Page 79 of Sully

“How are we going to get in the gates?” I asked, flying through a yellow light.

“They’ll be waiting,” he assured me. “Just drive right into the garage. It’s almost over.”

Almost over?

He was shot.

“Shouldn’t we be going to the hospital?” I asked.

“It’s not that bad.”

“But it still needs to be treated.”

“Remember how we didn’t call the cops with that little bomb situation?” he asked.

That little bomb situation.

I would have laughed if I weren’t so worried.

“Yeah.”

“Well, we don’t do hospitals unless we’re dying. They have to report it,” he explained as I rolled right through the stop sign at the corner leading to the clubhouse.

Sully was right.

I could see several of the men already waiting, automatic guns strapped to their chests. The gate was wide open, and I whipped right through it, only hitting the brake when I was rounding the garage.

More bikers were ready and waiting inside the garage.

I barely put the SUV in park before the doors were flying open and men were pulling Sully out.

“Wait. Wait,” Sully snarled. “Bonnie…” he tried as the men pushed him toward the interior door.

“We got her,” one of the men said.

We were safe.

He was going to get taken care of.

It was okay.

The adrenaline that had been eaten up with purpose just moments before kept surging through my body. Without an outlet, my body started to shake. My palms grew sweaty even as a chill moved through me.

My heartbeat punched against my ribcage. A hand closed around my throat, around my chest, tightening with each passing second, making it hard to breathe.

My door pulled open, but I couldn’t even force myself to turn to see who was there.

Until, suddenly, a paw swiped at me, catching my focus.

Sure enough, there was Zima, making little whimpering sounds. Like she knew I was struggling, like she was upset about it too.

“Hey, baby, hey,” I cooed at her, reaching a shaky hand out.

“Thought that might work better than me trying to talk you down,” the giant known as Perish said, standing back a few feet, hands tucked in his pockets, looking almost humorously helpless for a man his size. “I’m not good with the… soft shit,” he admitted.

“No?” I asked, forcing myself to climb out of the SUV on my wobbly legs. “I saw you dancing with Zima,” I told him.

Sully and I had been heading out, and I’d wanted to check on Zima one last time. But I found her in the prospect room in the arms of Perish, who was swaying around and singing to her.

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