He groaned and tried to talk, but his words came out all scrambled and I worried that he had a major concussion.

"Just hold your hand here and stay down."

He slowly did as I asked, but his hand had no strength in it as I placed it on the wound.

Fuck it, we didn't have many options at this point. So far, none of the bullets had struck me, probably because I was worth more alive than dead-can't prostitute a corpse-but they were for sure trying to flush me out. I dug around in my bag for my phone and spent a few precious moments trying to get a signal, but all I came up with was the no-service icon on the screen.

Okay, I just needed to hold on long enough for someone to come to or from the clubhouse. I mean the wreck was halfway in the road, glaringly obvious. Someone had to come by soon. Please God, let someone come by soon.

I quickly scanned the area where we'd come to rest as a huge clap of thunder rattled hard enough overhead that my teeth felt like they were vibrating. I took a deep breath and kicked out the rest of the shattered glass in the window on Breaker's side, using the rumble of thunder to try and mask the sound. Movement outside my window caught my attention, but I managed to slip out Breaker's door with my pack before I crouched down and scanned my surroundings.

The SUV had come to rest against a large tree and provided a small space where I could hunker down that kept the big tree at my back and the hood of the vehicle at my front to provide some shelter. With all the tires shot out, I couldn't crawl under it for cover, so I made do with what I had. For as far as I could see, there were just trees and more trees interspersed with large exposed boulders. Unfortunately, the nearest rock that might provide some shelter was far enough away that dragging an injured Breaker there wasn't going to happen.

We were well and truly fucked.

It was time for plan B.

Take them out first.

That beautiful, deadly emptiness filled me completely, blotting out thoughts of having to tell Cathy how her husband died, of dying myself, or even worse-being captured.

It wasn't going to end that way.

I wouldn't let it.

Adrenaline and a host of other chemicals flooded my body, making my heart race as I became hyperaware of my surroundings. Rain still darkened the area and it made catching anyone moving around even harder as the vegetation moved in the wind. Human instinct in situations like this was to run away, escape. In my case, my training demanded that I stand my ground, protect myself, and eliminate the threat.

Knowing that Breaker was depending on me helped me focus even further until I was reduced to what I had been trained from childhood to become in these circumstances.

A killing machine.

I squeezed farther into the gap between the deflated front tire and the tree where the SUV rested, trying to see and hear through the rain. In the distance, thunder rumbled repeatedly and the storm seemed to be gaining strength. In front of me, there was nothing but more trees and brush, making it hard to see through the sheet of rain. The storm continued to rage around me but I no longer paid attention to my own physical discomforts. While whoever had shot out our tires remained hidden, I pulled out a few toys from my pack and set them to the side.

Silent, watching, I almost laughed at the sight of a bright red laser sweeping through the dim, humid air, pointing straight to at least one of the shooters. I'd been taught to never assume I was facing one enemy when there could be an entire army surrounding me, but if they were all dumb enough to use a laser sight in the rain then this might be a short fight. A bullet passed through the window where I'd been sitting and I hoped that Breaker was still lying down.

I followed the line of the laser to a thick bush and sent six bullets into the dense leaves, my lips curving in a savage smile as a man began to scream. A voice came from my left while another yelled out somewhere else to my right, hidden by the thick trunk of the tree. Panic started to stir in my gut and I began to shake in fear as I listened and realized they were probably speaking Russian. If that was the case, we were in deep shit. I'd rather face dozens of bikers than one group of Russian assassins. Mimi had studied for a while in Moscow with the Novikov Bratva, and she said they gave her the shivers.

Bullets peppered the side of the truck, and I had to grit my teeth and resist the urge to drag Breaker through the window. They appeared to be trying to flush us out, and I hoped they thought I was still inside. More gunfire mixed with the thunder, and I tried to calculate where they were coming from. They could be using the shots as a distraction for a member of their group to sneak up on me.

Stealing quick glances over the hood of the truck, I caught movement right before a bullet whizzed past my ear close enough that I could hear the scream as it parted the air.

I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart while I jerked my pack open and pulled out a flash-bang and two regular grenades.

My dad had packed them for me reminding me that it was always better to be on the offense than the defense.

