Page 126 of Bleed Me

“Where the fuck is the last biker?”

Justice’s head swiveled, trying to locate our enemy. “Giver, I don’t know, and my stomach is in knots. But if that were you in that truck, I would pray someone would try.”

Exhaling because I was terrified that I was leading my girl into a trap, I rode toward the truck. “I love you, Justice Dalton.” There were no cars on this isolated road. It had always been as such. Trees and woods were all around us. That biker could be anywhere.

Her voice trembled with fear, but in true Justice style, she teased, “Stop the melodramatics and let’s save the motherfucking day, once again.”

Rushing to a stop, I kicked down the jiffy stand and got off the bike in a hurry. Justice, guns drawn, had my back. As I ran to the truck, I could see Maverick slumped against the driver’s door, his hair full of blood. Reaching for the handle, I swore I saw his chest rise. That’s why, even though the vehicle was in danger of exploding and the cab was filling with smoke, I ripped open the door. “I think he’s alive—Oh, fuck!” As his unconscious form fell toward me, I caught him. “Jesus, he’s heavy.” Trying to readjust to grab under his arms had me maneuvering to see inside the truck better. “Justice! He’s on fire!” With all I had, I pulled that big bastard out of the truck.

Justice wasn’t coming to help. Instead, she stared behind the tree the truck was now a part of. “Giver, I see movement.”

Dragging Maverick, to take cover behind the truck, I yelled, “Follow me!” As soon as I was back there, I dropped Boxer boy to the ground and rushed to his legs, using my bare hands to put out the fire singeing his pants.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Justice’s gun fired as bullets sailed past her. She was walking backward, very focused, pacing toward the rear of the truck. Boom! Boom! Boom!

Still at Maverick’s legs, I reached out to yank her to me, like I had been doing all day, but her body flew backward before I could reach her.

My vocal cords and heart burned far hotter than my hands as I shouted, “No!”

A bullet had landed directly in her chest.

Her beautiful body slammed to the ground. Justice didn’t move.

I fucking snapped!

I don’t remember grabbing my guns or standing, but the next thing I knew, I was roaring and charging the man who had just shot my wife. It wasn’t Dick. It was only James Gunn Dalton firing two guns, at the same time, into the chest, stomach, and head of the man who dared fuck with my woman. Still on his feet, his body jerked and flailed with each landing of my silver revenge slugs. Even after he fell, I filled that motherfucker with lead.

I never saw the headlights of the Stallion bikes. I never saw any brothers. I only felt one throw his arms around me and my arms, doing the best he could to stop my rage. “Son, stop. She’s alive. She’s alive…”

I stilled. What?

“Her vest. She’s alive.” Dagger’s arms loosened. “I’m letting go.”

I nodded.

Then shot the fucker on the ground one more time.

In the Emergency Room hospital bed, I struggled to stay composed because Justice was in pain, too. She had been knocked unconscious but came back gasping, grabbing at the spot she had been hit. Lynx said she would have a hell of a bruise but not to worry. That was impossible for me when it came to that woman. “You should be the one in this bed.”

She whispered, “That would mean cops. No way.”

Lucky for her, the pain my hands were enduring was excruciating and distracting. Grimacing and trying to breathe, I begged, “Justice, Dagger, get me out of here. I can’t be here. Please.”

On one side of my bed, Dagger held my leg. On the other side was Justice, wiping rainwater and sweat from my forehead, terror and worry on her face. “Shh…” She kissed me several times as if trying to heal me while waiting for help. Due to the rain and car accidents, and the pro boxer who had been brought in before me, there was a shortage of doctors.

Justice was shaking, her hands holding my face. “This is the only hospital around, and your hands are a mess. Can’t take a chance of not having you seen right away.”

Finally, a couple of nurses rushed in, having Justice stand aside to inspect me. I gave her a look of warning, “Babe,” as she reached for her gun. “Knock it off.” My wife was tired and gettin’ ornery.

She snarled but backed away. Dagger found it amusing, biting down laughter.

As scissors cut my black hoodie and T-shirt, I begged, “Not my vest. Please, not my vest.”

Dagger reached around a nurse, laying his hand on my shoulder. “You’re not wearing it, son. We got ya.”

I didn’t even remember them taking it off me. I sighed and sat back against the erect bed, closing my eyes to handle the pain, but could still hear all my brothers arriving. Leather vests creaked, low voices rumbled, and biker boots squeaked and bumped along the floor.

A female introduced herself as my doctor, then mentioned things to the nurses about degrees of burns, medicines, IV, flushing out wounds…