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"I can't bend down, but I can pull you up," the deep, smooth voice of Enzo said behind me, making me visibly flinch as I rolled onto my back. He stood towering over me, one arm reaching downward, offering to help me up. Where was my sister? Had he actually taken her outside and... shot her? No. I hadn't heard a gunshot. So what... "She's gone. Told her ass to get the fuck out of Jersey 'cause if she don't, I'll find her. Come on, let's get you up, honey," he said, shaking his hand a little, encouraging me to take it. There was something about the way that he said honey that made me feel like maybe he wasn't quite so scary after all. I reached upward, forgetting about my raw hands and arms until he shrank away. "Fuck," he hissed, shaking his head.
"We got her," Shooter said as he and Sawyer moved down at my sides. "Always loved a good damsel in distress, darlin'," he said, reaching out and booping my nose before he slid a hand under my left shoulder. Sawyer did the same with my right (minus the booping, obviously) and then I was on my feet.
"Someone needs to stop him," I said, not bothering to look behind me, but hearing the unmistakable sounds of fighting still going on.
"Break will stop him when D's had enough," Shoot assured me.
"I think he's had enough."
"Babe," Sawyer said, shaking his head. "Look at you. Your face, arms, hands, and the way you're arching to your side, I'm guessing you got bruised or busted ribs too. He hasn't had enough yet."
I sighed, figuring I really had no say in the matter. "I'm fine. Really. A little soap and water, some triple antibiotic, and a couple ibuprofen and I'll be all better."
Okay. I felt like crap. I felt worse than crap. My stomach and side was screaming. Shock and anger wearing away, taking with it the adrenaline that kept me from feeling the searing sensation of road burn on my arms and the sting of the cuts that were caked in dirt and who-knew what else, it was really taking all that I had in me to not just fall into a puddle of tears on the floor. But I couldn't do that. Call it pride, but I had seven big, strong, fearless, badass men around me and I didn't want to fall into waterworks over a few boo-boos.
"Babe," Sawyer said, shaking his head like I was an idiot.
"She needs the hospital," Tig said, walking up. He reached out slowly, touching me under the chin to angle my head up. "I'd like to see you not-bruised sometime."
"That'd be nice," I agreed with a wry smile.
"I said enough!" Breaker's voice roared and all eyes turned to see Breaker wrangling a furious, rabid Paine off of a bloodied, mangled version of D. For a second, I was worried he'd beaten him to death, until I saw the telltale rise and fall of the unconscious man's chest and felt like I could finally take a breath of my own.
"Paine," I heard myself say. It wasn't loud, barely more than a whisper, but Paine's head snapped up toward me and all the tension drained from his body. Breaker, seeing he was no longer needed, released Paine who looked down at his hands almost... helplessly, like he couldn't believe what he had just done. There was a lot of blood. On his hands, his arms, his shirt, his face. I was fairly certain that not a drop of it was his.
"Get him cleaned up," Enzo called to, I assumed, Breaker. "We'll get her to the car." Trick and the remaining Third Street guys looked at Enzo who shook his head at them. "You're all fucking dead to me, traitors. Handle your own shit; see how long you last." With that, he turned out the door and disappeared.
When I turned back to Sawyer and Shoot, they both opened their arms. At my drawn-together brows, Shoot smiled disarmingly. "Pick one."
"Pick one for what?"
"To carry you, peaches, of course," he said and I felt myself smiling a little.
I looked between them, both having matching masks of masculine certainty that I was, for sure, going to pick them. It was almost as if they might have had some kind of bet on the outcome. I turned to Tig instead. "If you have an arm, I still have two legs," I said and he gave me a soft smile, putting an arm around my hips, low to avoid contact with any sore spots. I leaned into his side slightly and started walking, each step a tiny stab to my side and center and by the time we got into sight of the cars, I could feel the tears stinging at my eyes, begging to be released.
