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I grabbed a hand towel and pressed it to his shoulder. Gideon winced.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
For everything. For causing him so much trouble. For putting him in pain like this. For getting him shot. For bringing my shitty brother and my shitty problems to his doorstep.
A cool breeze kissed the back of my neck and I glanced up. The window over the sink was shattered. Glass shards glittered on the counter like ice crystals. His peaceful, quiet little home was ruined.
Neither of us said anything. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, exhaustion settling over us. The rumble of motorcycles thundered in the night, signaling that Kingpin would be here any minute now.
Gideon tilted his head back to look up at me. For the first time, I was the one to stand above him. He always towered over me with his barrel chest and broad shoulders. I placed my hand against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm.
The silence wasn’t unsettling now. Instead, it was laden with everything we couldn’t bring ourselves to say yet.
I’m glad you’re okay.
***
When the Blackjacks arrived, all members were accounted for. Even though it was the middle of the night, they still dropped whatever they were doing to protect one of their own.
I stepped back, overwhelmed by the number of bikers crammed into Gideon’s small house. Heavy biker boots, black leather, jeans, and tattoos everywhere, with a clamor of activity and voices tumbling over each other.
“Gatling, scout the neighborhood,” Kingpin said, calmly giving orders as he stood amid the milling bodies. “Baby Doll, Blackbeard, take a look at Big G. Get him patched up before he passes out.”
“I’m not going to pass out,” Gideon shot back.
“Don’t argue with me, brother. You look like death warmed over.”
“Crash,” Blackbeard barked, peeling the vest off Gideon’s shoulders. “Get my medical kit from my saddlebags.”
“On it,” Crash declared and ducked out the door.
“Spike, Tex,” Kingpin said. “Find out who was shooting. I want answers.”
He crossed his arms, planting his feet wide. He looked powerful, in control, a reliable leader who was determined to get to the bottom of this.
I marveled at how the club moved like a well-oiled machine, seamless and smooth. Baby Doll pulled the collar of Gideon’s shirt down and clucked her tongue at the hole in his shoulder. My throat tightened. I pressed myself back against the wall, trying to stay out of the way, trying to make myself as small as possible. I’d caused enough damage for one night.
“Well, shit,” Baby Doll said, shaking her head. “The bullet didn’t go through. We’ll have to dig it out. You’re not going to like that, big guy.”
A muscle flexed in Gideon’s jaw but he made no reply. He’d finally relinquished his Glock, setting it aside on the table as he leaned back in his chair. It seemed he was only comfortable enough to let down his guard when his club surrounded him.
“Whiskey?” Baby Doll asked, turning toward the kitchen cabinets.
“Above the stove,” Gideon said. “Credence! Get in here. Talk to me.”
Crash galloped back into the kitchen and deposited a worn, cracked leather bag on the table. Blackbeard started pulling out tools—forceps, a scalpel, gauze.
Bile burned in the back of my throat. I couldn’t watch this.
Fleeing the kitchen, I sought sanctuary in the guest bedroom. Thankfully, no one was there. I dropped to the floor at the foot of the bed and pulled my knees up to my chest. The activity in the rest of the house was muffled and blessedly distant, but I could still make out bits and pieces of the conversation in the kitchen.
“How the fuck can you do this, Baby Doll?” Crash’s voice, a little strained.
“I grew up with four brothers,” Baby Doll replied matter-of-fact. “You’d be amazed how many times those bastards almost got themselves impaled doing stupid shit. Blood and guts never bothered me.”
“You’re lookin’ a little queasy, Prospect,” Blackbeard said. “Get some fresh air. Don’t puke all over our patient.”
The echo of Crash’s hurried footsteps signaled he practically ran outside. Then Gideon’s harsh fuck! indicated Baby Doll and Blackbeard had started to extract the bullet.
