Love Ties (21 page)

She cupped Stone’s face. His jaw was baby-smooth from a fresh shave. His dark hair was slicked back, and he smelled like the cologne he’d wooed her with back in the day.

“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” she urged.

He smiled and lifted her off his lap. “You’re right. A proper reunion.”

He’d take her to his room, but she had to stall. No way was she getting naked or letting him in her body. In the past few days she’d come to believe she and Jamison were meant for each other. Letting someone else touch her felt wrong to the marrow of her bones.

Stone took her hand and led her through the club. She drank in everything about her surroundings. The guns hanging on every wall, a knife stuck in a doorjamb. And she reacquainted herself with the escape routes.

She followed him right into his bedroom.

Fuck, it was as if a day hadn’t separated them. The surroundings were exactly the same. Her fucking picture was on the dresser.

Fighting to keep from cringing, she let him turn her into his arms. He claimed her mouth and nudged her thighs apart with his leg. When he gripped her pussy hard enough to make her cry out, the old terror took hold.

She started to fight.

•●•

“On three,” whispered Jamison. He and ten Hell’s Sons hunkered outside the door of the compound. He held up his last three fingers, and they all watched for his signal.

He put down his ring finger then pinky, leaving his middle finger. When he dropped it, Blake kicked the door in, and Strother and three guys barreled inside, weapons ready.

A roar sounded, and Jamison and the rest of the guys spilled into the main room of the Raiders’ club.

A single sweep of the room didn’t turn up Ever, and he pushed past the guys running at them. Let his brothers take care of them. He had to find Ever.

When a shot sounded, the girls in the club began to scream. Glass shattered, and then it was on. Blake, Rocket, and Franklin ducked behind the bar, and the rest of the Hell’s Sons dropped behind chairs and tables as cover against the Raider who was quick on the draw.

“Jamison, go!” Ace yelled, and he did.

He ran through the club, swiping his gun over each room. As his search didn’t produce Ever, his blood froze in his veins.

She had to be in a bedroom.

The Raiders’ club was outfitted better than the Hell’s Sons’. The interior was updated, the doors unmarred. Until now.

He kicked the first one open. The door cracked off the wall, but no one was inside.

A Raider appeared at the mouth of the corridor, gun raised. Jamison shot him in the knee, taking him down with a yowl of pain.

Jamison moved to door number two. Again, empty.

The third door was locked, and he raised his handgun and shot the lock. Someone inside screamed, but it wasn’t Ever. Still, he had to see.

He kicked the door open to reveal a naked Hispanic woman hiding behind a Raider with his pants off. “Touch your gun, and I’ll shoot it out of your hand,” Jamison vowed.

The man narrowed his eyes but didn’t move from his position on the bed, his erection bobbing against his stomach.

Jamison rushed to the fourth door. It was locked too, but he wasn’t going to put up with that. In the other room, several shots sounded. God, don’t let him lose any of his brothers.

He put a bullet in the lock and the door swung freely. Red hair spilled over the side of the bed, and a man had Ever by the throat. Her face was purple, the cords standing out on her neck.

Jamison couldn’t get a shot because the man was sprawled atop the woman he loved. He hurled himself forward and bashed the guy across the top of the head. He sagged but didn’t let go of Ever’s throat.

Breath rasping with exertion, Jamison tore at the man’s hands. Ever gasped. Jamison pried the man’s fingers until two snapped.

He threw a punch, which Jamison dodged. Without checking to see if Ever was okay, he pummeled the man with several jabs to the face. Blood spurted over Jamison’s knuckles, but he ignored it and shoved the man off.

He threw Ever over his shoulder and trained his gun on the fucker who had hurt his woman. “Get down!” he bellowed. “Put your hands on the floor!”

He obeyed but swept an arm under the bed. Before he could pull out a weapon, Jamison ran for it.

He pounded down the hall and burst into the main room. Blood slicked the floor, and he slid. He locked an arm around Ever’s thighs and dodged between two guys. Something stung him in the back of the calf, and he almost crumpled, but he had to get Ever out of here.

When sunlight glared in his eyes, he blinked and almost tripped over something.

A body.

With a shock, he recognized the bushy beard and longer brown hair tumbling over the too-familiar face. A face that was as gray as the concrete under it, and as lifeless as a statue.

Blake.

“No!” He dropped to his knees beside O’Dovey, who was hunched over their friend. Blood soaked Blake’s chest and dribbled down his chin.

Ever squirmed in Jamison’s hold, and he set her down. She squawked at the sight of her bodyguard and plastered her hands to her swelling face.

“Fuck, we have to get him out of here. Can you carry him, O’Dovey?”

He nodded frantically and shifted Blake’s form. He staggered to his feet and took off running with the body of their friend.

Jamison loosed a shrill whistle, and several of his brothers burst from the clubhouse, running full-tilt toward the waiting van. Someone overtook O’Dovey and grabbed Blake’s legs to share the burden. Then they piled into the van, Ever on Jamison’s lap. One of their prospects was behind the wheel.

“Gun it!” Strother bellowed, and he did.

•●•

They did a head count in the van but Ever could barely focus on anything but Blake’s still face. O’Dovey caught her looking and took off his cut. He covered his brother’s face with it, and Ever turned away.

This was all for her. If she hadn’t come to the club, Blake and Ace wouldn’t have followed her or alerted the others that she was in trouble. The Hell’s Sons would be whole.