At the moment, I was the most concerned about the man shooting from somewhere to my left, but I needed to know his general location. Lightning struck close enough nearby that I could smell the ozone, and the fine hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end. Hoping that the men hunting me were distracted by the display of nature's fury, I stood and threw the flash grenade in middle of the road. I managed to duck and cover my head and ears before it went off a few seconds later.

Even crouched down into a ball on the opposite side of the truck, the flash was bright enough to be seen through my eyelids and the bang rivaled that of the thunder overhead. The screaming man had gone silent but a barrage of bullets slammed into the truck and three into the tree well above me. All it took was a quick glance at the shredded bark behind me to figure out the general area of the gunshots, and I pulled the pin on the grenade and stood long enough to launch it, catching the bright flare of muzzle flash and adjusting my aim at the last second to launch the grenade in that general direction. Something hot grazed my bicep and I dropped back down with a barely muffled scream right before that grenade went off.

I heard what I thought was another round of yelling in Russian, but my ears were ringing and it was hard to place where it was coming from. I lifted my arm and quickly inspected the wound, the rain washing my blood away and turning it a watery red as it dripped down my fingers. I choked on a yelp as I gently probed the wound, relieved that it appeared to be only a graze. Thank fuck I didn't have to dig a bullet out. Moving quickly, I jerked my waistband off and wrapped it around my bleeding left bicep, cursing beneath my breath at the fiery pain radiating from my arm.

Breaker moaned inside the truck and my heart lurched as I wondered if he'd been shot. I wanted to check on him, but I didn't dare. It wasn't like I could do much for him medically anyway. I had one grenade left and two spare clips, all I could do was hope it was enough.

Sadness pierced my heart at the thought of what my death would do to Smoke, then I gave myself a mental slap for acting like a weak ass bitch. I hadn't lost yet, but if I psyched myself out to the point where all I could focus on was my death then I might as well put a bullet in my head now. My father's voice rang in my head telling me to suck it up, to keep fighting, to never ever give up. Thousands and thousands of hours spent enduring the pain of my training allowed me to think past it, to get back into my cold headspace. On some level, I knew my body's uncontrollable reaction to being shot would kick in and hinder my ability to fight, so I couldn't try to hold out anymore in the hope of someone coming. For all I fucking knew, the Russians would shoot some innocent bystanders, and I'd have their deaths on my soul.

I heard something and I froze, not even daring to breathe as I tried to listen over the rain, which was finally slowing down as the thunder rumbled on its journey to the east.

A branch snapped and I couldn't help but smile. Whoever was sneaking up on me from behind wasn't very quiet, but I didn't dare use another grenade this close to me and Breaker. Instead, I calmed my breathing and tried to ignore the bullets flying through the air in an attempt to flush me out. It was a much smaller barrage than before, and I was pretty sure it was only coming from one gun. Moving slowly, I crouched down as low as I could and trained my gun in the direction of the person trying to sneak up on me. At the first glimpse of grey hair from behind a tree to the right, I aimed, and as soon as I saw his eyes I gave three direct shots at his head.

One of my dad's number one rules is that if you have the ammo, take three shots at your enemy because one of them is bound to hit some part of your target.

I'm an expert marksman and they all hit.

Time slowed, and it seemed like there was an eternity between each shot when I knew that it was only a second, if that.

For as long as I live, I'll never forget the destruction those three shots wrought on the grey haired man in dark clothes. First shot took out the top portion of his skull in a bright burst of red exploding into the air. Second shot caught him in the neck as his head whipped back from the recoil, and the third in his chest right above his heart.

My father would be proud.

Nausea gripped me at the horrifying sight, and I choked back the urge to throw up. I didn't want to die on my hands and knees in a puddle of my own vomit.

A roar filled my ears and I sucked in a deep breath, shaking my head to try and clear it. If I passed out I was done. Even though the rain was cold, a hot sweat coated my skin as my mouth filled with saliva. In an effort to clear my mind, I pressed down on my bicep where I'd been grazed. The pain shot through me, bringing with it a burning wave of clarity, as my brain switched from trying to cope with the trauma of killing to survival.

There was one shooter left. I popped up, trying to draw his gunfire so I could find him. After returning quickly to my crouched position I listened, but the roaring in my ears was only getting louder. Worried I was going to pass out I tried to slow down my pulse, to do some deep breathing, but the bloody corpse of the man I'd killed seemed to keep moving on the edge of my vision and I found myself constantly stealing looks at the nearly headless body to make sure it wasn't somehow crawling toward me, that he wasn't still alive.

