Page 43 of Gatling
He scooped his arms around my waist and hauled me into a nearby car. I sagged against the back seat, reaching for the door handle. I snagged it with two fingers.
The locking mechanism thumped into place.
“Ryker,” I pleaded.
My eyes slipped closed. As unconsciousness dragged me under, the memory of Ryker replayed in my mind.
Fighting for me.
Bleeding for me.
He came for me when I needed him after all.
Chapter thirteen
Gatling
“Hold him down,” Baby Doll barked.
My eyes were on fire. My lungs felt like they were about to explode. Every raspy breath I managed to inhale scraped my throat raw, abrasive as sandpaper.
Strong hands clamped onto my legs, my shoulders, my arms, pinning me to a hard surface—a table, I think.
“He took her,” I growled. “He fucking took her.Right in front of me. I have to go after her, I have to—”
“We’re working on it.” Blackbeard’s voice, tinged with impatience. “Sit still. You’re not going anywhere right now when you’re bleeding all over the place.”
Through the blur of my vision, I saw him bent over my torso alongside Baby Doll. A flash of white latex gloves. The slosh of liquid. The gleam of a hooked needle and the black line of thread.
Then the bright, searing pain of antiseptic. I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth.
“Fuck!”
“I’ve never heard him say this many words together at the same time,” Spike said, wryly.
“Asshole,” I croaked.
He patted my shoulder.
“Save some of that piss ‘n’ vinegar for getting your girl back.”
My girl. Kelsie.
Sunshine.
After she texted me, I dropped everything to go straight to her. But when I reached Noah’s house, she had already left for work. Baby Doll was on watch, and she reported that she’d seen nothing out of the ordinary.
I pushed the speed limit across town, cutting through alleys to shave off a few extra seconds.
When I arrived at the day care, he was there. Kelsie’s stalker. Dragging her toward a gray Sedan.
I saw red and everything was a hazy blur of rage like nothing I’d ever experienced in my life. I didn't even think to draw my gun.
I knew what anger felt like. Deep down, I’m an angry man, buried under a layer of self-loathing and loneliness, patched over with layers of PTSD. Angry at the world. Angry for every time I had pulled the trigger and a life was ended at that moment, because of me.
That anger blazed, seeing this strange man put his hands on my woman, the mother of our child.
Even when I was blinded by pepper spray, even when I felt like I was breathing in fire, I kept pushing forward. I kept trying to get to Kelsie.
