Page 69 of Sold to the Bikers

"Fuck." Animal is visibly struggling to keep from leaping those last ten feet or so to rip Giancarlo's head clean off.

The regular pop of gunfire still echoes from outside, and I can only pray that the Eagles have the upper hand, but what if they don’t? What if it's going to be a bunch of Mafiosos coming up here instead?

Badass's hands are curled into tight fists. "You're losing out there. If anyone should be begging for their damn life, it should be you. Soon, all your buddies will be on the ground, waiting for their body bags, and then what the fuck will you do? Give us the girls, and maybe we'll let you live."

"Like fuck we will," growls Animal.

"I could shoot you where you stand," says Quickshot, his steady voice completely devoid of emotion.

"You could, and maybe… just maybe, my muscles contracting won't fire my gun, and even if they do, maybe the bullet won't hit your girl. But are you willing to take that chance?" Giancarlo takes a slow step closer to me, as if to reduce the chance of him missing if Quickshot puts a bullet in him.

There's got to be something I can do, or say. Anything. I just don't know what. Now that he's closer, the pistol is almost close enough to grab, but then what? He's bigger and stronger than me. And it's not like I know what I'm doing trying to wrench a gun away from a killer. What if it goes off?

"So what?" growls Crusher. "We just fucking wait?"

"We do seem to be at an impasse. At least until my team has cleaned up."

God, is he right? Are all the Eagles getting massacred out there? Eagle-eye, Preacher, Devil, King, Chef, and all the others? The thought makes me ill. I've been getting attached to the club, not just my guys here. My gut clenches with anxiety.

There’s gunfire in the house, and then heavy footsteps pound up the stairs outside the ballroom. The question is who they belong to. Eagles, Unwanted or Mafia?

Turns out it's all three, and chaos erupts around us. A whole mass of people barrels into the room. Bullets are flying, and everyone's diving to get out of the way. I grab Sandra's wrist to pull her with me.

At least I try, before a massive arm wraps itself around my throat.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Crusher's hoarse voice and fetid breath are in my ear. "This whole thing's going to shit, but I'm not going to fucking let you go. As long as I've got you, your boy scouts won't kill me. Now come on, Sugar. We're getting the fuck outta here, and then you can help me celebrate afterwards." He puts the barrel of his pistol against the side of my head and starts pulling me backwards towards the far side of the room between two rows of crates.

I'm so sick of people threatening to shoot me.

Just as he pulls me out of sight, Cain goes down from a bullet to the face, a sight I don’t think I’ll ever get out of my head. I don't see where my guys are, or Sandra.

"Let go of me!"

"Don't make me fucking shoot ya."

I try to kick his shin, but he doesn't care. "If you shoot me, you're free game."

Did anyone even see him grab me? "Help!" I scream. "I'm back here!"

Then suddenly I'm seeing stars. A sharp pain from my temple crawls all the way down my neck and onto my back. Crusher lifts the grip of his pistol and holds it like he's going to hit me again. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up." His voice cracks, sounding even more unhinged than usual.

I whimper and nod. I'm not getting out of this if he kills me on the way.

Towards the back of the room, it looks like there used to be a staircase, but it's been knocked out and replaced with steel struts and a rudimentary elevator platform that goes up from a garage on the first floor.

"Fuck," swears Crusher and pushes a green rubber call button mounted on a pole next to it. Gears grind and the platform starts crawling up towards us. It's too high to jump yet, but it won't be long. Then what? If Crusher has a vehicle down there, he's either going to take me with him or he's going to kill me. Neither sounds good.

"You're not getting away. They’ll find you."

"Shut the fuck up. When I say jump, you jump, if you don't want your fucking legs broken."

There's red at the corner of my eye and sliding down from my eyebrow. I'm bleeding. I blink to keep it at bay but I'm starting to panic, and hard. I can feel it building up, my heart racing, my pulse pounding and the edges of my vision darkening. I'm a baker, not a fighter.

"Get ready." Crusher hits the down button and the elevator reverses, so it'll get us down as quickly as possible.

I make a last attempt to get away from him, fueled by panicked adrenaline. He's going to kill me if I don't. I focus on what little I know about fighting, and aim my elbow at the center of his chest, right below his ribcage. He wheezes and loses his grip, and for a whole moment, I think I've managed to actually do something, but then his arm is around me again, pulling me back and throwing me to the floor. I hit hard, my breath knocked out of me. The back of my head hits the marble and everything goes black for a moment.

Crap. Fuck. This is it.