Fighting the Fire (Warrior Fight Club 3)

Helmet under his arm, he was already retreating to where his bike was parked around the corner. “Why? You gonna miss me?” Given how he felt, he didn’t deliver the line with his usual bravado and it fell flat.

“You wish,” she said, but the comeback also fell flat. As if she were reading lines rather than really trying to get in a dig.

He shook his head. “Nope. You get a Sean-free night, so never say I didn’t do something nice for ya, Dani.” He threw her a wink. Humor was always a good way to cover up all kinds of bullshit, wasn’t it?

“Oh. Okay,” she said.

He wasn’t sure what to make of her hesitation, or of the way she turned away and then back again, like she had something else to say, but he wasn’t particularly itching for another fight at the moment, so he ducked his head and kept going.

With all the rain lately, he hadn’t been able to ride his bike as much as he preferred—instead, he’d been driving his truck most of the time, which was still full of memories of Dani. Her body. Her skin. Her moans. So when he’d left for WFC and the weather had been clear, he’d jumped on the chance to get a few hours on the back of his Harley. Riding and working on upgrades of his Sportster Iron 883 were two of his favorite hobbies—and two more things that helped get him out of his head.

Always a good thing.

He mounted up, tugged on a pair of gloves, and secured his helmet, then turned the key and smiled as the engine came to life beneath him. He fuckin’ loved this bike, not to mention the feeling of freedom he got with nothing between him and the wind.

Sean eased the bike out of his space and onto the one-way side street, twisting the throttle as he approached the green light and prepared to swing a left-hand turn.

It all slowed down from there, once he was mid-intersection and it was too late to change the trajectory of his bike or his decision. He caught the too-fast movement at his left from the corner of his eye. Looked to see the truck not stopping for the red light. Knew there was no fuckin’ way he wasn’t going to get hit.

The pattern on the rectangular grill came right for him.

Sean corrected as best he could to turn himself out of the way.

But he didn’t think it was going to be enough.

And then it wasn’t.

* * *

“Sean!” Dani yelled from where she’d been standing on the corner, debating talking to him now since he wasn’t going to dinner. But then the truck and the screeching brakes and the crunching collision of metal against metal against wet, hard pavement…

Heart in her throat, she took off at a sprint. Off the curb. Around where the truck had belatedly skidded to a stop. “Oh, God.” Sean’s bike lay in a heap, it’s whole back end badly mangled. And Sean lay a good ten feet away from it, face down.

Not moving.

“Jesus, Sean, are you okay?” She dropped to her knees beside him. When he didn’t respond, she tried again. “Can you hear me, Sean?”

Nothing.

Stomach rolling, she grasped his wrist. His pulse was fast and strong, and the relief of feeling that forceful beat might’ve taken her to her knees if she weren’t already there. She fished her cell phone out of her purse and dialed 9-1-1.

Heavy footsteps ran up behind her, then Mo was right there. “Fuck, how is he?”

She held up a hand as the dispatcher picked up. “My name’s Daniela England and I’m an ER nurse at University Hospital. I need an ambulance at 13th and W streets, Northwest. A box truck ran a red light and struck a man on a motorcycle. Thirty-two and otherwise healthy. He’s unconscious but has a strong pulse.”

“Okay, Daniela. We have another report about this incident and already have an ambulance en route,” the dispatcher said. “Are there any visible injuries?”

Dani’s gaze ran over Sean’s strong body—his too-still body. One of his hands was banged up through the shredded remains of a glove, but that was all she could see. “A few abrasions are visible, but nothing else. He was wearing a helmet, but he’s lying on his stomach and I don’t want to turn him without a spinal evaluation.” Just saying those words made Dani want to puke. What if—

No. No. This wasn’t her friend, Sean. Or whatever they were. This was a patient. Get your head in the game, Dani.

When she heard the sirens in the distance, she hung up with the dispatcher, which was the first time she noticed the crowds of people that had gathered on the sidewalk.

“They’re almost here,” Mo said. “Fucking hell.”

“It was like watching a disaster unfold knowing what the outcome would be but unable to prevent it,” Dani said.