Christopher’s cell phone. She’d heard it several times when he’d been with her at the hospital. A moment later, a loud bang almost deafened her. Wood and metal flew and crashed to the floor as the desk was ripped apart. Meggie guessed it was the desk since that’s where the cell phone had been.
The boots pounded out of the room. Pausing in the hallway, the square toes turned toward her again.
“I plugged Rack,” a voice called.
Whooping and hollering followed that.
“Yeah? Well, I popped Outlaw. Fucker. Told him I’d avenge my father.”
The man grunted. “He shot me, too.”
“I should make sure he’s done. Blow his fucking skull apart.”
“What’s up? Why you still here?”
“Shit ain’t right, Kit. I feel it in my bones. Like I’m being watched or some shit.”
“Christopher musta gave up the ghost and he’s stalking you.”
Boots started back into the room and Meggie pressed her nose to the floor, nausea roiling in her belly. The floor tilted and she swore if she wasn’t already on the ground, she would’ve fainted at having her speculations confirmed about Christopher. She choked back a sob, praying they were wrong. But they sounded too confident and sure of themselves for her to have any hope.
“Yo, Snake!”
“Whatcha got, Relay?” The call halted his advancing stride and he backed out of the room.
Snake. He was the one who’d bragged about avenging his father by killing Christopher. If she wasn’t so alone and vulnerable, she’d reveal herself and spit in Snake’s face.
“Bags of powder, that’s what. We got ‘em next door, in the midst of preparing shipment just like we were told.”
If I don’t know motherfuckers, I end up with a real fuckin’ knife in my back. The memory of Christopher’s statement thumped through Meggie’s head. Someone had set him up. But who?
“What about this place? Torch it?”
“No, Welsh,” Snake responded. “Let’s go next door and lift the sugar. Get it out of here. We’ll return later to search this place. I’m sure there’s more here. Ain’t found the fuckin’ bricks yet neither. We’ll torch this shithole after I get what the fuck I want. Besides, Outlaw…”
The words faded into the air as they departed, leaving nothing in their wake but eerie silence. A minute later, a door slammed shut in the distance and Meggie jumped, her entire body shaking, jerking, adjusting to the fact that the immediate danger had walked away. She knew she had to man up, move. She had to find Christopher. She had to escape.
A vision of Thomas rose in her head. Compared to this, he was a teddy bear. Meggie squeezed her eyes shut, drew in deep breaths, counted sheep.
Her pulse banging in her throat, she crawled from under the bed. She grabbed the edge, swallowing at the mangled desk and destroyed phone. Bullet holes decorated the walls and the door hung off the hinges.
At the door, she glanced both ways down the hallway. The creepy quietness sent chills through her. She could do this. She couldn’t stay in there forever. Her father wouldn’t stand down and neither would she.
She glanced to her left again, which led to the main room and Christopher’s office. That way also led to light. Forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, she tipped down the hallway, covering her nose against the acrid smells in the air. Sulfur. Fear. Death.
When she reached the main room, with the long bar, the pool tables, the dartboard, and the huge television, she tripped. She put her hands out to break her fall and landed on something soft. Part of a face reached her line of vision. The other half consisted of...nothing.
Meggie scrambled back, choking back a scream, too horrified to make a sound. Though she didn’t know the man’s name, she recognized him. She slid forward, on her knees, the floor wet and sticky beneath her, coated with blood and…and…Oh God! She shook her head wildly as if that would make it all go away. It didn’t. She raised her blood covered hands, dizziness swaying her.
She cleared of the body, knocking over a small table. The loud crash reverberated around her and she longed for the safety of her mother’s arms. But neither of them had been safe since her mother married him. When they were, usually Meggie made them safe. Her mother had given up, forcing Meggie to flee and find safety. Instead, it looked like she’d walked into a death trap. Into the bowels of hell.
She wasn’t equipped to be a runaway, to survive a gun battle. She’d grown up getting whatever she wanted. While they hadn’t been wealthy, they had been comfortable. What her mother couldn’t buy her, her father picked up the slack. But, then, her mom had remarried when Meggie turned thirteen and everything changed. Her father no longer visited on a regular basis. Her mother no longer smiled.
