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“Kitten.”
She heard Arbor’s strained but calm voice coming from her side, but she couldn’t stop swinging the bat.
As she lifted it again, a familiar arm reached out and grabbed hold of the handle of the bat. “Let it go, Kitten.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her chest continued to heave with the force of her breathing as she reluctantly let go of the bat.
“There ya go. Good girl.” Arbor dropped the bat to the ground and wrapped her up in his arms. She went willingly, as her rage and adrenaline had her shaking. As she soaked in his strength, she listened to him soothe her with his words. “He’s dead. You saved me. You saved us. I’m so damn proud of you. It’s over, Kitten. We’re safe.”
Once her heart rate slowed a bit and her breathing returned to normal, she noticed a sticky wetness under her arm. Glancing down, she saw blood spreading on his tee under his cut. Pulling back, she remembered the gunshot.
“You’re shot!” She pulled her arms from his body and went to open his cut, but he stumbled back and caught himself on the edge of her desk.
That was when she noticed the paleness of his face and the sweat on his brow. He fell onto his ass on the floor as he yanked his phone from the pocket of his cut and tried to hold it out to her, but the phone fell from his hand and landed next to his thigh. “Call Whiskey,” he mumbled right before he lost consciousness.
TWENTY-TWO
WHISKEY
Whatafuckingmess.Whiskey let out a sigh of relief when Rebar’s uncle, Dr. Davis, told him that Arbor would be okay. Dr. Davis got the bullet out of Arbor and stitched up the wound. Holding Kitten, trying his best to comfort her, Whiskey told Swipe and Steal to transport Arbor to his room at the clubhouse, where they could keep an eye on him while he healed.
As soon as he was carried out, Whiskey cupped Kitten’s face in his hands, ignoring the blood splatter that was dotted all over her. He looked into her light gray eyes and gave her a soft smile. “Proud of you.”
She sniffled and nodded before she returned the soft smile. It didn’t reach her eyes, though. “Did I act the way a biker bitch should?”
“Nah.” He chuckled. “You did what a mate and an Ol’ Lady would do. You protected him, and when it was beyond your scope, you called in your family.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Proud of you.”
“He told me to stay at the treehouse. I didn’t listen. Is he going to be mad?”
Whiskey let go of her and shrugged. “If he is, it won’t last long. He’ll get over it. Either way, won’t change how he feels about you.”
“Ready to see him? We need to get you a shower and some new clothes.”
Kitten’s gaze flitted over to the body of her ex on the floor. “What about him?”
“You don’t worry about that.”
“I killed him.”
“You protected your mate.” When tears started streaming down her cheeks again, Whiskey wiped them away and turned her toward the door. “Storm is going to drive you to the compound and show you where Arbor’s room is.”
She nodded and headed outside. Storm followed her out, and when they reached the bottom of the steps, Whiskey heard Storm ask her for her keys. He would drive her car to the compound, and they bring him back for his bike later.
Once they were gone, Whiskey looked over at Renegade. “Get this cleaned up. Yank out the carpet if you have to. Let Bruce know we’re handling this. If he asks what happened, just tell him to call me tomorrow.” Then he turned to Beast, Rebar, and Sly — his sergeant at arms and both of his enforcers — standing off to the side. “Search him. Find his vehicle. Find out where he’s staying. We need to figure out how he found her. Now.”
He knew he was growling the words, but he was barely holding on to his temper. His inner black panther was prowling and hissing, pissed the fuck off that his family was in danger. If there was anyone else involved, he would find them, and they would not make it out of thatconversation.
“Whiskey.”
He looked over at Rebar and saw him holding out a cell phone.
“It’s this asshole’s.”
Whiskey took it from him and tried to unlock the silver gadget. When the lock screen came up and asked for a fingerprint, Whiskey crouched down, grabbed the dead guy’s hand, and put his thumb to the screen. Just like that, the phone unlocked. While he was still down there, he went through the motions of turning off the fingerprint lock and changing the code to 123456, in case they needed to get into it again. After straightening to his full height, Whiskey opened the texts, and less than a minute later, he had an answer. A picture of Arbor and Kitten in a clinch had been sent to the dead guy two days before. Under the photo was a series of numbers that he guessed was the gate code. The only question was, how did he get the gate key?
Checking the contact information of the person who sent it, Whiskey asked the room, “Who the hell is Maurice Brown?”
Twelve hours later, Whiskey walked into Arbor’s room and approached the bed he was lying on. Relief coursed through him when Arbor opened his eyes and looked over at him. They had always had a connection, but over the years, he grew to think of Arbor as his kid brother or even his son. He would feel responsible if any of his brothers were hurt, but with Arbor, that was on a whole different level. Seeing him open his eyes allowed Whiskey’s gut to loosen a little, but he wouldn’t stop worrying until the man was back on his feet and completely healed. Lucky for them, Arbor was a shifter, so that wouldn’t take long.
