“We didn’t get her back. By the time we got to the club all traces of Carlos were gone. He’s in the wind.” Asher said quietly.
Lucky froze. “What?”
“Bex,” Asher muttered, his eyes dark. “The whole club’s already out. We’ll find her—”
Lucky ripped out his cords and shit to push out of the bed. Asher had to stop talking in order to restrain him.
All sorts of machines starting ringing with a shrill beep.
Lucky ignored it and fought against Asher’s grip. “Fuckin’ let me go!” he roared.
Asher didn’t stop. “You said you’d trust the fuckin’ club.”
Lucky might’ve had a bullet in his chest, but that meant nothing, nothing, when he knew they had her. It’d take a bullet to his skull to stop him from fighting to get to her.
“I trust the club with my life. Not with hers. I trust no one with hers. Let me go, brother, or I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” he yelled.
Doors opened and doctors rushed in. Lucky ignored their shouts. He had one destination in mind.
Becky.
Hers was the last face he saw when they injected him with tranquilizer.
And it wasn’t the beautiful face he was used to. This one had been overcome by demons she was just beginning to chase away.
Three weeks later
“I need it to be said that I highly advise against this,” the doctor said, frowning.
Lucky shrugged on his cut, not wincing at the pain that came with the movement. He embraced it. The pain was his fucking fuel. He felt a renewed sense of power with that leather on his back.
“So noted, Doc,” he replied.
The doctor stood in front of him, blocking his way. It took a fuck of a lot of restraint not to push him bodily. It didn’t matter that the guy was pushing fuckin’ sixty and was a goddamned civilian, one who’d saved his life at that. His rage didn’t discriminate. This man was an obstacle standing between him and Becky. Obstacles were to be eliminated.
He clenched his fists at his sides.
Two more seconds. What it would take to shake this guy off. That was two more seconds Becky was wherever she was.
There it was again. The pain. Not from the wound inches from his heart. It originated a couple inches to the left.
She’s strong. She’ll last.
It didn’t matter that even the strongest souls could be defeated.
“You run the risk of infection, blood poisoning, even cardiac arrest,” the doctor listed on his fingers.
Lucky shrugged again. “I’m feeling fit as a fiddle. If I feel like I’m goin’ into cardiac arrest, I’ll give you a bell.” He tried to step past him.
The doc grabbed his arm.
We don’t kill civilians.
“You go into cardiac arrest, you won’t get to ‘give me a bell.’ You’ll die,” he informed him gravely.
“Then I’ll tell the big man hey from you,” Lucky said. He pulled out of the man’s grasp and didn’t look back.
“What did the doctor say?” Brock asked as soon as Lucky left the room. He didn’t slow his pace as Brock and Gage stepped on either side of him.
Lucky looked forward. “I’ll be running marathons and kicking your ass better than ever,” he grunted.
He felt his friend’s gaze. “Bullshit,” he said. “You were shot in the chest. Less than three weeks ago.”
Lucky kept walking. “I’m aware.”
Brock grabbed his arm, bringing him to a stop. There was a fuck of a lot more pressure there than the doctor. Lucky glowered at him, his temper barely under control. Brock was lucky he didn’t have his piece.
“You ain’t no use to her dead, brother,” he said quietly.
Lucky met his gaze. “I’m goin’ for my woman. You try and stop me, then I’m not responsible for my actions.”
He wasn’t responsible for his actions if he found her and it was too late. He was damned for fuckin’ life if they found the broken pieces of her.
Then he’d be as good as dead.
I’m coming, Becky. Hold on.
Two hours later
After Bull kicked in the door and Lucky rushed in, he froze. It was only for a split second, less than that. But for the rest of his life he would torture himself over that split second. That slight hesitation. Because that moment, however fleeting it was, was another moment his firefly had to go through that. Another moment he could never get back, one that would be seared into his memory. Torture his soul for the rest of his life.
He hesitated, and then he moved. He didn’t make any conscious effort to do it, every part of his being pushing him towards that rickety bed where that was happening. His vision, which had been red around the edges, was completely tainted with vivid scarlet. He barely felt the pressure at his knuckles, or the blood splatter his face as he kept going. It was red. Everything was red.
He felt strong hands at his shoulders, pulling him back, robbing him of his revenge.