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“Hold down tight on this, brother. I’ll be right back.”
Wincing, he did as I’d instructed.
Racing out the back door, I yelled and waved my arms as I sprinted toward Kirk. “I need a medic. Mack’s inside…he’s been shot.”
“Shot? What the…” Kirk blanched before anger lined his face. “Simpson, grab your jump kit and get your ass inside the house. We got a gunshot victim in the…” Kirk paused, quickly glancing at me.
“Kitchen,” I called out.
“Who the hell would shoot Mack, and why?” he asked bewilderedly.
“Not a clue,” I lied.
“This whole fucking world has gone to hell.”
And then some.
With a grim nod, I turned, then sprinted back into the kitchen. I knew the Simpson guy wouldn’t be far behind. Dropping down alongside Mack again, I kept my voice low. “Listen, man. There’s gonna be a lot of people asking you a shit-ton of questions. I need you to cover my six. Tell them you don’t know who shot you…don’t know what they looked like. Hell, tell them you don’t remember a fucking thing. Got it? That’s an order, sailor.”
“Affirmative,” Mack groaned. “Go…get Em…back.”
“I will. I’m already working out a plan.”
“Wish I could…h-help you k-kill him,” he wheezed.
“You’ll be with me in spirit, brother. I’ll make the cocksucker suffer extra, just for you.”
A weak smile tugged Mack’s lips as Simpson raced into the room.
I stood and stepped away, giving the medic space to work. I watched him long enough to become confident he knew what he was doing, then strolled down the hall and washed the blood off my hands in the bathroom.
With my focus no longer diverted, helping Mack, flames of rage and agony burned through me. Based on the last actual words that had come from my Bluetooth, I knew the lunatic was taking Emma back to New York. Knew he, and their fucked-up families, were going to force her to marry him.
But I also knew Emma…surprisingly well for the short time we’d been together. She wouldn’t go quietly. If she was able, she’d raise hell. She’d kick and scream, and cause a scene. If the prick was smart, which I suspected he was—that or incredibly fucking lucky—he couldn’t risk flying her out someplace public, like DFW or Love Field. No, he’d force her onto his private jet—pay off his employees to keep their mouths shut—and fly her to New York.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I raced to my office. After a few illegal keystrokes, I scanned the flight plans registered for the closest private airport. It only took a couple seconds to find the Gulfstream IV, bound for Teterboro, New York.
Hope soaring, I glanced at the clock. Instantly, my heart sank.
The plane was scheduled to take off in fifteen minutes. Even if I drove like a bat out of hell, I’d never get to the airport in time to stop the prick and rescue Emma.
Pounding my fist on my desk, I threw back my head and roared…drowning out the dozens of sirens screaming outside my window. No, I wouldn’t be going anywhere until the police were through interrogating me about the shooting. But unlike Mack, I didn’t have to lie. I truly hadn’tseena fucking thing, and I was drowning in guilt because of it.
Shoving my shame down deep, I shut down my computer.
I needed to check on Mack. As I bounded down the stairs, out of the blue, Dalton’s offer charged my brain.I can get you aboard a private jet in under an hour.
For the second time since stepping through the demolished back door, hope soared.
“I’ll definitely take you up on that, brother, just as soon as I wrap things up here,” I murmured to myself..
I rushed into the kitchen and skidded to a halt. My jaw dropped open as Cody Tanner, aka Sir Indigo, strolled through the door behind another male EMT. Gaping at me with the same shocked expression, Cody did a little stutter-step, then quickly banked his surprise.
While running the club before Dalton arrived, I’d grown close to the core members who donated their time to keep the place open. I knew Cody was an EMT, but never expected to see him working my neck of the woods. He lived miles away in the small town of Haven.
As Simpson stood and stepped away, Cody’s eyes grew wide, and the blood drained from his face, as he realized he was staring at the man he knew as Master Savage.
“My friend Mack was shot. Upper chest…in and out,” I supplied, using his real name.
