Page 83 of Damascus & The Wildfire
My chest tightened, every muscle in my body coiled. “Kenna OK?”
“Shaken. But she’s fine. Merci’s letting her sit with Hatchet.”
“We’re leaving Fort Worth now.”
Thane cursed under his breath. “Go. We’ll be right behind you. I’ll get the lawyer there before the cops question Hatchet.”
I didn’t wait for another word. I was on my bike, engine snarling, the road blurring beneath me. Despite Fuse’s assurances, my mind raced with every worst-case scenario. I’d buried too many friends to believe tomorrow was promised to any of us.
The hospital parking lot was a blur as I skidded to a stop. I stormed through the doors, scanning the waiting area until I saw Fuse sitting beside Kenna. Relief slammed into me, but it was short-lived. Kenna was pale, her jeans splattered with blood, a pink hospital scrub top replacing whatever she’d been wearing. She looked small and exhausted, but she was alive.
I crossed the room in three strides and pulled her against me, crushing her to my chest. She clung to me, her fingers digging into my back. “Wildfire,” I murmured into her hair.
“I’m fine. Hatchet’s the one who got shot. It was the same gang.”
“You sure?” I asked, looking to Fuse.
Fuse nodded.
White-hot rage burned through me. “We end them tonight.”
Fuse met my gaze, his eyes hard with resolve. “Consider it done.” He turned and left, his steps quick and purposeful.
Kenna’s hand found mine, her fingers cold. “Merrick?—”
I squeezed her hand, my anger tempered by the need to keep her safe. “I’m taking you home.”
She nodded, her eyes searching mine for reassurance. I brushed my thumb over her cheek, my heart aching with the weight of what could have happened.
I nodded at Coast as I slipped from my home in the dead of the night, Kenna fast asleep in my bed. Despite the prospect monitoring the gate, I wanted assurance that someone was watching my place as well. The former Navy Seal was a well-trained weapon. Besides Fuse, Reaper, and Hatchet, he was the only bastard I’d bet my life—and hers—on. It’d be a shame if he had to prove it, but after tonight, the Mavericks patch was his. I’d ask Thane to put it to a vote early.
Blood roared in my ears as I ripped down the highway on my bike. The silenced Sig Sauer offered a comforting weight in the holster beneath my cut. It usually took forty-five minutes to get to this part of the city, but I made it to the rundown Jackals’ clubhouse in just over thirty.
I parked my bike and appraised my surroundings. This part of the city was like a mausoleum. The clubhouse sat between abandoned homes with peeling paint, sagging plywood, and boarded-up windows. Crabgrass clawed through cracks in the sidewalk, and trash rolled by like tumbleweeds in the soft breeze. A dog barked in the distance.
Reaper stood, a deadly sentinel at the doorway, his Glock comfortably in his hand, finger resting above the trigger.
“Any problems securing the place?” I asked.
He snorted. “Cleared the shithole in less than five minutes.”
“Who’s inside?”
“Thane,Fuse, and Archer.”
I let out a gravely laugh. “Been a while since the prez got his hands dirty.”
Reaper grinned. “Disappointed he’s missed out on all the fun lately. He’s still salty that you didn’t let him get a piece of Tyler or Danny.”
I lifted a shoulder. “Let’s get this party started then.”
Reaper trailed behind me as I stepped into the ramshackle house. It stank of weed, mildew, and fear. Ripped, stained curtains shifted as the wind blew through the cracked windows.
“’Bout damn time you showed up,” Thane growled.
“I had to get the old lady settled,” I explained as my eyes swept the room.
Thane gave me a wolfish grin. “Good for you. Glad you have her.”
