Page 53 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

“I don’t want to be an old lady,” she stubbornly whispers.

I sigh deeply. “Then can you let him down gently? Niran must have come here knowing he’d be fuckin’ lucky to leave with his life. Give me that, will you? Don’t rush off immediately.”

“Will you stop me?”

I jerk my head toward Gears who’s shamelessly come to the rear of the truck and has been listening in. “Gears is a Devil, just like me. We’re in the business of rescuing women, not holding them fuckin’ captive. Choice is yours, Saffie.”

“Niran’s going to need to go to the hospital,” Gears interrupts. “Preacher says he’s hurt pretty badly.”

Saffie’s gasp shows how she reacts to that. I press my advantage. “Niran was there for you, sweetheart. It sounds like it’s him who needs you now.”

“Oh hell.” Joker’s pronouncement has me swinging around to see the two guard dogs from the compound coming up to us fast.

“In the truck, Saffie.” I pull at her arm, as Buzzard and Joker jump up, guns at the ready.

But her eyes are on the dogs. “Sit. Stay,” she experimentally calls out, seeing if it will work again.

And I’ll be fucked if those dogs don’t come to an emergency stop, almost skidding to a halt, then their bums hit the ground, tails wagging wildly.

She looks shocked.

“You get friendly with them, Saffie?” Gears asks quietly, just loud enough for his words to reach her.

She shrugs, wipes tears from her eyes. “Seems that I have.” Kneeling, she widens her arms, and calls them to her. They amble up, sit down beside her, letting her tangle her hands in their fur.

Gears jumps down. Going behind her, he stretches out his hand.

“Friend,” she says softly.

And fuck me if one doesn’t move forward and lick at his fingers.

“Grumbler. You want to see this?” Brute yells from inside the truck.

Seeing as Gears seems to have things under control, I pull myself up and go forward. There I’m treated to a front-row seat as I watch the drama play out.

Putting on headphones, I hear the sounds of sporadic gunfire, but it seems to be less frequent now. We’re getting good feedback from the drones positioned over the destroyed clubhouse.

There are a dozen or so dead bodies fallen outside, and Satan’s Devils have started dragging them back in. My attention is caught by another screen, the outbuilding that had been covered by a guard. I see Mace from Colorado take off his cut and then enter. Within moments he comes out, vomits onto the ground, then speaks rapidly to Demon, his prez.

Then there’s another explosion, much louder than the rest pulling my attention back to the clubhouse which is now just a raging ball of fire.

I see Pyro, the man known for starting fires as well as putting them out, position himself between the buildings, watching the flames until he seems to be satisfied.

“Recovery,” Preacher’s voice sounds through the speaker. “All targets eliminated. Niran needs transport.”

I pull the mic toward me. “Is he—” Brute reaches across, flicks a switch, then nods at me to continue. Raising my chin at him, I begin again. “Is he going to make it?”

Preacher’s silent so long I don’t know if he’s heard me. I’m about to ask Brute if the mic is working when the Utah man clears his throat. “He’ll live. But he could have life-changing injuries. Get here as soon as you can, Brother.”

Fuck.

Brute stands and is obviously going to go get one of the trucks.

“I’m coming with you,” I tell him. I want, need, to see Niran for myself. Life-changing injuries? That sounds bad.

Outside, Gears is running the dogs through some commands, rewarding them by feeding them bits of a sandwich he must have carried in his pack.

“We’re going to fetch Niran,” I tell him, giving a pointed glance toward Saffie, letting him know he’s to make sure she stays put.

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