“Baby, I’m here,” I murmured as she fell forward into my arms, blood caked on the side of her face, neck, and down her shirt. “Grace,” I urged, my fingers moving to her pulse point, relieved to feel a strong beat.
I was aware of my men moving around the room, but I only had eyes for Grace as Ryland dropped to my side. “Pulse?”
“Steady,” I confirmed as she shifted with a wince in my arms.
“Grace, come on, ladybug,” I called hoarsely. “Come back to me.”
After a few agonizing moments, her eyelids fluttered, and with evident effort, she tried to focus on me. “Ruston?”
“Yeah, baby. I’m here. You’re safe,” I assured her, stroking a hand over her hair. “Let’s get you to a hospital,” I muttered, rising with her limp in my arms. We might avoid hospitals where we could, but I wasn’t risking anything when it came to Grace.
“Pike alive?” I growled as I made my way down the stairwell, Grace in my arms and Ry at my back. Lincoln and Tank were ahead of us, Tank carrying the dead man over his shoulder and Lincoln pushing Pike ahead of him.
“For now,” Ry replied. “Shot him in the hand.”
“Dispose of the body. And take Pike to the club,” I ordered as we hit street level, and I strode out to my truck, finding Gage waiting there, his eyes wide with concern.
“Need a lift to the hospital.” I tossed him the keys as I climbed into the back of the cab with Grace in my lap.
He climbed in the driver’s side and, at my direction, pointed the truck for Bishop Community, the nearest hospital.
Grace was curled in my lap, remaining close to the position she’d been in for the past six hours. It was likely too painful to straighten her neck and spine.
Witnessing her in so much pain only strengthened my resolve to prolong Pike’s suffering.
But for now, my sole focus was on Grace, on the feeling of her in my arms, her breath the balm I needed to survive. The minute she was healed enough, I’d set in motion planning for the rest of our lives together.
With nothing ever harming her again.
Chapter 23
GRACE
Iawoke to the comforting smell of home the next morning, beyond grateful to be in my own bed.
I’d had to push Ruston hard to get it.
Though conscious when he’d taken me to the hospital the night before, I didn’t remember much. I’d lost a lot of blood, and that coupled with the pain and general trauma I’d suffered meant I hadn’t been entirely lucid.
Until they’d wanted to keep me overnight.
Finally, Ruston had relented, partially when the doctor had admitted that I was likely good to head home as long as I was kept under observation for fever or infection.
It was my mom who came to my rescue, having arrived with my dad an hour before, assuring both Ruston and the doctor that she could help keep an eye on things.
I opened my eyes, my wound a dull throb rather than fiery burn as my gaze landed on Ruston, curled toward me, his arm wrapped across my waist in a bid to keep me close even as he slept, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.
For a moment I just studied the man I loved, in awe that the future I’d been so fearful I’d be robbed of was now right in front of us.
My gaze shifted to the other side of the room, where both dogs lay sleeping on beds Ruston must have brought in. Despite myself, I smiled, knowing he’d brought them in to bring me peace—and maybe to bring some measure of it for himself as well.
I shifted slightly, and his head immediately came up, his green eyes bright with evident exhaustion.
“Hi, honey,” I greeted him softly, my hand moving to stroke over the whiskers on his cheek.
He pressed his forehead to my neck, his grip on my waist tightening as I felt his big body shudder. “Christ, Grace.”
I stroked a hand over his head. “I’m okay,” I assured him, knowing that wasn’t entirely true, not yet. But I would be.
