Page 134 of The Grief We Hold

The scream that bursts from me echoes through the night. My fingers must be broken and dislocated.

I bite my tongue in agony.

He reaches for me, grabbing the wrist of my broken hand, and drags me to the door of the truck. “I have her,” he shouts jubilantly.

“Think again, fucker,” Wraith says as he fires his weapon from the doorway of the stable, then drops to his knees.

The man holding my wrist looks at me as if confused by his fate.

His grip loosens as blood spills from his mouth before he falls, stiff like a plank of wood, to the ground.

But I have no time for him or his injuries. Wraith is sitting on his knees, weapon in his lap, head down. But before I get to him, he slumps over into the dirt.

The roar of bikes grows, and lights form around us.

My breaths become sobs as I pull Wraith’s head messily onto my lap with my only good hand. His breathing is ragged.

“Please, Wraith. No. We did it. Your club’s here.”

“Raven. How many?” Butcher shouts.

“I only saw four.” The final word cracks as I say it.

Smoke comes and stands over Wraith’s body, weapon raised as he looks around.

“Grudge,” Butcher says. “Start counting.”

Catfish puts another bullet into the skull of the man who broke my hand. And I try to bite back a sob as the man seems to jolt at the shock of it.

“Brave…girl,” Wraith whispers, and my sobs spill over into full blown tears.

“You got this, Raven,” Smoke says. “You’ve managed to keep each other alive this long. Stay strong, sweet thing.”

There are three more shots in the barn, and I jump at each one.

Wraith reaches for my hand to hold it, but the agony of the breaks comes rushing back in.

“Fuck,” Smoke says, reaching down and smacking Wraith’s hand from mine. “How did you dislocate your fingers?”

I tip my chin at the body and tears spill onto Wraith. “He kicked my hand.”

“Fucker,” Smoke says.

The rest of the club finish their searches.

“We use the truck to get them both to the hospital,” Butcher says. “Call three prospects; one of them can drive and pick up the others. They come get my bike and Wraith’s. Tell ‘em if they get any more beaten up, I’ll bring the prospects back out here and shoot their balls off.”

Smoke shakes his head. “Let me drop them off.”

“I’m president of this club. This is one of my men. I’m also fucking older than you. I end up doing time for any of this because someone tugs on the leads, it’s better me than you.”

Smoke slaps Butcher’s shoulder. “Good talk. But I’m still gonna follow you in.”

“Just organize the fucking logistics of us all getting to the hospital and rides and shit. Pull in some hangarounds if you need to.”

Atom looks down at Wraith. “Where are you shot?”

He lifts his palm from his abdomen, near his appendix.

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