Page 45 of Gatling
“I’m not finished yet,” Blackbeard protested.
“And you’re still not breathing right,” Baby Doll added.
Spike braced an arm across my chest, pushing me back down to the table.
“The longer that bastard has my girl, the greater chance she gets hurt,” I countered.
“You’re in no condition—” Baby Doll started.
“Do I look like I give a shit?”
She sighed and snapped her gloves off with a scathing look of disapproval.
“You boys are gonna be the death of me,” she muttered.
Spike let me up reluctantly. I stumbled off the table, blinking rapidly in a futile attempt to clear my vision. But my arms and legs were working, so that would have to be good enough. Wobbling to my feet, I grimaced at the pull of tight, tender muscle across my abdomen.
I’d been through worse. Much worse. Frostbite and starvation in the woods. Grenades and bullets and sleep deprivation in the military. This wouldn’t stop me.
I glanced at Kingpin, standing off to the side, arms crossed. He didn’t seem like he was about to prevent me from leaving if that’s what I wanted to do.
“It physically pains you to ask for help, doesn’t it?” he remarked.
Placing a hand on the table to steady myself, I shook my head.
“This isn’t…this isn’t your concern. It’s not club business.”
Kingpin stepped closer and clasped the back of my neck with a firm grip.
“You’re right. This isfamilybusiness.”
A beat of silence filled the room. Even though my vision was still blurry as hell, I sensed them all standing around me. From President to Prospect, these bikers—mybrothers—had gathered to offer their support.
As much as I would have preferred to hunt down this motherfucker on my own, I had to admit that it was much more satisfying to picture the look on Olson's face when he realized I wasn’t the only one coming after him.
“One condition,” I said, my voice raw and throaty.
“Name it,” Kingpin replied.
“The killshot is mine.”
“Deal.”
Joaquin Olson’s apartment was a pig sty. Mounds of laundry in the bedroom that reeked. The linoleum of the bathroom felt tacky under my boots. I tried not to think about that too much.
Since my vision was still too fucked up to see clearly, I couldn’t ride my bike. So I bundled into the cage alongside Big G and Crash. I remembered the way Noah had lingered on the curb, looking bewildered by it all as the club was set into motion like a well-oiled machine.
“We’ll get her back, Noah,” I said.
Her and the baby.
He lifted his gaze to meet mine, his face drawn with worry. The guilt must have been eating him alive. After taking every precaution to keep Kelsie safe, she still slipped through his fingers.
“Gatling,” Blackbeard called. “Take a look at this. In here.”
I followed the sound of his voice to find him standing at the bedroom closet, the doors flung back, clothes shoved aside.
Papering every inch of Olson's closet were pictures of Kelsie. Printed screenshots of her social media accounts. Scrapsof paper and sticky notes taped up haphazardly with hastily scrawled passages, professing his undying love for her.
