I leave the room and stalk through the halls. It’s like a fucking maze of doors and corridors all filled with people just waiting to die, and I have to get the fuck away.
Outside, I wait by my Harley until Raine’s done. Lola is tucked up in her saddlebag. Deaf and blind, she don’t know the inside of this bag from my goddamn bed. Her little snout pops up when I open the flap, and I pull her out and set her on the ground to stretch her legs, but she’s more interested in climbing back in her cosy little bag. So I do what I always do; I give the lady what she wants.
When Raine exits the building, she just stands there for a beat, meeting my gaze, but looking right through me at the same time. Her whole body crumples. She crouches on the pavement. I push off my bike and walk across the lot. After picking her up off the ground, I lead her to a bench in the garden and sit, pulling her into my lap. She covers her mouth to hold back her sobs, and I hold her tight and let her cry.
When her tears have dried some, I brush the hair from her face. “Mrs Cole, huh?”
“Yep. That’s me.” She sniffs, finally meeting my gaze. Her cheeks and eyes are red, but she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever fucking seen.
“I don’t get it. Why the fake name and the secrecy? Why didn’t you just tell us to begin with?”
“Because I didn’t know what the hell I was getting myself into when I started working at the club. What if I messed up? What if Jett had wanted me to perform duties that weren’t in my job description, just like Tung Lin?”
I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what Jett wants, but I’m not about to tell her that.
She shakes her head. “I couldn’t take the risk that the Saints would find Joshua, so I used my maiden name.”
“That makes sense, but Raine, we could help you. Maybe get him out of this shithole and back home with you.”
“I can’t ask that of you or anyone else.”
“You’re family—what else are brothers for?” I wink and run my thumbs under her eyes to wipe away her tears.
“I don’t think Helen bought that line about you being my brother.”
“Nope, she’s probably in there calling the cops right now.” I let out a sigh, because we need to get on the road. It’s not safe out here for either of us, but selfishly I want to stay, because right here, right now, Raine is all mine. I don’t have to share her with Prez or her husband or Kick and the other brothers. “We gotta get going. Prez’s gonna have my balls for a meal with a side of mash if I don’t get you to the clubhouse.”
“Okay, let’s go.” Raine climbs off my lap, and I let my fingers trail over her arm as she gets up. I don’t mean to. I shouldn’t be touching her at all. My hands are unclean and she’s the fucking picture of purity and goodness. A man like me—a man like Prez—I’d only taint her. Raine turns and looks back at me, and I school my features into something like less of a lovestruck fucking idiot. “Grim?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Thank you for this, for last night.” She shakes her head. “For everything. I couldn’t ... I probably wouldn’t be alive to see him this morning if it weren’t for you. If anything happened to me, I don’t know what would happen to Joshua.”
“We’ll take care of it.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.” Her brows knit together and tears well in her eyes.
“You’re not asking. I’m just doin’ it.” I check on Lola in her saddlebag. I reach in and give her a pat, and then I climb on my bike, and wait for Raine to fasten her helmet and slide on behind me. My dick aches to have those perfect little hands slip lower, but even I’m not fool enough to believe that will ever happen. I rev the throttle, pull out of the parking spot, and tear down the road like the devil’s on our heels.
Five minutes from the compound, some fucker is riding my arse. I check my mirrors, and he’s way closer than I’m comfortable with, considering my two favourite women are on this bike with me. I weave through traffic, and the car starts making dangerous decisions, running people off the road and causing drivers to swerve out of his way and lay on their horns. I take the exit before the turn-off to the clubhouse. It’s a stupid fucking decision because now we’re on the road alone with a maniac on our arse. The fucker flies up behind us, almost bumping the back wheel. Raine twists her head and screams.
I don’t have my helmet on because she’s wearing it—so if we crash, I’m most likely done for, and I can’t stand the thought of that. I twist the throttle, and we burst free, but the reprieve is short-lived. He’s closer than ever. Raine’s hands tighten on my waist.
“Just hold on, babe,” I shout into the wind, hoping like hell she hears me. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
I turn down a busy side street, throwing my leg out to prevent us from tipping as we take the corner too sharply. The car misses the turn, and I put on a burst of speed. It isn’t long before he’s riding my arse again, but I fly into the clubhouse gate just as he runs into my back tyre. We’re going too fast, both for the corner and because we’re being pushed by the maniac in the vehicle behind. I can’t keep us upright. My tyres squeal, rubber burns, and thick white smoke chokes the air around us. We slide off the bike, rolling over the fucking pavement.
Trigger shouts and runs out of the security booth, gun aimed and at the ready. I don’t have time to see if Raine’s broken. She’s face down on the pavement beneath me, and I stay, covering her as I pull my gun from my cut. I fire—one shot goes straight through the windshield. The second misses, but I pull the trigger again and hit the arsehole in the driver’s seat in the hand. The gun falls from his grip. He screams. The brothers all run out of the clubhouse, likely summoned by the sharp rapport of gunshots. I climb off Raine and run toward the Russian cunt in the van. I’m just about to riddle his fucking face with bullets when Prez shouts for me to stop.
I dart my gaze from the Russian to Jett. “I want him alive, Grim.”
I want to punch holes in this fucking Russian cunt with a shotgun, but I keep the Glock trained on his head and walk toward the vehicle slowly, carefully.
“Get out of the fucking car!” I shout. He makes no effort to move. Behind me, Raine cries out. It takes every-fucking-thing I have not to turn and go to her, but I don’t have time for distractions because at any second, this arsehole could put a bullet through my brain. “Put your hands where I can see them.”
He’s not listening. His eyes are wide with shock and his mouth hangs open in a silent scream. Oh shit. I’ve blown his fist clean off. Blood, thick and dark, pours out of the gaping maw where his hand used to be. “Get out of the fucking car.”
“Fuck you. You will get nothing out of me, stupid Australian scum.” His hand fumbles in his pocket and he pulls out what looks like a penknife. My club brothers approach, and then everything happens in slow motion. The morning sun glints off the wire from the knife and I see it’s not a wire at all but a motherfucking switch.
“BOMB!” I run. A high-pitched squeal comes from the charge and then my whole world explodes. Debris digs into my back and calves. The hot burn of metal is unlike any pain I’ve ever felt—not knives, fists, nor broken bones. Only fire. Only the psyche-deep pain of the flesh melting from my face as my enemy held a blowtorch to my cheek and laughed as my skin bubbled and sizzled, the smell of my burning flesh permeated my nostrils. Only fire feels this painful. Only fire can make me scream this way. Only fire and losing her.