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My face whacked off of the wall, the pain ricocheting up my face and behind my eyes even as Simon’s hands reached for me again.
Another slap, a punch, hands digging bruises into skin.
Another shove that sent me flying to the floor, landing hard, my chin slamming against it, making my teeth bite into my lower lip, making me taste blood.
A scream bubbled up and was about to burst out.
When Simon’s foot collided with my center, making it escape as a choked gurgle instead.
But it was there, on the filthy floor, pain ricocheting off of every last nerve ending, at one of my lowest moments, that I saw it.
The gun.
Tucked under the chair Simon must have been sitting in while waiting for me to walk right into his trap.
I didn’t even try to scramble up into a crawl.
I just shimmied forward like a damn snake across the floor, making my skirt hike up, and I felt Simon’s hands grabbing me, trying to turn me over.
No.
No, goddamnit.
I just needed to get a few inches further.
It was almost in reach.
Even as my hand touched the cold, reassuring metal, the door to the office suddenly flew open, knocking against the wall, making Simon release me even as I grabbed the gun, and got to my knees.
The adrenaline must have been easing the pain right then because I felt nothing as I lifted the gun.
To find someone else had already beaten me to it.
There, standing in the doorway, looking like a geriatric avenging angel, was Miss Patricia with a freaking shotgun in her arms that looked like it weighed more than she did.
“Saw your car,” Miss Patricia said. “I had a bad feeling. One move, and I’ll make a eunuch out of you,” she said, aiming lower on Simon. “Get going, sweetie,” she urged.
“I can’t leave you with him,” I insisted, even as I grabbed the vital contents and shoved them back in my purse.
“Go,” Miss Patricia demanded.
It felt wrong.
God, did it feel wrong.
But I rushed past her.
“Thank you,” I said, grabbing her arm in gratitude, then running as fast as my legs could carry me, losing one of my sandals in the process.
But it didn’t matter.
All that mattered was getting out of there.
Getting help.
And, for once, I had someone to go to.
Someone to lean on.
I didn’t drive around to make sure I wasn’t being followed.
I didn’t need to.
Because I knew exactly where Seth was right that moment.
An outlaw, gun-running, biker clubhouse.
If Simon wanted to follow me there, so freaking be it.
My entire body was shaking, making me question my ability to even stand as I climbed out of my car.
My legs were wobbling but I forced them to carry me as I rushed down the street, getting to the gates just as the Texan, who I’d come to know as Sutton, came walking up.
I watched as his eyes widened, as his jaw hardened.
“Honey, what happened?” he asked as he pulled them open.
“I… I need Seth,” I said, feeling the tears flooding my eyes, but blinking them back, knowing I needed to keep it together.
“Of course. Come on,” he said, starting to reach out toward me, and I must have flinched, because he snatched his hand back. “He’s right inside,” he said, falling into step with me.
And with each step, the adrenaline started to wear off, and the pain began to set in.
Sutton opened the door, and I stepped inside to the sound of male laughter.
“Jesus Christ,” Sully said as his gaze landed on me, something that had all the men turning.
“Lana,” Seth exhaled, eyes round, as he rushed forward.
“Simon,” I said even as he pulled me against his chest, his arms gentle as they went around me.
“Okay. Alright. The kids? Where are the kids?”
If I hadn’t already been falling, I would have fallen for him right then.
Because he asked about my kids first.
“With Layna at home. I…”
“Okay. They’re fine,” he said. “Callow, Sully…” he said, and I could see the guys rushing past us. Likely to go to Seth’s house, to be backup for Layna. “Okay. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, pulling me with him into the hall, then one of the bedrooms, and finally the attached bathroom.
“Okay, sit, honey,” he said, pushing me down onto the closed toilet lid. “What’s hurt?”
“My head,” I said. “My lip. My side.”
“Yeah, I see your face. This is going to bruise something fierce,” he told me as he got a washcloth, and soaked it in cold water, then pressed it to my lower lip. “How are your teeth?” he asked, making me lower my lip to show him. “They’re okay,” he said. “Your lip is swelling,” he added.
To that, I nodded as I blinked away tears.
“Your head hurt?” he asked.
God, yes.
“I’ll get you something for that.”
“No, I need to be sha—“
“Honey, just something over-the-counter, okay?”
