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“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Holly. That damn gun’s been in there since the day I bought the truck. Swear I’ve never taken it out once. Never even crossed my mind to warn you about it.”
“LJ, you are not to blame here. He should have just let me call you straight away. You could have let him know I didn’t steal your car and offered to show the gun registration card. Higgins had other plans though.”
“He made you get out.”
“Yes. And…” She swallowed and averted her gaze. “He said he had to search me after he removed the gun. So, he made me bend over the hood of the car with my palms down while he removed the gun.”
She rubbed her fingertips over her palms again and again as though still feeling the heat of the car on her skin.
“And he searched you?” LJ asked, trying to make his voice sound soothing despite his anger quickly heating to the boiling point.
Holly lifted her gaze. “He searched me.”
“He cross a line?”
She nodded, water pooling in the corners of her eyes.
“Where?” He didn’t sound soothing anymore.
“Um,” Holly cleared her throat. “A lotta wandering hands on my butt, all over my back, and my b-breasts.” Her voice dropped so low on that last word, he barely heard her.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“Fucking hell.” LJ dragged a hand down his face.
“LJ, I’m fine. Just a little shaken up.”
“Good for fucking you,” he barked. “I’m about as far from fine as it gets, so tell me the goddamn rest.”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times.
God, he was such a piece of shit. “I’m sorry, sugar. I’m not mad at you, I promise.”
“I know,” she said in a small voice that only made him hate himself more. “Okay, I’m just gonna spit the rest of it out. He pressed against me while I was bent over the car, and he was quite obviously hard. Then he told me I had two options. Ride to the station in the back of his car or sit in the front and show my appreciation for not being arrested.”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” LJ roared as he slammed his open palm into the dashboard.
It came on fast. Faster than he could ever recall. One minute he sat in the truck, listening to Holly, and the next…tingling fingers, hazy vision, chest tightness, it all slammed into him with the force of a wrecking ball.
And then, nothing.
He never even had a chance to warn Holly.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ONE SECOND HOLLY had been recounting the humiliating events of the past hour and the next she was staring in shock as LJ completely disappeared.
In his place was a man gripping the steering wheel so hard all color leeched out of his hands. A man who wouldn’t have noticed if the world exploded around him. He breathed like an elephant sat on his chest. Choked, gasping breaths that couldn’t have been effective at providing oxygen. His pupils had blown so wide, they eclipsed the hazel she loved so much, but what disturbed her most was the blank, lights-on-nobody’s-home stare he cast out the windshield.
“LJ?” she asked. What the hell was happening to him? Was he sick? Having a heart attack? Stroking out? His entire body began to shake and the breathing she’d thought sounded so atrocious seconds ago now had the added horror of a high-pitched whistling. “LJ!” she yelled this time.
Nothing. No response whatsoever. Just as she pulled her phone out to dial the emergency responders, LJ emitted the most gut-wrenching whimper she’d ever heard. It was then, the light bulb went on, and Holly realized he was deep in a severe panic attack.
She dropped the phone and scooted along the bench until her front was pressed up against his side. His big body shook so violently, she had a hard time grabbing him, but with a little effort managed to hold his face between her hands much as he did when he’d kissed her.
God, was that only a few minutes ago? Seemed like days.
“LJ,” she said in a soft, loving tone. “Baby, come back to me. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m safe. No one is hurt.” Was she acting ridiculous? Holly had no clue what to do for someone in this state. Maybe she should have called nine-one-one. The story she’d told him had triggered something horrifying in his mind. Maybe if she reassured him she was unharmed and not in any danger, he’d return to her.
She stroked his cheek and beard, repeating nonsense over and over. How they were safe, how strong she thought he was, how she loved his hands and mouth on her, how amazing his club brothers and their women were. Anything to break him out of the grip of the attack.
Nothing seemed to work. He trembled and struggled to breathe for long minutes. Sweat poured down his ashen face. His hands were fisted so tight, he was at risk for cutting his palms with his fingernails.
