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“Give me my fucking woman,” Colby replied in a tone that made my teeth hurt.
It brooked no argument, it communicated that he was ready to take me by any means necessary.
I had no say in this. Maybe I could’ve tried to protest, but what was the point? I didn’t want to hear my voice right then, didn’t want to speak with the same mouth that had pleaded for mercy just moments—minutes? Hours?—ago.
Wordlessly, I was transferred from one biker to another.
I kept my eyes squeezed shut and my body limp as that happened. No matter how careful they were, the movement sent agonizing pain searing through my body. I sank my teeth into my lip, drawing blood so I didn’t whimper out loud.
Not that making a whimper would’ve made any difference, since it was pretty clear I was in a bad way. But I didn’t need any more masculine concern. It was practically choking me already.
The tender way that Colby brushed my blood-matted hair paralyzed me.
“Baby,” he said in barely a whisper before laying a kiss on my forehead.
I squeezed my eyes shut tighter as I pressed my face into Colby’s cut, unable to look him in the eye.
The feel of his chest, his smell mixed with leather and blood, was almost enough to make me want to tear myself apart.
I didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe because if I did, then I’d be fighting with everything I had to get out of his arms. And I didn’t have much left to fight with. Especially since I knew that Colby wasn’t about to let me win. His arms were locked around me while he simultaneously cradled me like a wounded animal.
It did help that I was weaving in and out of consciousness, the journey to the van filled with agony and blank spaces in time.
Conversation happened around me, I was aware of that. Colby didn’t contribute much, just stroking my hair and murmuring things to me.
I was hoping to fall into the abyss at some point, but destiny was not that kind.
My nails dug into the flesh of my palms as the van went over bumps in the dirt road, driving us away from the warehouse.
“We need to get Sariah to a hospital,” Hansen said cautiously, his poker face on. All the men did. But they were pale. They were holding it together because they were badasses who’d seen a lot of shit, but I guessed my condition was in the upper levels of their experience with fucked-up shit.
Figures, since I barely felt alive.
Yeah, I’d wished for death pretty consistently for an extended period of time. I’d also wished for rescue, but that time had come and gone. Even with my heroes here, death still seemed tempting, especially considering the way they looked at me.
Especially the way Colby looked at me.
His hands were covered in blood. It could’ve been mine. I was covered in a lot of blood.
Mustn’t think about that.
His arms around me, whether they were covered in my blood or someone else’s, was a torture in itself. My skin crawled from the hands embracing me like I was broken.
But I didn’t say anything.
“Hospital?” I rasped out the word. I recoiled at the sound of my meager, pathetic voice. The thought of the bright lights, the sterile smells, the foreign hands … it terrified me. Even though a small, rational part of my brain told me I would die if I didn’t go to a hospital, everything else inside me protested at the idea.
A whimper slipped past my lips when Colby jostled me to put his phone to his ear. “We got her,” he said into the phone, arm still around me. “We’re en route to the hospital. I’m guessing Violet’s already there.”
My depleted strength perked up. “Violet?” I croaked. “Why would she be at the hospital?”
Colby’s eyes had been on me the entire time, and his eyebrows raised at my question, still listening to whoever was on the phone.
That pissed me off. I was the one bleeding and gravely injured. I was pretty sure he should’ve been giving me his attention, regardless of if it was the President of the fucking United States on the phone.
“Got it,” he said. “We’ll keep you updated.”
“What is wrong with Violet?” I demanded, gripping his hand with my blood-stained fingers. My nails were broken, some of them torn off completely. By pliers or from raking them against the concrete? Both, maybe.
Colby didn’t answer right away. He seemed to be weighing his words.
“She’s in labor,” he told me after looking at Hansen then back to me. “She refused to go to the hospital until we found you.”
I almost wanted to laugh. I probably would have if I still retained that ability. My stubborn best friend. My selfless best friend.
“Where is she?”
“The club, but—”
“Then we go to the club,” I cut him off.