When I realized that roar wasn't in my head, but rather the rumble of what I hoped were bikes coming closer, I shuddered. I had one grenade and two clips left, not very good odds if they had fresh reinforcements. My body was beginning to stiffen up, so I shifted slightly and tried to get to a good spot where I could see who was coming. It was for sure someone on motorcycles, but it could be either Los Diablos or Iron Horse. At the first glimpse of a group of at least two dozen bikers roaring up in the slacking rain, I let out a shuddering breath when I recognized Khan in the lead. Then the horrible thought that the last shooter was still here raced through me and I darted around the tree, staying crouched but shooting my gun into the air four times.

One of the bikers I didn't know on a hunter green bike spotted me first and pointed me out to Khan. He drove right up to me and pulled a big handgun out from his shoulder holster, his gaze darting from my bleeding arm, to my face and back again while the rest of his men spread out around us. When no shots rang out-not that I could hear them much over the roar of the bikes-I swayed. A hard shudder tore through me, and my thoughts started to get muzzy as the shock of my wound and the events of the last few minutes raced through my nervous system. I could hold myself together mentally, but I had no control over my body's reaction to what had to be a huge amount of adrenaline leaving my system.

My dad's voice echoed in my thoughts, lecturing me about what to expect if I was wounded, and I slowly stood, determined to make sure Breaker was okay before I crashed.

Mind over matter.

Willpower over pain.

Life over death.

Khan parked his bike in front of the wrecked truck while I shuffled over to him, my gun pointed at the ground but ready to take out anyone or anything that tried to hurt me or the men Smoke considered brothers.

"Breaker's in the truck," I said in a shaky voice as I fought off the urge to puke. "As far as I can tell there were four shooters. I got two for sure. Another may be in that bush. I have no idea where the fourth is."

Moving slowly, Khan gestured to my arm, the rain dripping off the ends of his silver hair and rolling down the hard lines of his face. "You get hurt?"

"Gr-grazed," I stuttered as a chill raced through my soaking wet, stressed out body. "Smoke?"

"On his way, sugar. Just hang in there."

Khan began shouting out orders while I took some unsteady steps back to the truck to check on Breaker. Instead of going through his window again I made my way to the passenger door, my stomach curling as I saw how many bullets peppered the truck. Everything in my body started to ache at once as the last of the adrenaline faded. I was pretty sure I was going into shock, but I had to see if Breaker was all right.

One of the bikers crowded in close behind me, and without thinking, I whipped around and pressed my gun to his forehead. "Back the fuck off."

He did with his hands held high and his eyes wide. "Easy, honey. I'm not the enemy. Just trying to check on Breaker. My name is Darren, and I have battlefield experience treating the wounded. Fought in the Marines with your old man."

My gun wavered the slightest bit as my hand began to shake. "I don't know you."

It was a testament to my distracted state that Khan was standing between me and Darren without my even realizing he'd moved. "Swan, take it easy. Let us help Breaker."

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the post-battle haze filling me, but I didn't lower my weapon until he gently wrapped his hand around it, a look of quiet understanding filling his eyes. I didn't protest when he lowered the barrel to the ground, but when he tried to take it from me I snarled at him. Truth was, I was feeling as weak as a baby kitten and couldn't have stopped him from taking my weapon from me if I tried. But at this point, I didn't trust anyone but Khan.

"Sweetheart, Breaker needs us. Let me help him. Smoke's almost here."

Tears filled my eyes, and I nodded. Before I moved aside I glanced at Breaker, the side of his face resting in a pool of blood. The only thing that stopped me from losing it completely was the shallow rise and fall of his chest. When I stepped back, Darren quickly went to work on Breaker while I told Khan what had happened. By the time I reached the point in the story where they'd arrived, my teeth were chattering hard enough that my words came out in a terrible stutter. While I talked, the other men gathered around. I heard one of them whisper to Khan that they'd found the man in the bushes. He'd bled out from shots to his torso. I also heard that the guy I'd shot in the face was going to be hard to identify.

The memory of his face distorting as the bullet hit ran through my mind in a terrible, slow motion reel.

