Page 37 of Chaos & Carnage

Tearing my eyes away, I get out of the car and move to the backdoor. Easing it open, I unbuckle her seatbelt and gently remove it. When I finally allow my eyes to rest on her face, another stab of pain slices across my chest. Her usually lively, beautifully aquamarine eyes are dull and lifeless looking. It’s as ifmia vitaisn’t there. Gone is the woman who challenges me, who doesn’t back down when I push her and isn’t intimidated by my name or profession, and in her place is this shadow of the woman I love.

“Can you walk?” I ask her softly.

When she doesn’t respond, I gently ease her out of the car until she’s standing. When she doesn’t appear as though she’s about to collapse, I wrap an arm around her waist and encourage her to move.

Her steps are slow, but she keeps putting one foot in front of the other as we walk down the front path and up the steps into the house. I usher her up the stairs and into the bathroom. She doesn’t so much as whisper a word the entire time.

Once I’ve gotten her into the bathroom, I prop her up on the vanity before turning on the shower. Crouching down in front of her, I peel off her boots and socks, tossing them aside, I undo the Velcro straps of her bulletproof vest and carefully remove the weapons she’s got strapped into a holster at her hip, in sheaths around her thighs, and tucked into the waistband of her jeans. Her blood-soaked Henley is next. My hands move over her body clinically, assessing for any injuries before I get her back on her feet. Undoing the button on her jeans, I lower the zipper before peeling them down her long, elegant legs. This is definitely not the kind of stripping I had pictured earlier, but I’m far too concerned about her well-being to even think about her sinfully gorgeous body that is on display for me.

When she’s wearing only her panties and bra, I quickly strip off my own sodden clothing, leaving my boxers on. I plant my hands on her hips and direct her into the shower beneath the warm spray, hoping the hot water will help jolt some life back into her.

Encouraging her to tilt her head back, I brush my hand along the top of her head and down her hair, ensuring all of it is wet before reaching for the shampoo and starting to massage it into her scalp.

A small moan passes her lips as I continue working it into her hair before directing her again under the water. Threading my fingers through her hair, I work out the tangles as the water washes the shampoo down the drain. When I’m sure there aren’t any suds remaining, I grab the shower gel and a sponge, lathering it up before running it along her body. Her left arm, then her right. Along her neck and chest, removing any blood that’s still remaining before moving between her breasts, over her abdomen, and down her legs.

Sawyer stands there the entire time, but she’s no longer crying, which I’m hoping is a good sign. When I’ve removed the blood and dirt caked under her fingernails, I gently nudge her aside and quickly wash myself down before turning off the water.

Grabbing a towel, I dry her off and wring out her hair before wrapping it around her chest, ensuring it’s not going to fall off. I don’t even bother to dry myself, simply wrapping another towel around my waist before I take her hand and direct her into the bedroom I’ve been staying in. Lifting the first clean t-shirt I find, I pull it over her head before pulling back the sheets. She slides in without a word, and I quickly dry myself off and change into a fresh pair of boxers before joining her.

Tucking the sheets around us, I tug her in against me, shifting until we’re both comfortable. Silence falls between us, and again I’m stuck for what to say. Or whether I should say anything at all.

I’m still trying to figure that out when Sawyer asks, her voice sounding croaked as if she hasn’t used it in far too long, “Do you think they’re okay?”

“I don’t know.” Unlike before, it’s not a lie. Well, not a complete one. That building was coming down one way or another. I don’t see how they could be okay, but surprisingly, I hope they are. For Sawyer’s sake, because I don’t know how the hell I’m going to save her if they aren’t.

Chapter 14

I cough as dust sticks to the back of my throat and burns my eyes, obscuring my vision as I stare up at the empty space above me—the empty space where the ceiling was less than five minutes ago.What the hell happened?One minute I was punching some guy in the face, and the next, the roof started falling down on top of us. Grenades were thrown when our cover was blown, but they shouldn’t have done this much damage to the foundations… unless the building was already unstable?

Pushing up onto my elbows, I check myself over, relieved not to see any broken bones. Besides the headache blooming, I don’t feel any pain, but I know how shock can dull your senses. I’ve several new scrapes and a large gash on my forearm, but nothing too serious.

Stroking my hand through my hair, I lift my head to take in my surroundings, but I hiss in pain before pulling my hand back, finding fresh blood on my fingers.Well, that can’t be good.It’s not a massive amount of blood, and there isn’t a puddle where my head was, so I’ll have to hope it’s okay. I need to find Sawyer and make sure Cain and the others are safe. I’d lost track of him, Bones, and Tank when we entered the station, and I haven’t seen any of the others since we split up.

Using my jeans to wipe off the blood on my fingers, I push aside the bits of rubble that fell on top of me—nothing too heavy, thankfully, but some pieces are definitely large enough to have left bruises and leave me wincing as I slowly get to my feet and look around.

The scene before me is far different from the one from a few minutes ago. One of Grim’s men who had been shooting at me now lies dead, the side of his head cracked open from where, I’m guessing, a huge chunk of cement got the better of him. I spot the gun he was using lying nearby and pick it up, checking the chamber since I appear to have lost mine in the chaos.

As I scan the destruction for signs of Sawyer, Cain, or the others, the pained moans of men trapped or injured reach my ears. A few others around me who were lucky to escape the worst of it are slowly picking themselves off the ground and making a quick escape, none of them hanging around for the rest of the building to come down. As I spare the walls around me a worried glance, I can’t say I blame them, but the fact that they aren’t even stopping to help out their own people says everything about the loyalty of Grim’s men.Fucking pathetic.

The men in The Feral Beasts were the same way. All talk about loyalty and brotherhood, but the second trouble hit, it was every man for himself, and they didn’t give a shit what brothers they had to walk over, maim, or kill. That’s what makes the Rejects so different.

Far superior to any other gang. We’re about family first and foremost, united in a common cause to make Black Creek a better place. We’re not about power or money or land. We don’t live for the violence and chaos that most men in our situations do. We have one another’s backs—always. Without a shadow of a doubt, I know that not one of our men, the kids included, would leave here without ensuring everyone is accounted for. It makes me proud to be a part of this—a part of something far more meaningful and significant. It’s exactly what I’d been looking for when I stumbled across The Feral Beasts, and it’s a shame it took so many lost years and time served in prison for me to find my way here, though maybe I had to go through those years in order to know that this is where I belong. The Rejects are my family. Red and Cain are my family, and Dante and Enzo… well, they’re people I’ll tolerate for Red’s sake.

“Oliver!”

Spinning, relief washes over me when I find Bones climbing through piles of rubble, ducking under a fallen steel support beam as he works his way toward me.

“Are you okay?” I ask, moving to meet him.

“Yeah, I’m fine, but Marcus… I can’t get him out.”

Shit.“Okay, where is he?”

Pointing a thumb over his shoulder, he waits until I reach him before working his way back through the carnage in the direction he came. “Have you seen anyone else?” I ask.

“Tank and Rampage were nearby when the sky started falling, and we found the others. They’re okay, but Tank… he’s unconscious. He was bleeding pretty badly, so Rampage and the others took him to the hospital.”

I flick a glance his way as we continue stepping over broken blocks of cement, metal rods, and other debris, noting the pasty whiteness of his skin beneath the layer of dust and blood. Still, his eyes are hard, determined.

---