Out of the Ashes (45 page)

Zane looked at me for a long moment. His face was carefully blank. Then, without warning, he roared with laughter.

I blinked.

Zane. Laughing. I didn’t even know he was humanly capable of it. But here he was, his chuckles vibrating through his chest. And I made him do it. A warm feeling settled in my stomach.

Once he was finished he shook his head, eyes dancing as they regarded me.

“I’ve never seen you do that,” I whispered quietly. “Laugh,” I added for clarity.

His face turned suddenly serious, his hand moving to cup my jaw. “Didn’t have a reason to. Didn’t have a reason to smile, barely had a reason to get up in the morning, except the club.” He gave me a look. “Got a reason now. Got two, actually,” he added in a low voice.

That warm feeling settled in my stomach and spread to my toes and my eyes prickled.

“You can’t do that,” I said in a broken tone. “Hit me with a beautiful laugh and beautiful words without fair warning. I need time to build some emotional shields so I don’t burst into ugly tears.”

Zane’s hand tightened on my chin. “That’s the whole point, baby. Don’t want you building any walls for me to get to the core of you. Want to get into every part of you. Break down all those walls. ‘Cause you and Lex, you’ve bulldozed through all of mine.” He kissed me lightly but firmly. “And there’s no part of you that could be ugly,” he said before silencing me with a totally not light, open-mouthed kiss.

I jolted when I heard something. Definitely a gunshot. Yelling. My heart leapt. Zane was here.

“I’m in here!” I screamed, my voice croaky. I didn’t even know why I screamed. I doubted whoever was out there could hear me screaming over gunshots and in what I guessed was the basement. But I did it anyway, kept screaming, needing someone to hear me. They wouldn’t miss me, would they? It would be a pretty shitty rescue attempt if they didn’t even search the house properly for the person they were meant to be rescuing. The door opened, bringing a shaft of light into the room, illuminating the stairs. A horrible thought hit me. What if something happened and my guys didn’t win what sounded like a huge freaking gunfight? What if I wasn’t saved? My eyes were glued to the spot where my rescuer—or killer—would appear, my heart beating a million beats a minute. Then boots appeared at the stairs. Not boots I recognized. Nor was the form that made its way over to me. But I breathed a sigh of relief to see the uniform. He crouched in front of me, gently pushing hair out of my face. His flashlight illuminated his face. His familiar face. The hot cop I saw fighting with Rosie...Luke was his name. I sagged in relief. His expression was gentle and non-threatening.

“You okay, darlin’?” he asked in a soft tone, his eyes moving over me with the beam. I flinched when the light reached my face, not used to it after being bathed in darkness.

“Yeah,” I croaked, “Will be better when I’m out of here.”

His face was hard when he got a look at my face, then he shone the light lower, frowning at the way I was holding my injured arm. The soft face turned to granite when he found the chain on my ankle.

He paused, took a breath and met my eyes. “You’re safe now,” he promised.

I nodded. But he was wrong. I was only safe when I had Zane’s arms around me, when I could touch my daughter. Then I was safe.

Luke leaned into his radio, his face hard. “Got her, she’s pretty banged up. Think her arm’s broken—need a paramedic in here, stat,” he barked. “Also need bolt cutters. She’s fuckin’ chained to the wall.”

I tilted my head at him. “Are you allowed to talk into a walkie-talkie thing like that?” I asked curiously. “Aren’t you meant to be all professional and talk in codes like ‘Whisky Bravo Six radioing in’? Plus, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to say ‘over’ when you’re finished talking,” I told him, my movie knowledge making me practically an expert.

He looked at me, his face expressionless. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

“Didn’t think it would be possible, darlin,’” he said when he finished laughing. “That the woman chained to the wall, beaten to shit, would be the one making me laugh,” he said disbelievingly.

I shrugged my shoulders, flinching at the pain. “I’m just glad I’m alive to be my hilarious self,” I informed him with a grin. That and my only other option was bursting into tears.

Moment the pigs turned up, they were fucked. They all knew it. They were all furious. Bull was so furious he ended up in a weird state of calm. He didn’t shoot anyone like every fiber of his being was screaming at him to do. Instead he calmly walked around, a thin layer of red over his vision.

“Shouldn’t you be out catching fuckin’ criminals, Crawford?” Cade spat at the deputy who was standing in their clubroom.

