Page 184 of Outlaws of Tulsa

Crimson coats my brother’s hand as he holds his ribs.

“Snap out of it, Stormy,” Dragon barks. “We’ll get him help. Let’s go.”

We leave the room and set back on our destination to the far door. Since Dragon has the gun, he leads the pack and I make sure everyone stays between us. When we have to pass another hall, this time just one that leads to the right, Dragon slows. He peeks around the corner, deems it safe, and then motions for everyone to hurry. Terri is just crossing the hall in front of me when something lands at her feet.

Grenade.

All I have time for is to try for the nearest doorway, an old vending machine alcove, when the explosion hits, sending me crashing into the machine. My ears ring from the blast, but my body is thankfully intact. I scramble around to discover how Terri fared.

When I notice a severed leg and no body, I gag so hard I nearly black out. It takes a few hard blinks to shove that image from my brain and focus on my escape. Through the haze of the smoke, I can see light. The door is open, which means hopefully Dragon got them out. Getting past the wrecked hallway where the wall has fallen over, blocking the path, will prove to be a challenge. Especially considering I have to pass the hallway where the grenade came from.

A guy, dressed all in black, flies around the corner, grenades hooked to his vest. His surprise at seeing me buys me some time. I charge him, ramming the knife into his chest. He fumbles for his gun, but my hands are on it as we fall to the ground. Since he’s gasping for air as blood gushes from his chest, I’m easily able to wrench the gun from him. Without remorse, I shoot him in the face.

I peek down the hall, thankful that he was the only man, only to cry in frustration when I realize the path to go outside is completely blocked. I’ll have to move heavy shit to get past. Fuck. I need to find another way out. Frustrated, I start down the new hallway, desperate for another escape route. I’ve only passed a few doors when someone steps out.

Someone I’m intimately familiar with.

Filter.

My first instinct is to cry and throw myself into his arms, begging him to take me to Copper. But the cold glint in his eyes tells me it would be a horrible mistake, especially since his gun is pointed right at my face.

“Filter,” I choke out.

“Stormy,” he sneers. “Or should I call you traitor?”

I swallow down my emotion, trying like hell to keep my arm from shaking. My gun is pointed at his face too. If he shoots me, he’ll die too. It’ll be some Romeo and Juliet shit minus the love story. Just two stubborn assess going to Hell together. Fucking karma.

“You can call me Copper’s ol’ lady,” I grit out. “Jesus, Filter. How did I put up with your bitchy ass?”

He flinches at my words. “You’re good at faking.”

“Not everything was fake, dumbass,” I snap back. “Sure, we fucked. But those times when we watched movies and laughed, that was real. You were my friend, even if I didn’t want to admit it. I’m sorry I fucked you guys over. I can assure you it won’t happen again. Now stop being a little bitch and let’s get the hell out of here.”

“You’re pregnant,” he bites out. “With his baby.”

I allow my tears to slip out. “I’m happy. It’s real. I love him.”

His nostrils flare and he cracks his neck. “What was wrong with me?”

I cannot believe we’re having this talk now. Of all times. He has a crazy ass look in his eyes that says no matter what I say, I’m getting my ass shot anyway. Fuck him for doing this.

“Nothing, dickhead,” I hiss. “You’re hot and normally pretty sweet. Loyal…” I trail off reminding him, once again, I’m protected by his damned brotherhood. “I was just trying to do my job.”

“I was going to keep you,” Filter says, his words growing colder. “Maybe we didn’t have the spark I thought we should have, but you grew on me, Stormy. You fucking grew on me. I know we could have loved each other.”

“Maybe,” I agree, “but shit went south. I landed with Copper and we fell hard. No maybes. No could haves. We did. Sometimes shit happens for a reason.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing and the muscle on his forearm flexing. “I could put a bullet in your head and they’d never know. They’d think you were hit in the crossfire.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a douchebag who shoots pregnant ol’ ladies,” I remind him, stupidly lowering my gun as a sign of trust. “You’re a Royal Bastard. So is Copper.”

My heart trips over itself when he lowers his weapon. I think I have him settled when I see movement behind him. Black masked man. There’s no time to explain. Whipping my gun up, I mutter out an apology. As though to mirror my image, he swings his gun up too.

We both squeeze the trigger at once.

Bam! Bam!

Copper

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