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Bailey blinked, her dazed mind struggling to assimilate what had just happened. Her primitive hindbrain was going nuts, but it was like her higher functions had shut down. She simply sat there, numb. Not even the shoves and bites from her frantic snake were penetrating her fog.
Beneath the ringing of her ears and the pounding of her heart was a hissing sound. Smoke? Air? She didn’t know.
A warm wetness dampened her hair and dripped down her face. She knew it was blood. She could smell it—it mingled with the scents of gas, burned rubber, and the airbag’s talcum powder.
A female groan.
The pained sound gripped Bailey’s heart and made it skip a beat. Awareness steadily pierced her daze, and reality crashed into her hard.
A shot. A shot had rang out. And then the car had swerved like a nut and sailed over the edge of the road.
Bailey gritted her teeth. Anger and adrenaline surging through her, she shoved at the airbag until it deflated with a small gust of chalky powder. “Please tell me you guys aren’t dead.”
“Not dead,” mumbled Aspen as Havana said, “Peachy over here.”
Relief tumbled through both Bailey and her snake. “I say we get out of this car. Like now.”
“I second that,” said Aspen.
“Works for me,” added Havana with yet another groan of pain.
Bailey wasn’t feeling in any better shape. Burning twinges could be felt here and there, along with a massive ache in her head. And God, she felt like she’d taken a dozen punches to the chest, thanks to the belt and airbag. “I know I hit my head pretty hard, but I’m not imagining it that someone actually just shot out my tire to make us crash, am I?”
“No,” Havana grunted, struggling with her safety belt. “No, you’re not.”
Motherfucking fucker. She dragged in a breath—which made pain flare through her already sore chest. “Okay. Just wanted to be sure.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The SUV had barely come to a halt when Deke ragged open its sliding side door. A sense of urgency clutching his chest, he leapt out, Tate and Camden hot on his heels. Deke distantly noted that Farrell and the Betas—who the Alphas had instructed to head to the scene of the accident—had already arrived, but he paid them no real attention. Ignoring everyone but the slender female sat at the roadside, he crossed straight to her.
She stood, and he framed her face with his hands, leery of hauling her close when he knew her body would be sore in places. He dropped his forehead to hers. “Baby.” It was a gravelly whisper.
He’d been right beside Tate when Havana had called her mate to inform him of the incident. Panic had knifed through Deke’s gut, and he’d snatched Tate’s cell out of his hand and demanded that Havana put Bailey on the phone. His mamba had assured him that she was fine, but her words hadn’t been enough to ease the wave of rage that had surged through him.
“I’m all right,” Bailey muttered, laying a hand on his upper arm. “Just mega pissed.”
She wasn’t “all right” at all. She had a goddamn head wound that had bled bad enough to form a thick clump of sticky blood in her hair. There were also some cuts on her face and arms, and he would bet her chest hurt like hell.
His cat prowled beneath his skin, anger in every fluid step. She might not belong to the feline, but he still regarded her as under his direct protection. That someone would dare target her—again—made his blood boil.
Righting his head, Deke looked down the steep hill behind her and caught side of Luke and Blair studying the wreckage. Deke’s lungs seized. The chunk of metal was positively fucked—windows gone, roof dented, doors hanging off.
And Bailey had been inside it.
He couldn’t stop his hands from tightening their hold on her face.
She wrapped her fingers around his wrists. “Really, I’m fine.”
He snapped his gaze back to hers. “No, you’re not.” But she would be once Helena, who was currently healing Havana, made her way over.
Tate had brought the healer even though his mate had assured him that none of their injuries were serious. Deke had been glad, not wanting Bailey or the other females to be in needless pain.
Skimming his gaze over both Havana and Aspen, he could see an array of cuts and bruises, though Havana’s were healing before his eyes. Camden seemed to be insisting that Aspen had a broken rib, but the bearcat claimed it was merely bruised.
The crunch of gravel made Deke look to see Farrell approaching. Letting his hands slip away from Bailey, Deke half-turned toward the Head Enforcer. “Did you find anything?”
Farrell pointed to a spot on the opposite side of the wreckage and said, “A motorcycle was parked over there earlier, and there’s evidence that someone was lying in wait.”