She plastered her hands to her face and shook. For what she’d done, what they’d lost, and especially for the sweet friend she’d had for too short of a time.

Jamison held her tight. His touch wiped away Stone’s, but not completely. She needed more.

When they reached the club, he carried her inside. The rest straggled in, wounded in various ways. Broken bones, cuts, bullet grazes. It wasn’t until Jamison collapsed into a chair that Ever realized the blood running down his calf or how white his face was.

“Oh my God! You’re shot!”

Ace ran over and probed the bullet wound on Jamison’s leg.

“Ow, goddammit,” Jamison growled.

“Get up on the pool table, boss. I’ll get Trina with her medical kit.”

Ever stood back and watched as Jamison stretched out on the very unsanitary pool table for what she hoped wasn’t surgery. Yet he couldn’t exactly go to a hospital and have the bullet removed.

Trina came into the room, along with several other women. She touched Ever’s shoulder as she neared. “The women and children are all in the kitchen. You might want to have someone see to your wounds.”

She barely registered anything but the throb of bruises Stone had left on her neck. Jamison pillowed his head on his thick forearm and stared at her. “You’re cut and bleeding, baby. Let the women see to you.”

“No. I’m staying with you.”

Strother kissed his wife’s cheek, and she cradled his. “Glad you’re with me, baby.” She shot a look at Blake’s body, which the guys had gently laid on the floor with a blanket over him.

Panic was a wild bird in Ever’s chest. She swallowed a sob and focused on Jamison. Pain creased his forehead, but his concern was for her. “Sit down before you fall down, Ever.”

She pulled up a chair to the pool table, which Trina was quickly transforming into an operating table. She pulled out sterile sheets from her kit. She handed Ace a pair of scissors. “Cut off his jeans at the upper thigh.”

Jamison twisted. “These are my best fucking jeans, Trina.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go and get them shot up next time.” She spread the sterile sheets under his leg, which Ace had bared. “Get his boot and sock off too, Ace.”

Trina had a no-nonsense tone of authority. It wasn’t until halfway through the surgery that Ever learned that Trina was a trained operating room nurse. Handy for Jamison.

Ever cradled his hand and dropped her lips to his knuckles. What if he’d lost his life? A tear dropped onto his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

If he’d died, the MC wouldn’t recognize her as his old lady. They hadn’t been together long enough. As far as they were concerned, she was a pain in the ass girl he was fucking. And he probably didn’t know where her heart stood in the matter, either.

He turned his hand over, and she rested her cheek in it. It was little comfort but all she could muster at the moment.

She’d fucked up everything. Why had she fought off Stone’s advances? Her body was just that—a body. She should have let him screw her. Then she might have gotten the information she needed before Jamison and the guys had come in with guns blazing.

How would she get back into the Raiders’ midst? She was certain they must have lost men during the shootout too.

Her gaze slipped to Blake, and tears burned in her throat. Copilot had returned and sat at the feet of the fallen, guarding the body.

Jamison caught a tear with his thumb. Here he was offering her comfort while Trina was surgical instruments-deep in his calf muscle. A local anesthetic was nothing compared to being put under for such an operation. Apparently Trina had removed more than one bullet in her time, and this pool table had also been transformed into an operating table before.

“What will happen to him?” Ever whispered.

Jamison knew what she was asking. “We’ll give him a proper burial. We have friends in the funeral business.”

Something metal clinked in a bowl. “Bullet’s out. I’m going to disinfect it and close up, okay, Jamison?”

Perspiration beaded on his forehead, but his relief was evident. “Thanks, Trina.” He looked to Ace. “Take care of her, would you? I’m all right.”

Ace squeezed Ever’s shoulder. “Come on. We’ll find someone to patch you up.”

Her legs were weak as she stood. When she passed a mirror with a beer slogan on it, she caught sight of herself. Her jaw dropped. Cuts oozed on her brow and cheekbone. Her lower lip was split, and her neck… Dark, livid fingerprints circled it like some macabre necklace.

“Come on, sugar.” Ace gripped her elbow and led her into the kitchen.

Several women rushed forward and got her into a seat. Sarah issued a soft noise and fell to her knees before Ever.

“What happened? Is this because—”

Before she could give away their secret about Blacky and the Raiders’ blackmail, Ever shook her head. “No. But I didn’t take care of it, Sarah. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about that. Focus on yourself right now.”

Carol Ann came forward with a first aid kit and started cleaning the cuts on Ever’s face. She winced at the sting of disinfectant but relaxed when Carol Ann smoothed antibiotic ointment over her wounds with a cotton swab.

Ace received plenty of attention too, as two sweet butts kissed his bruised knuckles and a bump on his forehead. But he didn’t take his gaze off Ever.

Did he blame her for the shit they’d landed in? He should.

When Carol Ann had finished with Ever, she thanked her. “Some others have injuries to see to if you don’t mind helping them,” Ever said.

“Of course. Ace, why didn’t you come get me?”

“No one said it was safe for the women to come out. Besides, it’s not for the faint of heart in there.” Meaning there was a dead brother on the floor.

Ever stood, and Sarah pressed an ice pack into her hand. “For your throat.” Concern made her blue eyes brighter.

Ever kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you. I’m going to lie down.”

Ace stood and followed her from the kitchen. As soon as she reached Jamison’s room, she burst into tears. Not quiet tears—bone-racking, noisy sobs. He turned her into his arms and held her, which made her cry harder for Blake.