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"Saskia," I mumbled to Huck as he hauled me into the front seat of the moving truck.
"She's safe," he said, mind on a million different things.
"Is she hurt?"
"You're hurt," he reminded me, yanking up my shirt to check the wound at my side.
"Huck," I snapped.
"She's not hurt. She's gonna be losing her shit in about half an hour when the shock starts to wear off, but she's fine."
It took a while for all the pieces to start to come together because the top priorities were getting the car off the road, getting all of us out of the general area.
We'd driven toward the crash, though, in case traffic cameras were watching, would find it strange that the moving truck turned and came back in the direction it had come from.
When we didn't hear sirens, Seeley and McCoy had rushed into the woods, checking for any evidence, looking over the scene.
It was right then that we'd all realized what had happened.
After the crash, while I'd been passed out, Saskia had sprung into action, emptying both guns into the men who'd been chasing us, then shoving me into the passenger seat, and getting us out of there.
"Fuck," Huck said, climbing back into the moving truck with Seeley, McCoy already taking off.
"What?"
"They're some of the Ukrainians McCoy and Seeley remember seeing around the Chechens' place."
"They were after me," I realized, thinking past the pain. "Not Sass."
"Not Sass. I mean, I'm sure she would have been collateral damage," he added. "If she didn't go all Rambo on their asses." He paused, then shot me a smirk. "That wife of yours keeps saving your unworthy ass, huh?" he asked.
Sure, it was likely mostly survival instinct that had kicked in, wanting to save herself. But she'd saved me in the process. And that was not something I would easily forget. I wasn't sure I could ever properly pay her back for it, either.
She'd killed men because of me. I didn't know all the details about her life since I'd seen her last, but I was reasonably sure it didn't involve killing anyone. Being a wheelman was relatively hands-off when it came to the uglier parts of a job. Like the shooting and killing.
She might have gone the rest of her career never having to hurt another human being. But because of her connection to me, she'd killed three.
Though, from what Huck said, one had hung on for quite a while. Long enough that he would have been able to relay information back to his boss.
That was the tension we were all feeling as we pulled into the clubhouse about forty minutes later, finding Remy already there, more strapped than anyone had ever seen him.
We all needed to get equally prepared for a possible invasion.
As Seeley started to clean me up, McCoy took the moving truck, getting the car crushed and buried in a junkyard, never to see the light of day again.
Then, when all that was done, the moving truck cleaned, and Reign—the president from our mother chapter—was called and informed of the goings-on, we grabbed guns and waited.
Arty was watching the street cameras, would tip us off if a convoy was on their way in our direction.
But hours passed.
And nothing.
That was when I'd insisted that I needed to check in with Sass. Huck likely only agreed because he wanted to check in with Harmon. But whatever the reason, we all made our way back to Miami to Teddy's place.
I figured I would find her in bed, trying to hold herself together because she hated to cry. And I wanted to hold her and tell her that it was okay to cry. I wanted to thank her. I wanted to make sure she was alright.
Those were my only motivations when I'd gone into that room.
But then she'd flown at me, had pressed her lips to mine.
And everything else—every-fucking-thing else—slipped away.
It had taken actual work to keep myself from thinking about kissing her for the past several days. Especially when she was in bed with me, talking about my people in a way that said she would like them to be her own, or when she was laughing and smiling with us over dinner, or—more recently—when we'd been dancing.
In quiet moments, the thoughts won out, though.
So I'd given kissing her some thought.
But none of those fantasies came close to the reality. To the way she took charge then almost immediately submitted, making little mewling noises, hands roaming greedily over me.
Until those curious hands met the one place in my body I didn't want her touching. The pain had been instantaneous, and the sound I'd made had been the ice water on the fire that had been building between us.
The last thing I wanted to do was leave her. But I understood there would be no chance for any moments like that between us again if the guys and I didn't get together, and figure out what the fuck was going on with the Ukrainians and the Chechens teaming up.
