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“Thank God,” I breathe, though the words feel hollow.
My heart’s pounding; every beat feels like it’s knocking against my ribs, trying to break free.
“Stay focused,” Dracus orders, though I can see the same panic in his eyes. We can’t lose her. Not like this.
“Here they come,” Bolt says, glancing toward the door as the wail of sirens grows louder. Relief washes over me, but it’s tainted with dread. What if they’re too late?
“Clear the path!” Zane shouts, running to fling open the door wider. A swarm of paramedics bursts in, tools and stretchers at the ready.
“Glass everywhere,” one EMT notes, voice professional but urgent. “We need to cut her out carefully.”
“Do whatever it takes,” Dracus demands, stepping back but staying close, eyes never leaving Jordyn.
“Working on it,” another EMT replies, pulling out a special saw, designed for precision cuts.
The machine hums to life, its blade glinting under the dim lights.
“Hold on, Jordyn,” I murmur, my fingers brushing a lock of her hair away from her face. She’s unconscious, thank God. She doesn’t have to feel this nightmare.
“All right, boys, step back,” one paramedic directs, and we all retreat just enough to give them space. They work quickly, methodically, slicing through tangled shards of glass to free her from the display case’s deadly embrace.
“Keep her stable,” the lead EMT instructs, his team moving like they’ve done this a million times before.
I watch, helpless but hopeful, praying silently that they can save her.
Minutes feel like hours, but finally, they lift her onto a stretcher, securing her in place.
The paramedics exchange terse nods, their faces set in grim determination.
“Get her to the hospital, please,” Zane begs, and they don’t hesitate.
As they wheel her out, I follow, my legs shaky, my mind in a whirl.
“She’s in good hands now,” Dracus says, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “But we ain’t done here. We’ll get whoever did this.”
“Hell yeah,” I agree, jaw clenched. “That bastard will fuckin’ suffer.”
Dracus hops in beside her without a second thought, his face set like stone. “I’ll ride with her,” he declares, leaving no room for argument.
“Go!” I shout, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The ambulance doors slam shut, and it takes off, sirens wailing into the night.
“Shit.” My breath comes in ragged gasps.
I turn to Zane, who stands there, fists clenched, eyes burning with barely contained rage.
“Who did this?” My voice is rough, nearly breaking. “Do you know who would do this to her?” Yet, the second I ask the question . . . I think I know.
Zane’s jaw tightens, his eyes flashing with something dark and dangerous. “Yeah,” he growls. “I have an idea.”
“Then let’s get him,” I snap, adrenaline surging. “No one does this to one of us and walks free.”
“Hold your horses, Bama,” Tex warns, stepping between us. “First things first, we gotta make sure Jordyn pulls through. Then we handle business.”
“He's right,” Zane admits reluctantly, running a hand over his face. “Let’s get to the hospital. We’ll figure the rest out after.”
“Fine,” I grit out, mounting my bike. The engine roars to life beneath me, a sound that should be comforting but only fuels my fury.
