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My eyes flutter shut, and I let the smell of him, the hard feel of him, wash over me. Soothe me until I’m no longer a mass of exposed nerves and feelings.
“You’re killin’ me, Willow,” he shouts.
I smile in reply, feminine pride taking over as I slide closer to him, pressing my body as close to his as possible in the moment. “Just being close to you like this is killing me.”
He revs the engine again, and I keep my eyes closed and enjoy the way he makes me feel.
No man has gotten to me the way Joaquin has, and I’m not even sure how he feels about me, but right now, at this moment, it doesn’t matter.
What matters is that he’s here with me, helping me search for my friend, protecting me. That’s more than most men would do. Hell, have ever done for me.
Those thoughts are interrupted by the sound of bikes. I risk a look over my shoulder, eyes going wide at the sight of three men on motorcycles gaining on us. I tap Joaquin’s shoulder, and he leans back to give me his ear. “I think we have company.”
His gaze darts to the side mirrors, and he nods more to himself than to me before speeding up. “It’s okay, Willow,” he shouts.
I nod, but I don’t believe him. How can it be okay when we’re being hunted and we are totally outnumbered? A gunshot rings out, giving credence to my innermost thoughts.
“Were those gunshots?” I shout like an idiot as my heart races, and my mind spins with fear.
I can’t see what he’s doing, but a moment later, I feel cold metal in my hand, and I look down at the gun and back up at Joaquin. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”
“Point and aim, then shoot,” he says. “I have to focus on the road so we can make it back to the clubhouse.” To punctuate his point, he guns the engine, and we pull off, putting a large gap between us and the group of bikers.
He can’t drive fast enough to save us. We’re too exposed out here on the road by ourselves, and these guys aren’t letting up. They keep pace with us, determined to reach us, and my guess is not to offer a tour of the area.
“Point and aim,” I say to myself several times before I muster up the courage and turn over my right shoulder.
“Aim,” I say again and do just that.
“Shoot.” I squeeze the trigger, and a bullet goes right into the lead guy’s shoulder. “Oh shit!”
“What?”
“I shot him!”
He smiles and reaches back and pats my leg. “Good job, girl. Keep shooting.”
I have nothing else to do but to keep shooting at the advancing bikers as they shoot at us, a barrage of bullets flying past us. No matter how fast we go, the bullets are faster, whizzing by our heads and hitting the metal on the bike.
I land a few shots, but my aim is shit, and my heart is racing too loudly to focus on anything but my fear of a bullet hitting me.
“Joaquin,” I shout, freaking out as one bike gains on us. “I can’t do this!”
“Yes, you can! Keep shooting, Willow!”
I nod and shoot until the gun is empty. “Joaquin,” I say again as the biker gets closer and closer.
“I’m on it,” he promises as bullets ring out behind me.
It’s too late. “Joaquin,” I shout again as white-hot pain slices through the skin just left of my right shoulder blade. The pain intensifies, and the gun falls from my hand, bouncing across the asphalt. The other hand scrambles to hold on to Joaquin as tight as I can, anything to stay upright, but it’s a losing battle.
Black spots form around the edges of my vision, and my heart rate speeds up. I’m panicking, unable to speak around the intense pain.
“Shit, Will. I gotcha,” Joaquin says in a voice that sounds eerily calm as I slip out of consciousness. His arm reaches back and wraps around me just as I start to slide off the bike.
Eventually, the bike slows to a stop. “Help! Somebody get Nova! Now!”
I have a sensation of gliding off the back seat, and soon enough, strong arms wrap around me. I feel as if I’m floating, and suddenly I’m inside the clubhouse.
