Someone screams.
More gunshots.
A furious growl.
I'm about to sit up behind my cover when a bullet punches a hole in the top one of the barrels and I throw myself back down on the ground with a shriek.
Several cars start up at once, their rumble almost drowned out by the gunfire.
“Motherfuckers!” screams Snark. “And stay the fuck out!”
Tires squeal, the gunfire slows, and then there’s nothing but ominous silence “Fuck!” explodes Viking. “Hawk!”
Hawk?
I dare to peek out around the barrel. Dario and his men are gone, along with the SUVs, but there’s a massive body lying on the ground near the gate.
Oh no.
“Hawk!”
18
ALESSA
By the time I get to his side, Viking’s already kneeling next to Hawk. “Someone get Emily, and someone call Doc.”
I drop to my knees next to Viking, looking for a way to help. Hawk took a bullet for me. A bullet for me when he hates my guts. What was he thinking?
Viking looks up. “Help me pull his shirt off. You're not squeamish about blood, are you?”
“I grew up in the Mafia, and I menstruate. What do you think?”
He chuckles, despite the situation. “Good. I'll lift and you pull. Careful.”
With a determined nod, I do as I'm told. Hawk hisses as I tug the fabric up, exposing his abs. I feel bad admiring his tight six-pack like this when it's the pain that has them flexed, but I also can't quite help it. He's as ripped as the rest of them.
The wound is right below his ribs, and now that the shirt is off, blood wells out freely. God, that looks ugly. Please, please, don't let it be as serious as it looks.
Snark jams his phone in his pocket. “We're in luck. Doc was home, just getting ready for work. He'll be here in a few.”
Hawk draws a sharp breath through his teeth as we get the shirt over his head, then Viking wads it up and jams it against the wound.
“Fuck,” Hawk complains.
“Stop being a baby,” says Snark, smirking at Hawk. The smile doesn't reach his eyes, though, which are crinkled in concern. “You only got shot a little bit.”
“Fuck off.”
Bear crouches at my side, putting a huge arm around me. I feel so useless, but he strokes my hair. “Hear that? He's going to be fine. How are you doing?”
“Fine? He got shot!” My hands shake. The way the T-shirt's turning red, I'm not convinced, but hopefully Bear knows more about how this works than I do. I nod. “And I’m in fucking shock, so what do you think? A guy I used to color Easter eggs with just shot at me!” It comes out as nearly a screech. I take a deep breath. “Wh—what happened to him?”
“Nothing,” Bear snarls. “One of his goons pulled him out of the way of my shot. I only grazed the fucker. They dragged him into one of the cars, kicking and screaming. His men are smarter than he is.”
Emily comes rushing out of the clubhouse with Izzy still in her arms, followed by two bikers, one of them carrying a pile of bandages. I jump to my feet. “Take her!” she yells as she falls to her knees to check Hawk.
“What happens now?” I hold Izzy close, breathing in her sweet, baby scent. The one Dario nearly stole from me forever. “Is he really going to be okay?”
“Doc's a pro, and Emily’s been taking nursing classes and assisting him when he’s here. I know it’s a lot of blood, but from what I saw it didn’t look to be in a bad spot. If he’s still conscious enough to be cranky, he'll be fine.” The tightness in Bear's gravelly voice makes me pretty sure he's not as sure as he tries to sound.
God, if Hawk dies because of me…
Two of the guys come carrying a stretcher, but Hawk holds up a hand and shakes his head. “Jesus fuck, I can walk on my own. Just… give me a hand. Bear!”
“Don't be a fuckhead,” says Bear, but he gently helps Hawk to his feet anyway. By Hawk’s tight jaw and pinched lips, it's obvious he's in pain, but he still makes the walk up into the clubhouse, with Bear giving him a hand up the stairs. “Stubborn ass,” Bear adds, but I can hear the concern.
The mood in the air isn't good. The mob just attacked the clubhouse, and I'm hearing a lot of really nasty comments about the Giordanos. This probably wouldn’t be a good time to point out the dynamics of the different families. I don’t blame them, really. If I wasn't here, Dario never would've been either, so it’s not like I’m innocent.
A few minutes later, Doc—a man in his fifties with a short-cropped white beard and hard eyes that look decidedly no-nonsense—comes running into the room. Hawk’s leaning back on the bed and snapping at anyone who gets too close. Doc takes a look at the bandaging. “Nice work, Emily. I see you’ve been practicing. You and Viking, stay here. The rest of you, get the hell out so we have space to work. Emily, attend me.” The room clears in a microsecond.