Slowly, Meggie got to her feet, queasy and disoriented. A door opened and the bright sunlight flooding the room mocked the blood and gore surrounding her. She squinted, her hand flying to her mouth, the glare preventing her from seeing who’d walked in. She dodged into a corner, praying the shimmer an equal handicap for the other person. She crab-walked—ran—toward the office hoping to find Christopher there. Alive. Not dead. At the thought, she lost her balance, landing hard on her butt. She spun around, relieved no one had joined her and backed into the office, closing the door behind her. The lock was blown off but for the most part the door remained intact. She leaned her head against the cool wood, offering a prayer of thanks.
A moan behind her startled her and she twisted. The gore that greeted her sent the bile in her empty stomach hurtling out.
HEAT CONSUMED OUTLAW, SO FUCKING hot he must be at the first gate of hell. He waited for that hoof footed motherfucker to appear because, certainly, the devil would want to personally greet a fucker like him. But nothing. Just fucking heat and pain and a massive amount of fucking fury.
His shoulder and leg burned like fuck. The scent of blood, piss, and shit filled his nostrils. Red and gray spattered a wall. He swallowed when Megan Foy crawled into his line of vision and shut the door behind her. Someone groaned and she turned. Horror filled her features before she leaned over and vomited.
He wanted to close his eyes but seeing her reminded him he had to live long enough to get her to safety. If she hadn’t been here, perhaps, he’d close his fucking eyes and pray he never woke the fuck up. But the little hellcat needed him. Not since he’d killed Boss did he regret the choices he’d made in his life as much as he did now. Fuck, yeah, he’d had twinges of regret over the years, but not like this. She wasn’t quite healed from her beating and her cold, and he had her dealing with this. He wondered if she knew today was the one-year anniversary of Boss’s death.
Maybe, he moaned—though he didn’t remember uttering a sound—because her gaze flew to his face. Christopher gritted his teeth at her ghost-white features and eyes wide with fear.
So he really wasn’t dead. Just shot. And pissed. Heads were going to fucking roll.
“Help.”
That wasn’t him. That croak was Rack’s. He wanted to be happy the man had survived, but he didn’t know if he should be. Outlaw had his suspicions and many of those motherfuckers pointed straight the fuck at Rack. Divided loyalties and high emotions left the Death Dwellers in fucking chaos. Motherfuckers jockeying for power and offices. They were imploding, destroying themselves from the inside out. Rack might like to draw motherfuckers as a form of special fucking torture, but it would be his fucking ass halved and quartered if Outlaw discovered his duplicity.
“Someone’s out there,” Megan whispered, shaking. “I-I was looking for you. H-he said he…he p-popped y-you. I-I th-thought y-y-ou n-needed m-me, n-needed h-h-help. And there’s a m-man with half a face!” she sobbed. “I f-fell on him. A-and th-then someone came back in.”
Tears slid down her cheeks and she stared at him. For comfort. For protection. To make sure he still lived. She visibly trembled. Jesus. Fuck. She needed him and she’d risked her life to find him.
Outlaw tried to rise and cu
rsed at the pain careening through his body. Oh, yeah. He’d been popped in his thigh, too. Fuckers. Dizziness blurred his vision and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Slower than he appreciated, he rose to his feet and swayed. On her knees, she rested on her feet, breathing heavy. Fuck, she was bloody. She’d been shot, too?
“Y-you’re bl-bleeding,” she said, rising to her feet and rushing to him. Her hands explored his body in a frantic rush.
No. Not shot. She was too agile, showing no signs of pain. He worked out some of her babbling, the fact that she’d fallen on a man with half his head blasted off the most disturbing for her, in a day filled with fucking disturbances. Her frantic distress arrowed to his gut.
She finished with another, “You’re bleeding, Christopher,” in a stronger tone.
Outlaw clenched his jaw, the sound of his name on her lips spiking his resolve. “My ass shot, so, yeah, I’m bleedin’.”
“I am, too,” Rack said with a moan.
