Page 63 of York

Another voice. Male. Older.

The pressure on my body eased as my attacker turned to face the men.

With leaden arms, I reached up, yanking the belt loose enough to start sucking in greedy gulps of air.

I was aware of yelling, of some slamming, of footsteps. But I couldn’t even make myself push up from where I was on the floor. I just lay there, air burning my lungs, throat screaming, too weak even to lift my head.

I was aware of someone, likely the older guy, finding the breaker box, of the lights all flashing back on.

Then of the voice of the younger guy as he came closer. “Hey, are you okay? Can you move?”

All I could manage was a garbled sound.

“No,” the older guy called. “Don’t move her. They always say not to move someone that’s hurt. Cops are coming, honey,” he told me, but I was suddenly too tired to care. I could barely keep my eyes open.

Until, over the sound of the men talking, their adrenaline still pumping, judging by the shakiness of their voices, I heard another voice. Loud. Fierce.

“Runa!”

Before I could even try to push up, he was inside the bedroom, rushing past the men, and dropping down to his knees beside me.

“Don’t touch the evidence!” the older man yelled as, I imagine, York reached for the belt. “She can breathe now.”

“Runa, fuck,” York said, reaching to touch the side of my face.

“D…enny,” I rasped, each syllable a knife scratch down my throat.

“Denny’s fine. She’s with Eddie and Harmon. She’s fine. You’re gonna be okay, too.”

“That’s the cops,” the older man said. “Gonna go out and show ‘em up.”

The boy must have followed, judging by the two sets of footsteps.

“What… do… say?”

“Tell them the truth of what happened. Here. Don’t mention the stalking. Just tell them what you saw, what happened, but only here, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

“I’m gonna get you fixed up after this, I promise. But right now, I’m gonna hide your gun safe.”

The gun in it wasn’t exactly legal.

He rushed to do that, and I was pretty sure it was moved into Denny’s room somewhere before he came back to me, reaching to pull me up as the cops came into the room.

It was a lot of questions then, ones that grew harder and harder to answer as the adrenaline wore off and the pain in my throat intensified.

I was checked over by paramedics who tried to convince me to go to the hospital. But a hospital meant bills, ones way too high for me to pay, since I didn’t have insurance.

“I’ll get her there,” York promised them before, finally, it was over. And we were alone.

Or so I thought.

Because five minutes after the cops and neighbors left, as I was sitting in the living room with an icepack to my throat, the door opened, and there were several men in biker cuts.

“What?” I tried, but couldn’t manage anymore.

“You two can’t stay here anymore. You’re coming back to the clubhouse with me. They’re just getting you some clothes. And basically everything Denali owns,” he said with a smile. “Don’t object,” he demanded, coming over to sit down on the coffee table and grab my knees. “You almost died tonight, babe. You have to be somewhere safe.”