Page 62 of Her Possessive Bikers

"Hold still baby, I've almost got it," Kyler murmurs, his picks working the mechanism.

The chains clatter to the ground. Indy stumbles as she stands, and I catch her before she falls. "Easy there, darlin'. We got you."

She looks me over, as if checking to see If I'm okay. She then looks to Kyler noticing the gash on his forehead under his matted hair.

"God damnit Kyler, I told you no more fights for two weeks, what am I going to do with you?"

Kyler walks over and kisses her forehead. "This wasn't a bar baby, I followed your orders."

She looks back to me. Her fingers dig into my arms. "Where's Tres? I heard so much gunfire..." Her voice breaks.

"He's down." I brush her matted hair from her face, trying to be gentle around the bruising.

"How bad?" Her eyes fill with tears. "Tell me."

Kyler touches her shoulder. "He's alive. Took two to the chest fighting Lupe."

"No! Fuck." The tears spill over. "This is my fault. If I hadn't-"

"Hey, none of that." I wrap an arm around her waist, supporting her weight. "Right now we need to get you home so you can work your magic on him. The others already took him back to the clubhouse."

She wipes her eyes, wincing as she touches the bruised skin. "Then what the fuck are we waiting for?"

"That's our girl." I guide her toward the stairs, keeping my pace slow. "Kyler, take point. I got her."

We emerge into the warehouse proper, stepping over bodies. Indy's breath catches at the carnage, but she keeps moving. That's what I love about her - tough as nails, just like her old man.

"Your bike or mine?" Kyler asks as we reach the entrance.

"You take her, " I say. "You can keep her steadier than I can with this shoulder wound."

Indy's head snaps up. "Shoulder wound? What the fuck Jacoby, you're hurt too?"

"Just a scratch, darlin'. Nothing compared to what Tres needs. Let's roll."

I lean into my bike, pushing it harder as we tear through the dark streets. The wind whips at my cuts and the bullet wound throbs with each bump, but none of that matters. Kyler's bike leads the way, Indy clinging to his back. Even from here, I cansee how she's favoring her left side - those bastards worked her over good.

My radio crackles. "How's she holding up?" I ask through the comm.

"Hanging in there," Kyler responds. "But she's shaking pretty bad."

"Almost there, darlin'," I say, knowing Indy can hear through Kyler's comm. "Just hold on."

We blow through another red light, the streets eerily empty at this hour. The clubhouse is only a few miles out, but every second feels like an eternity. Tres is tough as nails, but two rounds to the chest... fuck.

"Talk to me, baby girl," I say when I notice Indy's head drooping. "Stay with us."

"I'm okay," she mumbles. "Just dizzy. Need to check Tres..."

"You can barely sit up straight," Kyler protests.

"Doesn't matter." Her voice strengthens with determination. "I'm the only one who can help him."

She's right, and we all know it. Hospitals aren't an option - not with the heat we just brought down.

"There's a medical kit under my bed," Indy continues. "The black case. It has everything I need."

I gun the throttle, the engine roaring as we round the final corner. The clubhouse comes into view, bikes scattered across the lot where our brothers dumped them in their rush to get Tres inside.

---