The Drift (Preacher Brothers 3)

“Motherfucker shot me?” I looked up at Frankie, feeling my brows knit.

“Shit, Wilder, you’re in shock.”

And it was after he said that, as I felt him pulling me toward the SUV, as I heard him call up Dom and shout frantically into the cell, I knew this might very well be the end of my story.

But I hoped like hell it wasn’t.

Chapter Three

Frankie

Wilder had been shot.

My brother.

My twin.

I smelled his blood coat the air, felt it’s stickiness, the thickness of it, cover my hands. I was barely holding it together as panic swelled in me.

I pulled out my cell with a shaky hand. Get your shit together. Get your shit together. I punched in Dom’s number, heard it ring, but it sounded distant. My pulse was racing in my ears, filling everything, making it sound like I was underwater.

“Where the fuck are you two?” I heard Dom ask through the receiver and pulled up my resolve to talk calmly and rationally. I rattled off what happened, that we were on our way over, and for him to get Cullen’s woman to the house, before I ended the call and went into action. I hoisted my brother up. He groaned, and nothing had ever made me happier. He was still alive… for the time being.

I tried to be as gentle as I could, but Wilder was a big fucker, and I didn’t have the luxury of time on my side. He was losing too much blood.

I was starting to sweat from fear, panic twisting in my gut, rising up, and tightening my throat. I wouldn’t think about losing him. I wouldn’t let those acidic, insidious thoughts play through my head. He’d make it. I kept telling myself that over and over again. There would be no other option. He’d make it.

I hadn’t noticed her until I was nearly running right into her small body.

She was standing in the shadows, her eyes wide and her hand covering her mouth. She had her purse slung over her shoulder, clearly about to leave. And the way she looked at me… I knew she’d seen it all.

There was no way in hell I could let her leave.

I couldn’t think clearly as I worked on pure instinct right now. With Wilder slung over my shoulder, I reached out with my other hand and grabbed her by the arm, turning her toward me. A startled cry left her, and she tried to tug out of my grasp. She opened her mouth to no doubt scream, but I took a menacing step forward, leveled her with a stare, and slowly shook my head.

All it took was that look from me to have her snapping her mouth shut, her eyes widening even more. She knew without me having to say a goddamn word, that I was a dangerous motherfucker.

I didn’t hurt women, didn’t ever force them to do anything that wasn’t consensual, but right now, I was feral with the thought of losing my twin. I was desperate and would do anything.

Without wasting another second, I started heading toward the SUV, pulling on her as I went, Wilder still over my shoulder. She didn’t protest—maybe because she was in shock. Either way, it worked to my advantage.

I had to get Wilder back to the house and pray Dom could get Cullen’s woman to be there when we arrived. She was our only hope. The hospital was out of the fucking question, although I was almost desperate enough to deal with the questions, the cops no doubt being called because of a gunshot wound.

Once at the dark SUV, I opened the back door and ushered her inside. She stumbled forward then again as she climbed inside. She moved as far back from me as she could, her terror clear on her face. I maneuvered Wilder onto the back seat and laid him down, his head resting in her lap. She gasped at that as she stared down at my brother, her hands raised in surrender.

I grabbed her wrist, and she jerked in response. I placed her palm over the gunshot wound and pressed it down hard, leveling a look at her. “Keep pressure on this.” My voice was low, deceptively calm. I let go of her wrist, and she left her hand over his bullet wound.

I slammed the back door shut and ran around to the driver side, climbed in, cranked the engine, and then peeled out of the parking lot. I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. For the shit I’d thrown at her in a short amount of time, I was surprised she wasn’t breaking down.

She’s just as deceptively calm as I am.

I couldn’t see Wilder from this angle, but the look of his unconscious, ashen face would forever be branded in my head.

“He better not fucking die.” I wasn’t speaking to her but in general, yet my dark words had her snapping her head up and staring at me with wide eyes.