“I h-heard th-them t-talking,” she sniffled in a low voice, pausing in her exploration to lean on his chest and wrap her arms around his waist.
“Yeah?” Outlaw responded, listening for sounds, zoning in on her beautiful face to keep himself upright. He told himself he was acting in the role of a big brother and would never lay hand nor tongue nor cock on any place on her body that might lead to fucking.
“A-and o-one of them c-came back,” she continued, a little hysterically.
She pulled away to look at him, his blood covering her cheek. The quietness made it hard to believe another shooter wandered beyond the door. Whether they’d returned or not wasn’t the point. Protecting her was.
“You heard them talk?”
She nodded. “Th-there were three m-men. One named K-kit. Another named Sn-snake. And I didn’t know the name of the other one. Sn-snake is the one who sh-shot you.”
No fucking shit.
She kept her face turned to him. Any place else she looked, she would’ve seen brain matter and blood from the three other men in the room. Her thin voice and trembling lips told him how scared shitless she was. And, yet, she wasn’t screaming like a maniac or crumpling to the floor in a dead faint.
Strong under fire. Boss’s genes. And, that motherfucking Snake’s, too.
Outlaw crept forward, gripping the side of his desk and reaching for his nine at the same time. His nostrils flared at the carnage. He was getting light-headed and the wounds that had been burning like hellfire was growing numb. His eyes slid closed but the sound of her voice popped them back open. He swayed.
“Th-they said th-they were taking the sugar s-so th-they would c-come back l-later to search the place b-before t-torching it.”
They was stealing his shit, huh? He neared the door just as it began to push open. Painfully slow. Megan gasped and Outlaw thrust her behind him to make sure she stood out of the line of fire. Sweat beaded his brow. The door banged open, guns blazing.
Outlaw stood to the side and shoved his nine in the asswipe’s temple. “Smile, motherfucker. You on candid fuckin’ camera.”
Pity it was Kit he was about to blow the fuck away and not Snake.
“Hands up.”
Without another prompt, asswipe raised his hands.
“Walk. And if you a prayin’ fuckin’ man, you better pray we don’t fuckin’ run into any of your brothers. You my shield, motherfucker. They shoot at me, you fucked first.”
His brown ponytail swung with his nod.
“Rack?” he called, wondering if the last round of gunfire had killed him.
“Yo?
He was alive.
“Get your piece and come with me. Megan, stay the fuck put.” Outlaw started walking out the door, backing the doomed fuckhead out.
“Pl-please d-don’t make me stay in here with all these d-dead p-people!”
Outlaw ignored her, in another zone altogether.
The killing zone. He had some blood to spill.
AS CHRISTOPHER LIMPED OUT, PAIN etched into his beautiful features, Meggie wondered if she’d ever see him again. Was he walking to his own death after he’d survived the initial shooting? His shirt stuck to him, stained with his blood. That blood also leaked onto the floor. He couldn’t survive a massive amount of blood loss.
It surprised Meggie when Rack staggered to his feet and followed Christopher out. Blood dripped down the side of his face. With all the blood on him, he looked as if he’d been shot, too, but, she figured he’d only been grazed.
She needed to leave Christopher’s office, get away from this gruesome scene. He might’ve told her to stay, but she couldn’t, not with the horrific sight just behind her. No amount of pretending could remove the heaviness in the air. She pulled open the door and headed to Christopher’s bedroom. As she turned the corner of the hallway where the bedrooms were located, more gunfire split the quiet and she ran the rest of the way.
She hurried past the broken door and halted, bending over and breathing heavy. She stared ahead, immobile, the frame of the window allowing her to see the beautiful day. Blue, cloudless skies with the sun gleaming through the pathway that cut through thick stands of trees. Pieces of the desk and cellphone littered the floor, and Meggie wanted to curl up in a ball. That wouldn’t serve any purpose, however, other than giving into her fear and self-pity.
Her hands shook as she began clearing the mess, focusing on the tasks at hand and losing herself in the back and forth of sweeping.
