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The front door to Tart is shut and all of the lights are turned off.
I rush up to the door and pull it open, but it’s locked.
With all my might, I kick the glass as hard as I can until it breaks, making my way through the door.
“Jordyn!” I shout, yanking my gun from its holster.
The weight of it feels reassuring in my hand, but it doesn’t calm the fear gnawing at my insides.
I stride forward, every muscle tense and ready to snap.
“Jordyn!” I call again, searching for her.
Bikes roll up behind me and members of the club are searching through the bakery as quickly as possible.
The place is pitch-black.
“Fuck,” Dracus mutters, eyes scanning the shadows.
“Stay sharp,” Zane orders, already moving inside. We follow, stepping into the pitch black. I flick on the light.
“Jordyn!” my voice cracks with desperation.
Then I see her. My breath catches in my throat. Zane’s by her side in an instant, kneeling in shattered glass.
“Help, quick!” he shouts, his voice raw.
Jordyn’s sprawled in the display case, a mess of glass and blood. Shards stick out of her arms and stomach like twisted knives. My heart drops to my boots.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, holstering my gun and rushing forward.
My hands shake as I reach her, but I force them steady. Zane’s already there, his eyes wide with panic.
“Zane, what do we do?” My voice sounds foreign, distant.
“Call 911!” he barks, not looking up from Jordyn. His hands are pressing down on her wounds, trying to stem the flow.
Blood seeps through his fingers.
“911?” I echo, feeling stupid for some reason.
We never call ambulances unless it’s absolutely necessary.
“Do it now, Bama!” Zane snaps, desperation edging his tone. “Her injuries are too bad for Cheyenne to handle this at the club. I need help guys! Her fuckin’ wrists!”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Cheyenne’s good, but even she has limits.
I fumble for my phone, dialing with clumsy fingers.
The operator’s voice is a blur as I give the address, my eyes never leaving Jordyn.
She’s so still, too damn still.
“Ambulance is on its way,” I say, my voice shaking.
“Move!” Dracus barks, pushing past me.
Bolt’s right behind him, rags already in hand.
