Page 63 of Her Possessive Bikers

"Please," Indy whispers, her voice barely carrying through the comm. "Please let us make it in time."

36

TRES

Pain rips through my side as consciousness returns. The familiar smell of leather and whiskey tells me I'm in my room at the clubhouse, and not heaven or hell, but then again everything's hazy. Memories flash - gunfire, blood, Indy screaming somewhere in that warehouse.

"Indy?" My voice comes out rough, desperate. "Indy!"

The door creaks open, letting in a shaft of light that makes me squint. Through the blur, I see her silhouette, backlit like some kind of salvation. Her dark hair falls in waves around her shoulders, and despite the bruises on her face, those hazel eyes of hers light up when they meet mine.

"Hey there, tough guy." She moves to my bedside, perching carefully and cautiously on the edge. "How're you feeling?"

"Like a million bucks." I try to sit up but sharp pain stops me. "Goddamnit…"

"Hey, take it easy," she croons. "You need to rest."

I rub my head trying to make sense of everything, "how long have I… been out of it?"

"Three days." Her smile falters and I see just how much hell I've put her through. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to her. She just doesn't know it yet.

I readjust myself as best as I can. "You're okay? They didn't..."

"No, they didn't. I'm okay Tres." Her cool hand brushes my forehead, checking for fever. "Thanks to you and the guys. Though you scared the hell out of me, taking those bullets."

"Worth it." The words slip out before I can stop them. Maybe it's the pain meds making me loose-lipped, but seeing her safe, here, wearing one of my old t-shirts that hangs to her thighs - it does things to my heart I'm not ready to examine.

"Don't talk like that." Her voice catches. "I've already lost my dad. I can't..." She trails off, biting her lip.

"Hey." I catch her hand, threading our fingers together. "I'm not going anywhere Indiana. Takes more than a few bullets to keep me down."

"You better mean that." She leans down, pressing her forehead to mine. "Because I'm not done with you yet, Malachi Reynolds the third."

I chuckle, then wince at the pain it causes. "Did you check my birth certificate or something? Nobody calls me that."

"Maybe I'm not nobody."

Indy reaches for the pill bottle on the nightstand, shaking out two white tablets. "Here. These'll help with the pain." She holds them out with a glass of water. "You took three bullets. One grazed your shoulder, another hit your side, and the third..." Her fingers ghost over my bandaged thigh. "Let's just say you won't be riding for a while."

"That I can handle." I down the pills, grimacing at the metallic taste. "What else? Was the rest of Lupe's trash taken out?"

"Let me get the guys, they can probably explain better than I can. They've been wearing holes in the floor waiting for you to wake up." She moves to the door, calling out, "Jacoby! Kyler! He's up!"

Heavy boots thunder down the hallway. Jacoby enters first, sporting a nasty black eye and his arm in a sling. Kyler follows, gauze taped to his forehead looking like a damn mummy on halloween.

"Look who decided to join the land of the living," Jacoby grins, leaning against the wall. "You missed all the fun, old man."

"After you went down," Kyler picks up, "we found Indy and got her out. The rest of the crew handled the stragglers."

"These two idiots," Indy interrupts, perching on my bed again, "Went back out after they got me home to work on you."

"Wasn't exactly by choice," Jacoby shrugs. "But turns out pretty boy here can fight when properly motivated."

Kyler's ears redden. "Anyway, we handled it. Cleared out their whole operation. Dos Banditos is done - what's left of them scattered wind."

Pride swells in my chest, watching these two. They've come so far from the cocky hothead and the quiet kid Brick brought into the fold. "You did good, boys. Both of you."

The praise hits home - I see it in how they straighten up, in the way their eyes light up. Sometimes it's easy to forget how young they still are, how much they need to hear it.

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