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The smoke in the air sent another wave of coughing through me. It was enough to make me realize I wasn’t in Iraq anymore. I was lying in bed with Loralei, and the house was on fire. Smoke was rolling in from the open bedroom door.

“Motherfucker,” I said and started coughing again. I scrambled out of bed and closed the door.

“Loralei! Wake up!” In a mad rush, I ran to the bathroom, jerked the towels from the bar, soaked them, and brought them back.

I pulled my clothes on and shoved my boots on without socks. She mumbled in her sleep but didn’t move. She’d been facing the door, while I had been somewhat sheltered in the curtain of her hair. I prayed she hadn’t breathed too much of the acrid smoke.

“Babe, wake up!” I shook her, then rummaged through her dresser to find a hoodie. Dressing her while she was half conscious wasn’t ideal, but it was fucking cold outside. The thick fuzzy socks I shoved on her feet would have to do, because I didn’t have time to find shoes. The flames were glowing under the door. I threw one of the wet towels down to seal the bottom somewhat.

“Loralei!” I screamed as I tried to open the bedroom window.

She lifted her head and coughed violently as she braced her hands on the bed and pushed up.

“Here.” I gave her the other wet towel to hold over her mouth and continued fighting with the ancient window. When I was about to break the damn thing, it finally busted free, and blessed fresh, but cold, air blew in. Unfortunately, the fresh oxygen must’ve seeped through the cracks of the door, feeding the greedy flames.

They started to lick up the inside of the door, and I knew we were out of time. Not waiting for her to get up, I scooped her into my arms and darted for the window. I raised my foot and kicked out the screen.

Unceremoniously, I dumped her out into the snowbank under her window. She clambered out of the way, and I jumped and rolled. I’d barely gotten to my knees when a brief zipping sound registered right as a chip of the siding hit me.

“Someone’s fucking shooting at us,” I gasped out as I grabbed her and ran for my truck. We took cover on the driver’s side as I jerked on the door handle, praying my keys were still in my pocket. When the locks sounded, I sent up a prayer of thanks.

“Stay down and get over!” I told her as I shoved her in the cab. She slid over to the other side like a wet eel right as the window above her head shattered.

She screamed, and I swore. I used my hand to shove the brake down and the other to push the start button. Once the truck was running, I scrambled up and slammed it in drive. Tires spinning, the truck fishtailed before the wheels caught and we shot forward.

We drifted around the corner, and I prayed again that we didn’t roll over.

“What the hell is going on?” she shrieked in a hoarse voice before she started coughing.

“Don’t quote me, but I think someone set your house on fire!” I roared, followed by my own bout of coughing as I checked the rearview and realized a vehicle was following us. As fast as they were going, I didn’t think it was someone out enjoying a fun drive in the blizzard.

When I glanced to my screen, I realized my phone was connected and reached back to feel it still in the back pocket of my jeans.

“Thank fuck,” I croaked. It took two tries for my scratchy voice to register with my truck to call Snow.

“Jesus, do you ever sleep?” he said in a tone gruff from being awoken in the middle of the night.

“Open the fucking gates! We’re coming in hot!” I hoarsely yelled.

“What?” he asked, suddenly sounding wide awake. I repeated myself, and I could hear him running and yelling out orders, but then I quit listening as I tried to stay on the damn road.

Though I hated to admit it, I was terrified—and I didn’t get scared. Besides the multiple combat situations I’d survived, almost dying from a snake bite in Afghanistan taught me that being scared didn’t accomplish a motherfucking thing. Yet the thought of something happening to Loralei because I couldn’t keep her safe scared the hell out of me.

The vehicle behind us was gaining on us as we raced down the back road leading out of town. Every so often, the tires would break loose and I’d think we were heading for the ditch.

Loralei would scream in a scratchy panicked voice, then start coughing. The busted-out window had her hair blowing wildly around her as she braced her hands on the dash.

“Buckle up!” I demanded. From the corner of my eye, I saw her make several attempts to get the seat belt around her and latched.

I opened the center console and pulled out my piece. Ensuring the safety was on, I handed it to her. “Here! Do you know how to shoot?”

When she didn’t answer, I chanced a glance in her direction. She was staring at the gun in her hand like it was a fucking snake, and I cursed under my breath.

It was snowing so hard, I could barely see the asphalt in front of me and hoped I was staying on the road. If anyone came at us, we’d likely be fucked.

Luckily, the other vehicle maintained some distance behind us. As we approached the approximate area for the turnoff for the Demented Sons clubhouse, I slowed. Chanting in my head to please not let me slide past the entrance or wreck, I watched for the lights that adorned either side of the gate.

Spotting them, I slowed further and watched as the other vehicle closed in on us.


Tags: Kristine Allen Royal Bastards MC: Ankeny, IA Fantasy