The Drift (Preacher Brothers 3)

I blinked a few times, realizing the driver was on the phone with someone.

I didn’t know how long we’d been driving. It seemed like hours, like an eternity, but then it was over as if it just started. We pulled to a stop at a gated house. The driver leaned out his driver side window and punched in a code on a little console, and then the gate slid open before he hauled ass up the driveway.

The house appeared pretty normal, a family home if I called it anything. But the situation—this man—was anything but what I envisioned a family to be like, brothers or not. I still had my hand pressed to the wound, afraid to even breathe, let alone move it. Yeah, the driver scared the shit out of me, but there was an even stronger part of me that was more afraid to remove my hand, because if I did, this man would die. I didn’t know why any part of me cared, but it was so pronounced in me that I was like stone, not even moving an inch in any direction.

He skidded to a stop by the front door, and a second later, I watched as two men burst from the house and ran to the SUV. The driver put the SUV in park and cut the engine before I could even blink. The back door was thrown open, and the two men who’d come out of the house looked at me curiously before snapping out of it and hauling the unconscious man off my lap and into their arms.

“Who the hell is that?” one man asked.

“Collateral damage,” the driver responded. “Kimber inside, Cullen?”

The one name Cullen nodded. “Dom, let’s get him inside now.”

“Fuck, he’s bleeding too much,” the one named Dom said. “You can deal with that.” He lifted his chin in my direction. “You’ve brought a fucking mess to our doorstep, brother.” That was all that was said, and then the two were rushing toward the front door with the unconscious guy in their arms.

For a second, I sat there, blood covering me, soaked into my clothes, all over the leather seat, on my hands, and the scent filling my head. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Hell, I barely breathed.

“Come on,” the driver said, and I snapped my head to look at him. I shook my head; the only thing I could think of was that he planned on killing me. His expression hardened, and he stepped closer to the open door. “Get the fuck out.” The look I gave him had his expression shifting. He exhaled and looked me up from head to toe. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Right.

I shook my head again. Why was I fighting this? He’d get me out of this car one way or another, and his way wouldn’t be pleasurable, I assumed.

“Get. Out. Of. The. Car,” he said through clenched teeth. “I want to be with my brother and make sure he lives.” His voice was low and dangerous, and something in my heart tugged at the thought of the man in there not surviving.

I didn’t know who he was, what his background was, or if he was even an all-around evil dude, but I realized I didn’t want to see him die either. And that last part confused the hell out of me.

I moved toward him and climbed out. He took my wrist, and I was surprised at how gentle his hold was. He led me to the front door, and I was in a daze as we entered. I couldn’t even describe the house for how unfocused my eyes had become. I couldn’t describe the scents or the sounds for how hard my pulse beat in my ears, drowning everything else out.

I was vaguely aware we headed down a long hallway before I was ushered into a room with so much commotion going on it was a whirlwind of cursing, shouting of orders, and blood… so much blood I swore I saw it in the air.

The driver let go of me and rushed forward. He didn’t bother hiding his fear and worry now. I could see it clear and cut sharply on his face. I moved back until the wall stopped my retreat, placed my hands flat on the cold wall behind me, and prayed for stability. I prayed no one saw me, that I’d become as invisible as a speck of dust when the lights were out.

Between the bodies moving around frantically, orders for supplies, for an IV, for scissors and the likes, I caught glimpses of the man wounded and unconscious. He was on a bed, his shirt ripped open, the bullet wound a startling display of gore. His chest was coated in the red fluid, some parts already dried, and where the wound itself was, the deep red fluid seeped out whenever the gauze was removed and replaced with new ones.