Page 98 of Together We Burn
Kids had never entered the equation for me. My job was too dangerous for a family, and in all honesty, what the hell was I going to teach a child? I’d gifted my nephew, a boy I’d known less than a month, a knife ten minutes ago. But if my kid turned out half as brilliant as the boy staring up at me, his brilliant green eyes twinkling as he discretely touched his back pocket, then maybe it would be alright.
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, drawing blood as I fought the nervous energy trying to force its way out in the form of a laugh. Because I had a fucking genius for a nephew. Okay, his concealment of a sharp weapon wasn’t great, but the way he silently told me he was okay, was fantastic.
Christ, this kid.
Meeting him half way, we walked, hand in hand, toward our moms. I pulsed my fingers in short, hard bursts three times, and he responded with one of his own.
“Arms wide, knees slightly bent,” I muttered, and he nodded, slowly getting into position.
Blinding white headlights and the roar of motorbike engines flared to life, deafening the parking lot as Mac and two other club members rode toward the centre of the group. One guy with his arm stretched out, aiming for Nate.
Mac pushed himself off his bike, barely letting the thing come to a stop as he and Alex opened fire. A shower of bullets rained down the side of the Bentley as Emilia’s driver and bodyguard swung doors open, ducking behind and taking shots at my guys.
A biker, I wasn’t sure who, neared Nate, and I grabbed his tiny waist, practically throwing him into the arms of the man, and sprinted for Chris. I tackled her, sending us both to the ground with a groan.
“You used my son,” she spat as I lay across her, bullets spraying around us, the roar of bike engines and the shouts of men filling my ears. “You used my fucking son!”
“I saved your son,” I snarled, glaring at her quickly, then lifting my head a little to get my bearings. I needed to get to Jake; he had my gun.
Chris gasped, coughing as she asked, “Nate, where is he?”
I rolled to the side, pulling her with me as I reached around and fumbled with her restraints. But she was stuck. Without seeing what I was doing or having a knife to cut her free, I was screwed.
“Fuck,” I shouted, ducking as the whistle of bullets pummelling the side of the car sounded like they were closer to my head than I’d initially anticipated. Grabbing Chris’s biceps, I tugged her to her knees.
I could hear my name being called through the bangs and shouts of the gunfight around us, but I couldn’t focus on them. Not now. Chris was my number one priority, and getting her to safety was my only concern.
“Can you stand?” I asked, searching for cover. A groan to my left had Chris scream in terror as the driver jolted against the door frame and slid down to the gravel with a bullet hole in the middle of his head.
“Chris?” I yelled. “Can you stand?”
She nodded, frantically scrambling to her feet and moving in the direction of a couple of dumpsters. Mac screamed something incoherent, and the roar of an engine got louder as someone skidded to a halt.
White teeth flashed as he held out a hand for Chris. His hands were black from dust kicked up from his tyres; his leather cut blew in the wind, revealing his bare-toned chest with a scar running up and into his nipple. The Bulldog insignia missing–torn off–from his cut.
Huh, what an odd thing to notice during a fucking gunfight, Stevie!
Pushing my sister toward him, he flung her over his bike, front to front, her legs straddling over his.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said, flashing his megawatt smile again. He flicked a pen-knife from his back pocket and sliced the ties around Chris’s wrists. “I’m Pistol.” He pushed a hand between their chests for her to shake.
“Pistol,” Mac bellowed from somewhere behind me. “Get a fucking move on!”
“Right,” he agreed, grabbing my sister’s ass in both hands and hauling her further up his legs so that she was practically dry humping his dick. He wiggled his eyebrows, and then his smile was one hundred percent salacious. “Hold on, miss.”
Revving his engine, he spun the bike’s back wheel in a circle, and Chris screamed, wrapping her legs around his waist and clinging on to him for dear life as he drove her out of the parking lot.
Taking off sprinting, I ran toward Jake, crouched down behind a concrete divider reloading his gun. I threw myself down next to him, panting and wiping sweat from my brow. Jake smacked the magazine into the gun and grabbed my face in his free hand, crashing his lips to mine.
“Are they okay?” shouted Alex over his shoulder as he wielded his machine gun like it was a blow-torch.
I yelled, “Yeah!” as Jake handed me my gun from his waistband. My shoulders sagged in relief, and I touched my lips to his quickly before jumping up and taking off in a run again.
It was time to find that fucking bitch.
Chapter thirty-nine
Jake
