“Jesus.” I jump off the stool and race for the door, ignoring Shadow’s shout. “I’m coming, Queenie. Hold tight for me.”
“I-I’m trying. Oh God. He’s here.” The phone disconnects.
I pull on my helmet and swing my leg over my bike. Sinking down, I start the engine and take off, ignoring the speed limit. Who would be stupid enough to attack the Banks Funeral home? Was it personal? An old flame who won’t say no? The thought makes me see red, and I pick up the speed. The city blurs past me, and my stomach ties itself into knots. What if I’m too late? The thought of her pretty pink outfit covered in blood and her rich brown eyes glazed over and unseeing is unfathomable. This would never have happened if I had just stayed instead of running like a coward. We’re not even together, and I’m failing her.
I take the corner and pull up to the back of the gas station, hearing sirens in the distance. After removing my cut, I shove it into my saddlebag and run around the front of the store with my helmet still on. Brains and blood splattered across the back wall behind the counter make me think the worst. I rush down the front of the store, slipping on the trail of blood guiding me to the restroom; I keep my balance. Pulling my 9Mmillimeter from the back holster on my belt, I kick the door open and hug the wall, finding it empty. I kick the first stall open, the second, and the third.
“Queenie.”
The fourth stall flies open, and she stumbles toward me, a bloody mess.
I lower my weapon, and she crashes into me. Hiccupping, she sobs. Her warm tears fall onto my T-shirt, twisting a knife in my heart.
“I know you’re scared. But I need you to pull yourself together so we can get out of here.” I grip her chin and tilt her face toward me, brushing away her tears. “Can you do that for me, love?”
“Can try.”
“That’s good.” I wrap an arm around her and rush her out of the store through the back.
“I want you to climb behind me and hold tight yeah?”
“Okay.” Her voice is muffled as she presses her body against my back and grips my waist.
I pull off and place my hand over hers to give what comfort I can. Her body is shivering despite the muggy heat, and I’m worried about shock. I have a million different questions I want to ask, but they’ll all have to wait until after I get her to the club and see to her care. For now, I relish her solid weight pressed against me and pay close attention to her awareness. Tightening my grip on her hand, I pray she stays conscious long enough to get her somewhere safe. I take the back roads, turning down alleys to shake off anyone who might be following. I pull into the parking lot to see the brothers on high alert and spilling out on the front porch. Grimm is at our side the moment I kill the engine.
“What happened?”
“I haven’t gotten that far yet. I need to get Queenie inside. I think she might be headed toward shock.”
Grimm helps her off, and she slides to the side like a rag doll.
“Bloody hell.” I sweep her into my arms and march into the clubhouse with tunnel vision. Inside of my dorm, I lay her on the bed and elevate her legs with pillows.
“I need blankets, clean towels, and hot water.” I bark the orders, knowing they’ll be obeyed. I lift her eyelids, relieved when she twitches away from me.
“Queenie? Flower, I need you to focus on my voice if you can.” I grab the blankets shoved at me and lay them over her to bring up her core temperature. I tap her cheek gently.
She groans, and her eyelids flutter. “Preacher,” she whispers.
“That’s right, love. I’ve got you now. I need to check your wound.” I move the blanket aside, revealing her left side.
She cries out, and I turn to the others, crowding us, scowling. They don’t need to see this.
“Everyone out.”
They all file out, except for Grimm, who lingers in the doorway.
“As soon as she’s fit to talk, you’ll know,” I promise him.
He nods, slipping out and shutting the door behind him.
I slide her tank top down, baring the jagged, puckered wound. I exhale, relieved and grateful that the bullet went straight through. After dipping the clean towels into the hot water, I wring it out and grab the first aid kit I keep in my dresser drawer. I wipe down the wound with the hot towel, follow up with disinfectant and hold my breath as I press down. Crying out, she bucks under me, and I grit my teeth as her cries of pain ring in my ears.
“I’m sorry, love. I know it hurts. We’ve got to get that bleeding under control though.”
She slumps, and I know she’s probably passed out. Easing up my hold, I fish out a package of blood clotting powder. I rip it open, distribute the powder on the wound, and lift her up to give the opposite side the same treatment. Satisfied with the seal, I strip her shirt off and wipe her down, ignoring her perfectly formed heavy breasts, with chocolate nipples that have hardened in the cool air. Once her torso is cleansed, I bind the wound and check her blood pressure, allowing myself to follow into the familiar rhythm of care.
* * *