Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Until the car appears out of nowhere and rams us off the road. I don’t see the approaching headlights until they are on us. The driver swerves in our direction, and I’m forced to pull to the left to avoid it, almost running us into a ditch.
Luckily, I’m able to keep the bike upright and bring it to a stop without flipping us both off.
The car roars off in a plume of smoke.
“What the hell was that?” Belle asks.
It has to be the Psychos.
But I don’t have time to answer.
Because up the road, the car spins around and heads back our way. I place myself between it and Belle knowing something is about to happen.
When they come past, the window rolls down and I see the familiar logo on their masked faces.
At the same moment, one of them pulls out a gun and starts shooting.
CHAPTER 49
BELLE
It all happens so fast. One second we’re standing there, the next bullets are flying.
It’s crazy, but the first thing I think of is how much it sounds like firecrackers. The next thing I’m aware of is Beast clutching his shoulder.
He’s been shot.
Panic explodes in my chest.
I try to stop him from falling. But trying to support Beast’s body is like a toy car trying to tow a real one. Impossible. I start to panic even more. I’m too small and he’s too big. He collapses onto the wet road.
It starts to rain as I drop to my knees beside him and pull the phone out of my jeans pocket. “Who should I call?”
“No one. We can’t hang around. We’re too exposed out here. We’ve got to get out of here.”
I look at the Harley. It’s a beast of a machine and I’d never be able to hold it up. I’ve also never driven one before. I’d kill us both.
“I’m okay.” He hisses in a rough breath. “I just need a minute.”
“You’re badly wounded.”
“It’s nothing more than a nick.”
“I should call someone—"
“Belle, I can get us home.”
He hauls himself to his feet and manages to swing his leg over the body of the motorcycle and start the engine. With a rumble the machine comes alive.
I climb on behind him and we take off.
Ten minutes later, relief hits me when I see the clubhouse in the distance through the fog. “We’re almost home.”
Beast steers the bike along the long driveway and pulls to a stop near the stairs leading up to the front porch. He pushes down the kick stand with his big boot and climbs off. I try to help him, but the moment he’s free of the motorcycle he collapses.
“Help us! Please, we need help!” I cry out. His shirt is drenched with blood. He’s lost a lot during the ride home. “Please, someone!”
Almost immediately the big front doors groan open, and Viking, a prospect, and Ryder appear.
“What the hell happened?” Ryder asks as they descend the porch steps.
“Go get Priest,” Viking tells the prospect, who hastily disappears back inside.
“Do you need a hospital?” Viking asks.
“I’m fine,” Beast growls. “Just get me inside.”
Viking and Ryder sling his bulky arms around their shoulders and carry him into the clubhouse.
“Why are the lights out?” He groans.
“Blackout. They don’t expect it to come back on for a few hours.”
“What about the generator?”
“Lightning strike. Sticky, Balls, and Lars are trying to fix it now.”
They drag him into the bar and ease him onto a chair. “Where the fuck is Priest?” Viking growls. Then, tipping his head back, he yells in a big baritone voice that rattles the walls, “Priest, get in here now.”
Only moments later, Priest appears carrying his medical kit.
He takes one look at Beast on the chair, bleeding all over the floor, and blows out a breath.
“Get his cut and shirt off,” he tells Viking and Ryder.
I feel helpless as I watch. “What can I do?”
Priest says, “Stay right where you are, sweetheart. He’s going to need something nice to focus on if I’ve got to pluck out any bullets.”
Once Viking and Ryder get him out of his shirt and cut, the damage to Beast’s body is evident. A bullet wound to his left shoulder.
“Looks like the bullet went through tissue, not bone, so this should be easy,” Priest says.
“For fucking who?” Beast growls.
Priest pulls morphine into a syringe. “You should buy a lottery ticket, my friend. Two inches lower and it would’ve been lights out.” He jabs the needle into Beast’s skin. “This should do the trick.”
I wait for the opiate to take effect and for Beast to become relaxed and medicated. But Beast barely reacts.
Ryder hands him the bottle of whisky and Beast downs two large mouthfuls, his teeth gnashing together as the whisky burns through his chest. His beautiful lips glisten in the flickering glow of the candle as Priest gets to work and removes the bullet from his shoulder.