He looked around in distaste. “Funny,” he said. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Cade looked about to explode. “Can you drop your fuckin’ shit toward the club for one fucking second?” he half roared. “A woman is missing. A mother. An innocent. Fucking do your job and look for her!”

Bull knew this shit was going nowhere fast and he had to do something if he wanted Mia back. So that’s why he walked up to a man he hated only slightly less than his fuckwit father and offered a deal that had Cade’s eyes near popping out of his head.

“Can’t believe we’re fuckin’ doing this,” Lucky muttered, fingering his knife as he leaned against his bike.

“Workin’ with fuckin’ pigs,” Asher spat out in disgust, saying it loud enough for the uniform in the cruiser to hear. He scowled at Asher but didn’t move.

“Shut the fuck up, fuckwits,” Cade barked, eyes on the same place Bull’s were. “We’re doing the only fuckin’ thing we can do to get Mia back, without getting ourselves locked up.”

Bull hated it as much as his brothers did. Hated that he was standing behind fucking police tape while the brothers in blue charged into the fancy fucking house not two hours away from Amber.
Two hours.

He had immediately given Crawford the details on where Mia was. Not because he wanted to; saying that shit went against everything inside him. Because he had no other choice. He knew Crawford would put a tail on them, so there was no way they could storm the place themselves and murder every fucker inside like they originally planned. Well, not without disabling a cop. Which each one of them would have loved to do, but that came with complications. And took time. Which he didn’t have. So he made a deal with the Devil. Or more likely, the one who thought they were the Devil. He’d given him not only Mia’s location, but the location of a major player in the heroin trade on the proviso the club was coming. Crawford’s jaw had gone tight at this, but he agreed, as long as they kept their distance and let the police do their job. He had felt conflicted, giving information to the one man who had vowed to find a way to destroy his club, his family. Then he had caught a glimpse of Lexie, red-rimmed eyes but still looking strong, looking like she had hope. Then that conflict melted away.

Bull’s entire frame tightened at the sounds of gunfire. They had better not fuck up their job. If they did, even their pissant uniforms wouldn’t stop him from ending every last one of them. His hands itched to be in there, doing something, killing someone. Saving his woman. Instead he was standing here like a loser. A quick glance at the tight faces of his brothers told him he wasn’t alone. Then the gunfire stopped. Everything went silent. That was worse.

Bull stormed over to the uniform left watching them. “What the fuck is going on?” he growled.

The uniform paled and he seriously looked like he was going to piss himself. Pussy. Bull was about to do something that may or may not get him arrested when the radio crackled.

“Got her, she’s pretty banged up. Think her arm’s broken—need a paramedic in here, stat,” Crawford’s voice clipped. “Also need bolt cutters. She’s fuckin’ chained to the wall.”

Bull froze for a split second, then his monster roared to life. He did not give a fuck about uniforms or deals. He was going to his woman. As he strode towards the police tape, a uniform stood in his way.

“You can’t go in there—”

He didn’t even think; he just plowed his fist through the fucker’s face and kept walking.

He heard the sounds of a struggle behind him and he was pretty sure his brothers were doing similar shit to what he’d done. If it had been any other day, he might’ve almost grinned. But Crawford’s voice repeated in his head. “Chained to the wall. Broken arm.” He broke into a run toward the house.

He didn’t take in the carnage, the uniforms cuffing various well-dressed scum. Nor did he move slow enough for any of the fuckers to act on the questioning looks that were sent his way. His eyes darted around the living room, aiming for where a basement would be. They fell on Bill, the sheriff, who upon making eye contact with Bull merely shook his head like a disapproving father. The old cop was a lot less high strung than his piece of shit son and was the only reason they had some form of relationship with the local PD, which was necessary when the Sons needed them to look the other way. Not often, but on occasion. Bill was usually down with that, on the provision shit didn’t hit his jurisdiction and they lined his pockets every now and then. Despite that, he was a good man. Bull didn’t think too much of him though, more on the man who was in front of him, his hands cuffed behind his back.

Slightly younger than him he guessed, well dressed, in a white shirt and ridiculous fuckin’ shoes. Hair all slicked back like a greasy piece of shit. The eyes. That’s how Bull knew who he was. What lay behind them. The eyes of a killer. Empty. Devoid of anything that could be construed as human. Bull knew that look because it was what he used to see in the mirror after he went to work for the club. After he drained the life out of whatever fucker that deserved to be taken off this earth.