Page 22 of Striker's Foul
“Come on.” He waves his hand, and I rush for the door with both men following behind me.
I go up to the counter. “I’m here for Luke Branch.” I hesitate, trying to figure out how to explain my connection to him. “I’m his wife. Can I see him?” I don’t know why I say it, but I hope it gets me back there with him. I hear throats clearing behind me, but I don’t turn around.
“Mrs. Branch, you and Mr. Hansley are allowed to go back. I’ll notify the tech so they can come get you.”
Taking a deep breath, I step back and try to relax. But when I turn around, I catch the smirks on the guys’ faces.
“Don’t you dare tell him.” I point at Gambit and Julian, who both chuckle.
Striker
Ever since I left my family this morning, I’ve been working to get everything set up for them. I called a contractor friend to give the house a thorough inspection and make sure everything is solid.
It’s ironic that I bought a house near the compound. It’s situated right between the clubhouse and her roadhouse. The property sits on several acres of land, and I’ve got Julian’s team creating a security perimeter fence along with all the safety measures. That includes a safe room where the wine cellar used to be and adding bulletproof windows.
It’s a four-bedroom house, and the thought of Amelia pregnant with another of my babies makes me hard as steel. I took her so many times last night without covering up. I know it could take some time, but I’m going to keep making love to her without protection if I have a say in it.
I called a designer to come in and get the rooms partially set up. I want Amelia to handle the final designs. I want this place to feel like home for both of them. I don’t think I’m moving too fast because I’m sure where we stand and where I want us to go.
After clearing the air with her last night, I know our future was taken from us, and I want to get back what I lost because of Harold. Plus, I can always tell her I don’t want another child born without me.
It's been hours since I left her. I keep checking the time, wondering if it’s too soon to see them again. I want to know everything they’ve done over the last fifteen years. I want to help my son plan his future and be there when he makes it big, because he will.
I walk out of the house and head toward my bike when the sound of tires crunching on gravel catches my attention. Several neighbors have stopped by. The surgeon who saved Ridley’s husband, Leif, when he was shot lives across the street.
I look up and see an older SUV with blacked-out windows coming down the long driveway. I don’t recognize it, so I shift my body, making myself a smaller target, just in case.
The passenger window slides down, and a gun appears. I can’t see the shooter yet, but as the car turns to avoid coming further down the driveway toward the circle, I catch a glimpse of a man with scruffy hair and a leather vest.
Before I can react, gunfire erupts. I dive away as bullets tear past me. I’m hit in the leg and roll on the ground. I hear bullets striking my bike and a few hitting the house. Fuckers.
I roll again and take cover behind a cluster of trees in the center. The SUV struggles to back out, stuck in the narrow driveway. My gun is in my hand, and I’m returning fire. The passenger keeps shooting. When the gunfire pauses, I move out from my position. The passenger is in plain sight. I recognize him.
Taking aim, I shoot him in the head and watch it explode. The driver screams, covered in brain matter. I start running toward the vehicle, ignoring the pain from the gunshot wound to my leg. The driver lifts a gun and points it at me. I fire, not sure of my shot. Then I’m hit in the side. I fall to the ground and crawl toward some trees for protection as the car finally gets turned around and speeds off. I raise my gun and shoot at the back ofthe vehicle, shattering the window and peppering the rear with bullet holes.
As I hear footsteps approaching, I look up and take aim. It’s one of the neighbors. I don’t recognize him at first, but when he holds up his hands and starts talking, I lower my gun.
“I’m a doctor. Doctor Bleacher. You’re bleeding. Let me help you. I’ve called 911 already.” He drops beside me and starts tending to my wounds. I’m upset he called for an ambulance and police, but every shot I fired was in self-defense.
I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the shooter I killed is the same man who attacked Amelia last night. How did he get out so soon? He should still be in jail.
I argue with the paramedics when they insist on putting me in the ambulance. But the doctor says I need to be seen. Once they load me up, I text Gambit and Julian to get eyes on my family and come meet me.
Now I’m sitting in the back of the ER, arguing with Dr. Roberts about whether I need stitches or not.
“Mr. Branch, your emergency contact and your wife are here.”
My head shoots up. “Wife.”
Gambit and Amelia step through the curtain and walk toward me. I raise an eyebrow and pinch my lips, silently asking Gambit what’s up. He just shakes his head. Amelia moves straight over to me, heading to the side Dr. Richards isn’t on.
“Are you okay? I was so worried,” she says.
I take her hand in mine and press a kiss to the back of it.
“Angel, I’m okay.”
She leans in close and whispers in my ear. “I told them I was your wife so they’d let me come back. Sorry.”
