Valen (Henchmen MC Next Generation 6)

She was over at Abigail’s new apartment with Seth and Finn, doing some sort of painting or some other decorating shit like that, but mostly just hanging out with Abigail while Cary and Dezi—her usual guards—were at the club, doing some shit with the other guys, the kind of shit we weren’t allowed to do because it was actual business. Like gun business. We weren’t in on that yet. It had to be earned. And Brooks was making us earn it for sure.

Though, luckily for us, he was off with Dezi and Cary as well, so no one was seeing us sitting around, not doing shit for five minutes.

“Talk to her yet?” Voss asked.

“Anytime we get two seconds alone to talk, she starts an argument,” I told him. Though, admittedly, the arguing was a two-way street.

“She does?”

“We both do,” I admitted.

“Did you always?” he asked.

“Always fight? No. I mean we both always had a temper, but not toward each other. Usually. And it was different back then. She was all fire. Now she’s all ice.”

“She grew up,” Voss said, shrugging. “We all do it.”

That was fair. And if her life was as violent as I was imagining it to be, then it made sense that she needed to tamp down her anger, to not be so explosive because it wasn’t as safe for her to be like that outside of the relative safety of Navesink Bank.

Coldness was likely more of an asset than the heat.

It was wrong of me to miss that fire.

“Why’d you leave her?” Voss asked, but suddenly, there were feet storming up the steps.

Voss and I both shot up, knowing running was never a good thing. Cary burst into the room with his phone to his ear as Fallon and Danny came through from the kitchen.

And then he said words that had my heart freezing in my chest.

“Finn and Louana are shot.”

I swear I almost blacked out at those words.

But then Dezi was rushing through the living room, barking out an address.

Then I was running too. Out the door. Across the yard. To my bike.

I wasn’t even fully aware of driving through town.

My mind could only process one thing right then.

Louana was shot.

I probably should have been freaked out about Finn. He was practically a cousin to me. I’d grown up with him. He was my biker brother too.

But my mind was only on Louana, at the idea of a bullet wedged in her.

It seemed like forever, though it was only a few minutes across town.

And as I drove down the street, there it was.

Blood on the cement, steadily drying in the sun.

My chest was tight as I flew off my bike and toward the building where I saw Seth waiting in the doorway.

“Where is she?” I barked as I flew up the stairs, hearing the bikes rumbling up behind me. Likely Fallon and the others, coming to check on Finn.

“Bathroom. Won’t open the door.”

I didn’t even pause, I rushed through and into the apartment, taking note of Finn and his blood-soaked shoulder, but making my way to the closed door in the hall, pounding on it.

“Lulu,” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. “Open the door,” I added, voice softer, more coaxing.

I was about ready to break it down when I heard the lock slide.

Thank fuck.

I turned the knob and moved inside, finding her standing near the sink, her body half folded forward.

“Hey, hey,” I said, having to close the door to get fully inside. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be alright,” I assured her. Because she had to be. There was no other option. “Where are you hit?” I asked, gaze moving over her, seeing blood on her hands, but not sure where it was coming from. “Lulu,” I said when she didn’t answer me.

On a low whimper, she slowly turned so her other side faced me, inviting my gaze to move over that side of her body.

And there was blood all down her pant leg, but it seemed to be originating from, well, her upper hip or ass area.

“Shit,” I hissed.

“No, don’t touch me,” she hissed when I moved closer.

“Lulu, come on,” I said, reaching for her pants again. “It’s me or one of the others,” I told her. “And it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” I reminded her.

Which was probably the wrong thing to say. Because my mind went flashing back to all those stolen afternoons and nights. The ways we’d explored every inch of each other.

All that good.

Followed by all the bad when I’d left without a word.

“Come on,” I said, tone coaxing as my hands went toward the button and zipper of her jeans.

Her hands fell, clearly giving up the fight.

I’d seen a lot of gnarly injuries over the years. On myself. On Voss. On random people we crossed paths with.