Page 83 of Rampage

Club members return fire, the sound deafening as bullets fly in both directions. Christopher and two prospects belly-crawl toward the clubhouse to flank the shooter while Lane barks orders into his phone.

"Get inside, now!" Lane roars as the gunfire intensifies. We scramble toward the clubhouse door, dragging Meadow with us while others provide covering fire. The chaos is ear-splitting—bullets pinging off metal, brothers shouting, engines roaring as some members circle around the shooter.

We burst through the heavy doors, the sudden quiet almost as jarring as the gunfire. My mother rushes forward, her face ashen as she spots the blood streaming down my arm.

"Oh my God, Reid!" Her hands flutter over the wound, panic etched across her features. "How bad is it?"

"I'm fine, Mom," I say through gritted teeth, though the burning pain suggests otherwise. "Just a graze."

"That's not a graze," she argues, guiding me to a chair. "Meadow, get the first aid kit. Now!"

Meadow snaps into action, her medical training overriding her terror. Her hands are still shaking, but her movements become precise, clinical, as she tears open my sleeve to examine the wound.

"Through and through," she confirms, pressing gauze against both entry and exit points. "Missed the bone, but you've lost blood. You'll need stitches."

My mother hovers anxiously as Meadow cleans the wound, her face pale and drawn. "Who would do this? Why?"

"Peterson," Mason spits, pacing like a caged animal. "Has to be. The timing's too perfect."

Meadow's hands falter momentarily before she steadies herself. "This is my fault. He threatened someone I care about, and I didn't take it seriously enough."

"None of this is your fault," I say firmly, wincing as she begins suturing the wound. "Peterson's the one who's going to pay."

Lane returns from securing the perimeter, his expression grim. "Shooter's gone. Police are on their way."

Something cold settles in my stomach as Meadow ties off the last stitch. A horrible realization dawns on me, sudden and devastating.

"Lily," I whisper, my blood turning to ice. "If Peterson's targeting people we care about…" I lurch to my feet, ignoring the pain shooting through my arm. "We need to go. Now."

"You're injured," my mother protests, gripping my good arm.

"I don't care," I snap, already moving toward the door. "If Peterson's men know about Meadow, they know about Lily. She's alone and unprotected."

The realization hits everyone at once—Lily, who's already survived so much, could be walking into another nightmare.

"I'll drive," Christopher insists, grabbing his helmet. "Your arm?—"

"I don't give a damn about my arm," I snarl, snatching my keys with my good hand. "Every second counts."

Christopher nods, understanding the urgency. "I'll follow on mine. Two bikes, two angles of approach."

We tear out of the clubhouse lot, engines roaring as we push our motorcycles to their limits. The wind whips against my injured arm, sending waves of pain through my body, but I barely register it. My mind is consumed with one thought: Lily.

The five-minute ride to Sweet Surrender feels like an eternity. Streets blur past as I weave through traffic, running red lights, ignoring honking horns. Christopher stays tight on my rear wheel as we race toward the bakery, both of us scanning for threats.

I slam on the brakes as we round the final corner, the bakery's blue awning coming into view. The sound hits me before I fully stop—Lily's voice, high and terrified, screaming from inside the shop. My heart seizes in my chest.

"Lily!" I bellow, abandoning my bike in the middle of the street and drawing my weapon in one fluid motion.

Christopher is right behind me, his own gun already in hand. "Back door," he shouts, veering right while I charge toward the front entrance.

The scene inside freezes my blood. Two men in dark clothing have Lily cornered behind the counter.

thirteen

Lily

"I'll lock up, Mrs. Winters. You've taught me enough times," I say, gathering the cleaning supplies. The older woman looks exhausted after the long day.

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