A hand landed on her shoulder and flung her back around. Meggie covered her head with her hands, waiting to feel a bullet tearing through her body. Instead, another hand landed on the other shoulder.
“Ain’t I fuckin’ told you to wait in my office?”
She peeped through the triangle of her folded arms, wincing at the glower Christopher directed at her, his discarded shirt showing the blood still seeping from the jagged hole on his left shoulder.
She dropped her hands to her sides and set aside all the hurt, jealousy, and anger from last night. She didn’t want Christopher to die as well. “You need to get to a hospital.”
“I need to take care of my fuckin’ club.”
“You won’t be able to take care of anything if you’re dead.”
A black brow lifted and he released her shoulders. “You worried about me?”
“Yes.” She wondered when her life would settle down, when there wouldn’t be the threat of blood and pain chasing her and too often catching up. “I’m very worried about you. You need the gunshots tended.”
Tenderness surfed through the pain in his eyes. He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers, his tongue gliding over the tears on her cheeks before taking her mouth again. Meggie stood on tiptoes, just wanting to assure herself he was alive and with her.
“Your lil’ ass shoulda listen to me,” he said gruffly, fisting her hair in his hand. “You shouldna left my office.”
“I couldn’t stay in there. Not with…with those men.”
Sweat beaded his brow and discomfort brightened his eyes, the blood loss making him pale beneath the tan of his skin. She didn’t know how long ago he’d been shot but he’d done a lot between then and now, including, as far as she knew, gotten the intruders off the compound. He moved slowly toward the bathroom, wincing and mumbling more ‘motherfuckers’ and ‘fucks’ then she’d ever heard in her entire life.
He swayed and Meggie rushed to him, nudging her shoulder beneath his arm, almost bringing them both down because she didn’t realize how heavy he was. And he wasn’t even leaning his full weight on her.
“Whatcha doin’, Megan?”
“Meggie,” she said quietly. “Call me Meggie. And I’m tryin’ to keep you from fallin’.”
He staggered and Meggie clutched his biceps, finding no give, no softness, only hard muscle.
“I ain’t gave you permission to touch me, yeah?”
“No, but I didn’t ask for your permission,” she countered, still gripping him, not under the false impressio
n she held them up. Even wounded, his strength kept them upright. “You need to have your injuries seen to.”
He scowled at her. “No fuckin’ shit, genius.”
She ignored his sarcasm and, instead, tugged him forward to the bed. He moved with her, but her hope of guiding him down in a smooth landing evaporated when he crashed onto the bed. She crawled next to him, exploring his naked torso. “Why haven’t you had the wounds cared for yet?”
“Ain’t nobody here able to dig out the bullets and sew me up or drive me to a hospital right now. Mortician and Digger doin’ death fuckin’ detail. Have to get this cleaned up and certain inventory stashed away.” He groaned and closed his eyes. “Thought I was done for. Thought I ain’t livin’ to see my thirty-third birthday.”
He still might not. His furnace-like skin and slurring speech alerted Meggie she needed to do something for him soon. “Stay with me.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
She didn’t respond, just hurried to the main room. The dead bodies had been removed, if not all the blood.
Digger and Mortician were in quiet conversation, their expressions grim, plastic gloved hands punctuating the discussion with gesturing. Rack leaned on the bar talking to several men Meggie didn’t recognize. His face had been cleaned of most of the blood but a deep gash marred his temple.
He narrowed his eyes when he spotted her. “Get back in the room, Meggie,” he ordered.
“Chris…Outlaw needs medical treatment, right away.”
“I can’t–”
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” she interrupted, not quite understanding why they would let their president bleed to death. Wasn’t MCs about loyalty and brotherhood? “You have to get help for him.”
“Says who?” Rack’s wintry gaze studied her, daring her to answer him.
She raised her chin. “Says me. He’s your president. You have to take care of him.”
“Do I?” He stepped closer to her, his look unpleasant.
Meggie inched back, remembering the beating he’d given to her. She’d prefer not to deal with him, especially with Christopher injured. She wouldn’t desert Christopher, though. He needed her and she refused to allow an overgrown Neanderthal like Rack to scare her away.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 11