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She stood on tiptoe to throw her arms around his neck. Their auras swirled before merging together. “I L-word you, too,” she whispered, kissing him.
He smiled tenderly at her. “I’m equal parts happy and sad. I miss them already.”
“I know.”
He took her hand once more to lead her to his bike. The crack of a gun erupted at the same time Lincoln let out a grunt. He fell backward into the mud and she screamed, freezing for a moment. Before her brain could catch up with what was happening, strong arms banded around her body, forcing her away.
“Lincoln!” she screamed. Not for herself but because a bullet hole now rested in his chest.
“Shut up,” an eerily familiar voice told her. Vivi looked up into Cross’s glacial stare. “What are you doing here? What have you done?”
“I’m taking back what’s mine,” Cross growled.
“Yours? I’m not yours, Cross. I have to help Lincoln.”
“Lincoln’s dead,” he said cruelly. “And now you’re mine.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cross wore gloves, preventing her from touching him. Instead, she struggled. Remembering the training Lincoln had shown her, she grabbed a finger and bent it backward. Cross howled and loosed his hold just enough for her to twist out of his grip. She spun and kicked him between the legs. He emitted a painful gasp and bowed, giving her the perfect opportunity to knock him down so she could run to Lincoln.
“Please, please, please,” she chanted in desperation. “Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.”
A guttural groan came from Lincoln and he opened his eyes.
“Oh, thank God!” she cried. He struggled to sit up so she slipped her arms around him to help. “I was afraid you were dead. I saw the bullet hit your chest.”
He pulled his shirt apart, buttons went flying, and she saw he wore a Kevlar vest.
“We’re all wearing a vest,” he said gruffly. “Brim insisted.”
“Remind me to hug him.”
Cross approached and Lincoln pulled out a gun from somewhere and pointed it at him.
“Back the fuck off,” he snarled. “Don’t fucking touch her again.”
“She’s mine,” Cross hissed.
“I amnotyours!” Vivi walked over to him and began to slap him wherever she could reach. He tried batting her hands away, but a few hits landed. “I am my own person. Why would you think I’d be interested in the person who held me prisoner?”
“Because you calm me down!” he shouted back at her. “You stop the fury filling up my head. All the pain it gives me, you take that away. I have to have you with me, Vivi.”
A dark thought dawned, and she stared at him in horror. “Was it you? Did you do it?”
“Was what me? Did I do what?”
At this point, Lincoln got to his feet and marched over to punch Cross. Down he went, out cold. Lincoln leaned over and grabbed Cross’s cut, shaking him until he roused.
“Did you send the bomb to the Death Riders clubhouse?” Lincoln yelled. He hit Cross again, and Cross must have had some type of self-preservation because he threw up his arm to block the next hit. But Lincoln was a man possessed and he hit again and again. If he kept it up, Vivi knew he’d kill him.
“Stop,” Vivi said and grabbed Lincoln’s hand, pressing skin to skin. “Calm down.”
Immediately, the fist relaxed. He stepped back, panting from the exertion of pounding the ever-living shit out of Cross. Blood dripped from just about everywhere on Cross’s face. Vivi bent over him to see if his chest still moved up and down. When he let out a pain-filled groan, she stepped back. Slowly, Cross blinked and tried to sit up, cradling his arm. Every move he made was accompanied by a hiss of pain, and he wrapped an arm around himself to support his ribs.
“You broke my arm,” Cross muttered. “And my nose. I think I have a concussion.”
“I don’t care.”