When the nausea filled me this time, I couldn't stop it. I stumbled a few feet away and hung onto the side of the truck as I dropped to my knees and threw up until I had nothing left but the dry heaves. My stomach cramped and ached, bringing new tears to my eyes as I gagged uncontrollably.

I barely noticed Khan holding my hair back while I tossed my cookies. When I was done and just shivering, he moved me away from the contents of my stomach and had me sit down with my head between my legs before he handed me a bottle of pop. I rinsed and spit a couple times before taking a long pull of the sugary drink. My thoughts were a weird, jumbled mess, and I couldn't really feel my body anymore, just a spreading numbness. While I knew about the physical reactions to being shot and trauma, it still freaked me out when I realized I was about to pass out.

"Swan!"

I tried to lift my head to see if that voice really belonged to Smoke or was the sound just my wishful imagination, but it was just too heavy. My ears rang, and tiny black spots began to dart across my vision as I stared at the muddy ground between my legs. Tears and rainwater dripped off my nose, and I struggled to breathe, totally overwhelmed to the point where I almost felt catatonic, but even that didn't stop me from forcing my lips to form one word. "Miguel."

The heat of his body washed over me, and in the next instant, I found myself in his arms, staring up at his pale face, worry and fear etched into every inch of his expression. I tried to raise my wounded arm to touch him, to reassure him that I was okay, but the pain stopped me before I got very far. It was at that moment that I truly realized how much I meant to him, how if anything happened to me, I would be taking the piece of his heart-and his soul-with me. Even as I welcomed the oblivion and the quiet it would bring to my mind, I struggled to stay conscious so that I could tell Smoke I loved him. The soft, velvety darkness closed in anyway, and I finally gave up and let it take me secure in the knowledge that I was safe in Smoke's arms.

When I came around again, I was being carried somewhere that smelled of cleaning products and Smoke. I managed to open my eyes and found that I was cradled in his arms as he practically ran with me. My tongue felt numb so I didn't even try to form words. The only sound I made was a soft moan that sounded weird to me even in my messed up state. He looked down at me, and the intense relief on his face swamped me, and I began to cry again.

"Shhh, baby girl," he said in a low, tortured voice. "You're safe."

Since I couldn't get my stupid tongue to move, I tried to look around as best I could while Smoke carried me into what appeared to be a roughly put together exam room that didn't look like any medical office I'd been in despite the tools of the trade neatly placed around the big space. Paper crinkled as Smoke laid me down, and I noticed we weren't alone. There was a slender guy with wet, dark red hair reaching past his collar washing up at the sink. Next to him an older woman in blue scrubs with kittens all over them was setting up a tray with stuff I couldn't see.

Someone propped me up and someone else behind Smoke handed him a plastic cup with orange liquid inside.

Wiping my hair back from my face Smoke murmured, "Can you drink this?"

I was still physically weak as hell, but my brain was coming back online, and with Smoke's help, I managed to drink what turned out to be orange juice, washing the bitter aftertaste of vomit and fear from my mouth. My teeth began to chatter as I shivered and the nurse appeared at Smoke's side, her kind gaze meeting mine.

"Here you go."

When she went to put the warm blanket that smelled like fabric softener around me, Smoke blocked her and grabbed it, then wrapped me up in the delicious heat, leaving my hastily bandaged arm exposed. The blanket must have been in the dryer because it felt like heaven and my tense muscles began to spasm, then relax. Smoke stroked my cheek, and I returned my attention to him. The need to comfort him, to take away that terrible fear in his gaze, gave me the strength to talk.

"I l-love you."

"I love you." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. "Thought I was gonna be too late."

A man cleared his throat. "Smoke, I need to look at her arm."

I could tell Smoke didn't want anyone near me, but he moved just enough to allow the guy I assumed was a doctor and his nurse to start working on my arm. The man gave me a small smile, the fine lines around his pale green eyes deepening. "Swan, my name is Frame. Can I take a look at your arm?"

"Ye-yes."

He nodded and set to work gently cutting through my makeshift bandage while Smoke began to breathe heavily next to me. I reached out and grasped his hand, giving it a good squeeze when the soggy cloth was peeled off my wound. Glancing down at the injury, I was glad to see that while it would probably leave an ugly scar, it wasn't that bad. At the sight of the blood, my scattered thoughts shifted to Breaker.

