Page 48 of Protected By the Bikers Next Door
“Down!” I bellow, dragging one of my brothers behind cover as a hail of bullets rains down from the catwalk above. Viktor’s men swarm out like cockroaches, muzzle flashes lighting their faces as they open fire.
I drop low behind a steel beam, line up my rifle, and squeeze. One down. Another pops up over the railing—two down. My ears ring from the constant staccato bursts, but I can’t stop. Keep firing. Keep clearing.
Through it all, my gaze keeps cutting back to Harper. She’s still fighting, her fists hammering against Viktor as he claws his way upright, teeth bared in rage. She kicks, twists, scratches—anything to get free.
“Harper!” I roar, surging forward, but I’m too slow.
Viktor clamps an arm around her throat, dragging her back against him like a human shield. His shoulder bleeds heavily, but he doesn’t let go. His free hand rises, the barrel of his pistol pressing against her temple.
Her eyes lock with mine. Wide. Pleading.
And then—I swear to God—I hear it. A sharp metallicclick.
The sound cuts through the chaos like a blade. He’s cocked the gun.
Everything freezes and time slows down. Harper’s eyes meet mine, fearful and begging, but I don’t have a clear shot.
Help comes in the most unexpected form.
From out of nowhere, screaming and wailing like a banshee, Susan jumps onto Viktor’s back, grabs the gun, and makes him shoot wildly into the air, loosening his hold on Harper, who is able to free herself from his grasp. I’m vaguely aware that some of our guys usher away Paul and Katie, but they can’t get to Harper; the circle of protection around her and Viktor is too tight.
Viktor manages to throw Susan off with relative ease, turning and firing the gun into her gut, sending her flying backward, landing in a crumpled pile on the floor.
We all rush in, engaging the guards in close combat as we try to reach her.
Viktor raises his gun again, aiming at Harper. She drops to the floor, scrambling to reach for the weapon of one of the dead guards as Viktor slowly walks over to her, gun raised. I cantell he’s speaking to her, but I can’t make out what he’s saying over the noise. Something to my left pulls Harper’s attention away, her face a mask of pain and horror as she cries out, “Wolf!”
My focus is momentarily drawn to what she’s looking at. I see my friend fall to the ground, a bright red bloom of blood flowing from the bullet wound in his chest, and I realize that one of these bastards managed to get a lucky shot. My friend, my president, our leader, who served three tours in Afghanistan and survived countless battles, has finally been brought low. Wolf’s been hit.
I force myself to look away, to refocus on my enemy and follow my training. I’m too far away to get to Wolf just yet. Viktor, too, has glanced over at Wolf, and his focus on Harper is temporarily lost. I aim my weapon and get him in my sights, ready to end this.
But Harper doesn’t need saving. Like we always knew, she’s no damsel in distress. She’s a queen, the leader of this pack. With a steady hand and a neutral expression, she points the gun she’s picked up off the floor at Viktor. He sees her, and yet he still underestimates her. He smiles confidently at her, slowly raising his gun, believing she won’t have it in her to pull the trigger. She smiles back triumphantly, aware that his belief that she’s weak is the thing that will save her. She pulls the trigger without hesitation. Her aim is true. The bullet lands squarely between his eyes, and he drops down dead instantly.
Harper doesn’t wait to move. She gets up, rushing to disarm Viktor even though it’s clear that he’s dead, as if he might jump back up to fight like a villain in a horror movie.
With Viktor dead and the fight turning in our favor, the remaining men don’t continue to fight for much longer. Those who can, escape—the rest surrender.
I sprint over to Harper, who’s already rushing over to Wolf. I want to pull her into my arms, to hold her and never let her go, but there will be time for that later. Right now, Wolf needs us.
Susan lies near him, wounded but alive, her hand clutching her stomach. A gut wound, it’s painful but survivable if treated quickly. Thankfully, she’s still so high she doesn’t need pain meds. It’s most likely the reason why she’s still conscious, too. She looks at us with glassy eyes, sobbing her apologies. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t want this. Wolf, Wolf! Please tell me he’s going to be okay,” she pleads, looking over at us as we reach him where he’s fallen close by.
She ignores Susan’s sobbing, dropping to her knees and cradling Wolf’s head in her lap. “Stay with me, please,” she whispers, tears streaking her face.
I shove in beside her, my hands already moving on instinct. Fingers press against Wolf’s neck—there it is. Faint, but steady. He’s still with us. Relief hits me for half a second before training takes over.
“Pressure,” I bark, ripping at the hem of my cut and pressing it hard against the gaping wound in his chest. Blood seeps through instantly, warm and slick against my palm. “Fuck—he’s losing too much.”
I tilt his head back, checking his airway, then slide my other hand across his ribs, assessing the damage. His breaths are shallow, bubbling faintly—classic signs of a collapsed lung. Mygut twists. I’ve seen this before in Afghanistan, too many times. Most of those men didn’t make it.
Not him. Not Wolf.
“Harper, keep his head still,” I order, my voice rough. She nods frantically, clutching him tighter as if her touch alone can hold him here.
I peel my bloody shirt back and grab the field dressing from my kit. My fingers work fast, sealing the wound tight, forcing the bandage flat against the entry point. “Hold,” I mutter to myself, hand steadying as I tape it down. Wolf groans faintly, a low, broken sound, and for the first time since the gun went off, I let out a breath.
It’s not enough. He needs a hospital, a surgeon, oxygen, chest tubes—but at least I’ve bought him time. Time is everything.
“Logan, you hear me?” I growl into his ear, keeping my palm firm on his chest. “You don’t quit on us. Not here, not now.”
