Page 77 of Sacrifice
The van follows, ramming a sedan out of its way.
My hands are slick with sweat and what I realize is Emil's blood.
It's warm and sticky, and there's so much of it.
"Highway on-ramp coming up," Emil says, his voice strained. "Take it."
"Your arm?—"
"Drive, Saga!"
I take the ramp at dangerous speed, merging into traffic.
The bike handles differently than I expect, heavier, more powerful.
But it responds to my touch, and soon we're flying between cars, the van falling behind.
Wind tears at my hair, and Emil's grip tightens as I weave through traffic like a maniac.
"Take the next exit," Emil instructs. "Double back to the clubhouse."
"We should go to a hospital?—"
"No hospitals. Club's closer. Safer."
I follow his directions, hands cramping from gripping so tight.
My whole body shakes with adrenaline, and I can taste copper—I've bitten my tongue at some point.
The familiar streets blur past, and then we're pulling up to the clubhouse gates, finally in the safety of the lot.
Only when I kill the engine do I realize I'm crying, tears streaming down my face.
"You did good," Emil says as he climbs off carefully. "Real good."
"You got shot. You got shot protecting me."
"Better me than you." He's cradling his injured arm, blood dripping steadily. "Come on. Let's get inside."
The clubhouse erupts when we enter. Someone yells for Gwen, my mom, appearing from the back room with a medical kit already in hand. She takes one look at Emil and shifts into full EMT mode.
"What happened?" She's already guiding Emil to a chair, hands steady and professional.
"Ambush at the hospital. Los Coyotes probably." He winces as she cuts away his jacket. "Gorm and Aren?"
"Here!" Aren bursts through the door, supporting a limping Gorm. "Fuckers shot out his tire. Had to ride bitch."
"Anyone follow you?"
"Negative. Lost them in traffic."
Relief floods through me. They're okay. Banged up but okay.
Mom's examining Emil's arm, her face grim. "Bullet went through clean. You're lucky—inch to the right and it would've hit the artery."
"Define lucky," Emil mutters.
"Hold still." She starts cleaning the wound, and I have to look away from the blood.
