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But the mess between my thighs was rapidly growing sticky and cold. And I knew Brewer would swap shifts with Tank again at some point. Reality was steadily creeping back in, robbing us of the precious time we had together.
I rolled over in the protective circle of Brewer's arm and brushed a kiss to his lips.
"Don’t go anywhere,” I said. “I’ll clean up and be right back.”
Brewer nodded, trailing his hand down my side as I sat up.
“Are you hungry?” he offered. “I can order breakfast while you’re busy.”
“Starving. Bacon, eggs, sausage – I want enough food for a small army.”
He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair.
“Yes, ma’am.”
After cleaning up in the bathroom, I didn’t bother with a fresh set of clothes and wrapped a towel around myself instead. I returned to find Brewer seated on the foot of my bed in only his jeans, unbuttoned and hanging low on his hips. My fingers itched to touch the expanse of his tanned skin and muscles and tattoos. Would I ever get tired of touching him? Feeling the heat of him beneath my hands?
Just as I took a breath to speak, the chatter of gunshots tore through the air and the window exploded. Shards of glass sprayed through the room, stinging my face and bare shoulders like a thousand bees.
Brewer barked my name a split second before he flung himself at me. We hit the floor in a tangle of limbs, the air knocked out of my lungs. He tucked my body tight against him, shielding me as bullets bit into the wall.
When silence descended, Brewer pulled back to cradle my face in his hands. I saw his lips moving, his eyes shadowed with concern, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying past the roaring of adrenaline in my ears.
“Look at me,” Brewer barked, his voice gradually becoming clear. “Alexandra, sweetheart. Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”
Hazily, I shook my head. I didn’t feel any pain, only shock and the weight of Brewer on top of me. I reached up, fingers curling around his forearms, when I felt something warm and sticky. Raising my fingers into my line of vision, I saw the gleam of red before I registered what it was. Then my gaze fell on the hole in Brewer’s right shoulder – a bullet hole.
“Brewer,” I croaked. “You’re…bleeding. You’ve been shot.”
He didn’t even bother to look at himself.
“It’s okay, I’m fine. Stay low and don’t move, got it?”
Before I could ask where he was going, Brewer grabbed his jacket from the floor and pulled out a pistol. He strode to the broken window, scanning the parking lot. Then he moved to the door and yanked it open. Standing there in nothing but his jeans, the naked skin of his torso limned in gold from the morning sun, he looked so frighteningly vulnerable. But Brewer wouldn’t take the time to get dressed properly when someone had shot at us – atme. He’d track down whoever it was while he was stark naked and furious if he had to.
The screech of tires signaled someone’s quick escape. Brewer fired once but judging by his growl, he’d missed.
Then…nothing. A screaming silence, signaling that everything had just changed, smearing everything in a gory shade of violence.
“Brewer?” I whispered.
He stumbled back into the motel room, barely getting the door closed behind him before he slid to the floor.
Chapter Eight
Ever since I woke up in the hospital, Alexandra hadn’t said a word. She sat in the chair next to my bed as my Alpha Rider brothers filtered in and out of the room. Tank remained in the hallway just outside the door, keeping watch, which I was grateful for. The shooter had escaped and that meant he’d be back for a second round.
When the last MC brother drifted out, I finally turned my head to look at Alexandra. She had her knees pulled up to her chest, wearing jeans and a zip-up sweatshirt that looked like it probably belonged to Tank, judging by the size of it. She was practically swimming in the pool of fabric. She chewed her lip silently, staring vacant and sightless at a spot on the floor.
“Alexandra,” I said softly.
She closed her eyes for a moment but reluctantly raised her gaze to my face.
“This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen,” she croaked. Her voice sounded wrecked and I knew she must have been crying in the waiting room.
“I know, sweetheart,” I whispered. I held my arm out to her, beckoning her closer. My other arm was tucked into a sling. For now. Once I was out of the hospital, I didn’t care what the doctor’s orders were, I would need my arm’s full range of motion. “Come here.”
For several long seconds, Alexandra remained stubbornly and firmly seated in her chair. Arms locked around her knees. This whole ordeal had rattled her much more than I had originally thought. She didn’t want to get close to me, didn’t want to drag me any deeper. Probably didn’t want to open her heart to a man who had been shot and would likely get shot again.
