Page 37 of Snared Rider

Chapter Eleven

The ambulanceand police arrive concurrently. I have no idea what Dean did with the gun I’m more than sure he was carrying (since he returned fire), but I’m hoping it is no longer on his person. Carrying a firearm can lead to five years accommodation at Her Majesty’s pleasure and the last thing I want is Dean in prison.

My chest is aching by the time I get medical assistance. Dean doesn’t leave my side, but his shoulders are held tight as the paramedics see to me.

Even though I tell them it’s unnecessary I’m bundled onto a trolley and put into the back of an ambulance. Somehow, Dean avoids this same treatment and sits on the bench in the vehicle as the paramedic treats the cut on his head. He speaks little on the trip to the hospital, but he spends most of the journey typing furiously on his phone.

“How you doing, sugar?” the female paramedic asks as she leans over me to check the blood pressure cuff squeezing the life out of my bicep.

I stare at her blankly because I honestly don’t think I can speak, even if I want to. My mind is going a hundred miles per hour. We were run off the road and shot at.

Shotat!

We could have died. I nearly did. As it was I flew through the air like a dart.

And Dean… Dean returned fire. He got on that bike with me carrying a fucking gun. I don’t know how I feel about that. On the one hand it saved his life, but on the other why was he carrying it in the first place? He told me that four-by-four was nothing to worry about.

Big. Fucking. Liar.

It’s clearly something to worry about if he’s carrying a bloody gun.

I glance at him sitting on the bench, his head bowed, the longer section of his hair falling across his temple as he swipes his fingers over his mobile phone screen.

Is he still carrying it?

I try to peer beneath his kutte. Would he holster it under his arm? I can see nothing but sweatshirt. Maybe it’s down the back of his jeans. That’s where they always carry it on TV and in movies, although it seems like a risky place to put a weapon to me.

I decide I really don’t care about the gun right now. All I care about is the fact I’m breathing, Dean is breathing and no one else was hurt in that mess. His bike will probably take some fixing up, but he’s an accomplished mechanic. I’m sure he can repair it if he wants to.

“Are you…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Are you okay?”

Other than the wound to his head you would be hard pressed to guess he’d been in a wreck. He doesn't have a mark on him; I’m a mess. My leathers, which were scuffed from my slide across the tarmac, have been cut off by the paramedics. I’d argued, but I couldn’t get them off without pain, so in the end I let them take a pair of scissors to them. I can always replace them, although after this I’m not sure I want to be on the back of a bike for a long time. At least the leathers did their job and protected the majority of my body. Road rash is not a laughing matter.

Dean glances up from his phone and reaches out, squeezing my hand. He looks gutted.

“I’m okay, B. After you came off the back, I managed to stay on the bike.”

This does not make sense. “But it was laid down.” And it was. It was on its side in the road, wheel spinning, smoking.

“I got off quickly; I didn’t have time to stick the stabiliser down.” He got off quickly to avoid the lunatic with a gun. This I don’t say because we’re not alone and I can see the paramedic is giving us interested side-long glances as we talk. It’s probably a good idea to stop because I don’t want to let anything slip by accident.

I swallow hard and stare up at the ceiling of the ambulance, blinking away the tears forming at the corners of my eyes. I try not to let them fall, but I can’t stop them. Dean notices and swipes his thumb over the apple of my cheek.

“Fuck, B, don’t cry. I can’t deal with tears. Not from you.” His words make my tears fall faster. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Dean.”

“It’s nice that you think that, but yeah, it was my fault.”

I glance at the paramedic before shifting my watery gaze back to Dean. “You couldn’t have known.”

I see the guilt in his face and I hate that it’s there. I don’t know what the deal is with that guy, but I know Dean wouldn’t knowingly put me in danger.

“Just concentrate on you, yeah?”

“Dean—”

He interrupts me before I can say anything else. “Your dad’s meeting us at the hospital.”

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