needed it to end.
Needed it to stop for two fucking seconds so he could get some sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he felt her, that fucking bitch, on him, over him, touching him…
Her hands, her mouth, were everywhere. Reality and memory merged to the point where he didn’t know what was fact or fiction anymore.
He took a drive. It was supposed to help him clear his head. It always had before. What sort of biker couldn’t rely on the open road to ease his sorrows?
He ended up in the city. Had that been his intention all along? He didn’t know. Maybe. It was the only explanation as to why he had that much cash on him.
The ride back was more deliberate. He sped, knowing his pain was coming to an end.
Becks had left dinner out for him, but he didn’t touch it.
All he could think about was making it end, making it stop, of filling the ravenous void.
There was no after, no thoughts of tomorrow. Only the bliss of oblivion.
He’d chosen, and it would forever be his curse and his salvation. The bullet or the needle.
In the bathtub, curled against the cool porcelain, Ranger once again chose the needle.