Page 11 of Sizzling

I began to notice the house we were in. This was lovely. So bright and welcoming. We started to walk toward a hallway, and Storm moved past us to open a door, then stood back. I glanced at him. He was looking at my shoulder. I had not checked it out on purpose. Seeing blood didn’t bother me unless it was mine. Then, I got a little lightheaded. The whiskey had done enough of that.

“Do I need to take her down the stairs?” Storm asked. “I don’t want her falling and taking you with her.”

Maeme huffed. “As if I haven’t helped a bleeding one of you down these stairs before. She don’t weigh even half of you, and I have handled that just fine. But to be safe, go before us in case anything happens. I don’t want her any more hurt than she already is.”

Storm nodded and did as he had been told.

I would not be the reason this nice woman got hurt. Focusing hard on the stairs, I went down them carefully. I couldn’t believe I was in some stranger’s house, going into their basement to get stitched up from a gunshot wound. Part of me kept thinking I was going to wake up at any minute.

“Thatch called. He’s underground with the bastard. We gotta go,” a male voice called from the top of the stairs.

Storm lifted his eyes to look past us. “Go on. I’ll be there shortly.”

“He took a shot at you. You sure you don’t want at him first?” the guy asked.

Storm’s gaze dropped to me. “Wasn’t me he was shooting at.”

I stilled. Wait, had Jameson meant to shoot me? Was that what he was saying?

“Thatch said he was. Didn’t mean to hit her.”

Storm shook his head. “No, he meant to hit her. He thought she was working with us. I saw his eyes before he pulled the gun,” he finished, looking back at the guy behind us.

“Fucker,” the guy muttered.

“Get going, Sebastian. We got this handled here,” Maeme ordered.

Sebastian Shephard. Thatcher’s younger brother. I’d done my own research on the Georgia branch of the Southern Mafia months ago. I was sure I didn’t know who they all were, but the ones who had dated important people or come from wealthy families in the horse racing world were easier to find out about.

We reached the bottom stair, and Maeme held out a hand to Storm. “Come help her into the room. I’m gonna make a quick call.”

Storm moved forward, and a small lift of his eyebrows, as if daring me to argue with Maeme, was the only interaction we had before he wrapped an arm around my waist. That smell was back. God, that was wonderful.

• Five •

“I’ve got better shit to do.”

Storm

With my arms crossed over my chest, I stared at the television, not truly watching the car race on it. My entire concentration was on the room where Briar was with Drew and Maeme. She’d barely made a sound. Mostly, Maeme was soothing her, and Drew was explaining what he was doing, but nothing from Briar. I’d have thought Drew had given her something to knock her out if Maeme wasn’t currently telling her it was almost over.

I refused to be impressed that she hadn’t cried out or even whimpered from the pain. My sisters would have been yelling the house down. It was hard to look at her and not forget that she wasn’t some stunning beauty that belonged on covers of magazines. The demons from her past had set up root in her and weren’t going anywhere. She was dangerous. There was nothing good inside her.

But damn if she wasn’t fucking tough as hell too. That must have come with the other bad shit inside her.

“I have to get home. I can’t stay here.” Her first words.

I turned to look at the door.

“You need to be looked after. Is there someone at home who can keep an eye on you? Help you?”

She said nothing.

“Then, you need to stay here. I have plenty of rooms.”

“NO!” she replied, sounding panicked. “I have to go home.”

“Well now—” Maeme started, then stopped abruptly.

---