Page 114 of BounBound By Scars

Fuck.

“They’re tailing me,” I growled into car comms. “I’ve got pursuit. Repeat, I’ve got pursuit!”

Delara’s voice was firm, even. “We see them. We’re on your tail. Covering you.”

No response from Dylan. Of course not. His baby sister was bleeding out in my car.

A shot rang out. Another. I ducked. I reached over to Lia and lowered her seat even more.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered again, as if the repetition could make it real.

I gripped the wheel with one hand, the other on her pulse. Still there. Still weak.

The exit to the ER zipped past. Shit. No way to take that turn at this speed—not with shooters behind me.

“Fuck it,” I muttered and yanked the wheel.

I spun the car, full 180, tires screaming against the asphalt as I hit the button. The roof retracted with a mechanical groan. The convertible twisted against the inertia and halted, facing the oncoming traffic now.

I reached under my seat, yanked out the rifle, and stood up slightly—propping the rifle over my shoulder.

Three shots. Four. Five.

One car’s tire blew out, spinning it off the road. Another slammed into the barrier and flipped.

One still followed. Not stopping.

Then—blur. Two motorcycles zipped past me from opposite sides. Black helmets, black suits. Like ghosts with guns.

They stopped—flanking me—and fired in perfect sync, disabling the final car, its hood exploding into flames as it collided with the concrete edge of the highway.

I didn’t get time to wonder who the hell they were—because Delara’s SUV drifted into the scene next, doors flung open,Dylan firing from inside while Delara took the wheel. More cars joined the fray and I quickly let Dylan and Delara take over.

I threw the rifle back in, floored the gas, and surged toward the entry ramp—still going the wrong way on the highway.

My heart was pounding so loud I thought I’d rupture something.

I didn’t breathe until I screeched into the ER parking lot.

I skidded the car to a halt just outside the entrance. Tires screamed. Jumped out quickly, I circled the car to get to Amelia.

“I NEED HELP!” I roared. My voice didn’t even sound human anymore.

Triage team rushed out. Two nurses and a trauma doctor with a gurney. One of them yanked the passenger door open. The moment they saw the blood, their movements sharpened.

They assessed her in the trauma bay.

I mumbled what I could. Giving them enough information about her condition.

“Female, thirty-two, GSW to lower chest. Entry wound only. No visible exit,” one of them announced, already checking her neck.

“Barely palpable carotid pulse. Get her in trauma room three, now!”

They hoisted her onto the gurney. My jacket—soaked—fell away, revealing how pale she was beneath the blood. I stumbled after them, my legs barely holding me up.

They settled her in the trauma room. Machines quickly connecting to her.

“BP 60 over palp!”

---