"Is he okay? Breaker, is he all right?"

"He's fine. Take more than a bump on the head to put him out of commission," Frame said in a soothing voice. "I'm going to give you a shot so we can numb the area and stitch up the wound."

"Okay." By this point, I was still a little woozy and my whole body ached, but I was alive and so fucking thankful. "Where am I?"

Smoke stroked my hair back from my face again, his hand faintly trembling. I grabbed it and placed a kiss on his palm as he said, "At the clubhouse. We've got a small clinic set up here for emergencies that we'd rather not have to deal with hospital bullshit over. Don't have the equipment to do brain surgery, but we can fix someone up after a gunshot or two."

Men's voices came from outside the door, and a moment later, Khan walked in along with Hulk and three other men I didn't recognize. Smoke stepped closer to me, hovering to the point that Frame nudged him with his shoulder. "Gimme some room."

Instead of moving away, Smoke sat on the exam table and moved me back into the cradle of his thighs. His wet warmth surrounded me and his heart beat against my back as I shifted my blanket around as best I could with one arm to cover him as well. Wrapping himself around me he remained silent, but I could almost sense the aggressive looks he was giving the other men. I shifted enough so Frame could give me a shot. Thankfully, the area of burning pain began to numb quickly, and I slumped against Smoke with a relieved sigh.

Khan closed the door after himself and leaned against it, watching me closely. "Swan, can you tell us what happened?"

He wanted a debrief. Now, when my mind felt like day old pudding. Okay, I could do that. I went through what had happened, reliving the memory. My voice broke a couple times. When I got to the part about my phone not working, Khan told me one of the men found a jammer on one of the guys I'd killed. My mind tried to deal with the fact that I'd taken lives today, but I forced that knowledge down deep and continued. When I got to the actual gunfight, Smoke began to breathe heavily. By the time I finished the report, my wound had been stitched up and bandaged. The mood had shifted to one of suppressed, tightly controlled rage. Smoke growled out, "When I find the motherfuckers responsible for this..."

I'd had my fill of violence by this point and really, really needed some time to process-and sleep. "Can I please go to my room?"

Smoke swept me into his arms. "Hey, I can walk."

He spared me a glance, his dark eyes glittering with a mixture of intense emotions that I couldn't even begin to identify. "No."

Well aware that arguing with him was a lost cause, I sighed and rested my head against his damp shirt, exhaustion now hitting me full force.

"I'm taking her to bed," Smoke said in a no bullshit tone. "Let me know if you learn anything.

"Will do, brother."

We were now in what looked like a hallway, and there were several other men standing around. Khan cleared his throat. "Swan, you did well today, I'm proud of you. Not many men that I know, let alone a little girl like you, would have made it out in one piece. That's a good woman you've got there, Smoke. Hold onto her."

The other men murmured similar things, but I ignored them as Smoke carried me through the hallway. We didn't say anything, and even though I wanted to just go to sleep with every beat of my heart, I managed to stay awake until we made it to our room. Once we were inside, Smoke set me gently on our bed, and I sighed in relief. Instead of joining me, he searched our room, then pulled an Uzi out of his bag and set it on the table next to the bed. Outside the grey twilight had given away almost completely to a dark, night sky, and I curled in on myself, my mind totally unable to cope with anything at the moment.

I have no idea how long I laid there in a dazed state, but soon I found myself being picked up. It was a testament to the depth of the numbness surrounding me that I didn't take a moment to grope and admire him, instead, letting him prop me up against the wall in the bathroom while he efficiently stripped me out of my cold, wet clothing. Steam filled the air, and he guided me into the bathtub with him. Part of me was aware of the sensation of the warm water on my body, but I almost felt like an observer from the outside looking in.

Smoke hummed a song I wasn't familiar with, while he carefully washed me, his touch so gentle, so welcome, that I began to rise from the fog protecting me from the events of the last few hours. By the time he was working conditioner through my long hair, untangling any knots he found with care, I had my arms wrapped around him, clinging to him like someone would try to take him away from me. Resting my cheek against the broad expanse of his chest I could feel the rumble of his humming against my cheek mixed with the steady beat of his heart.

It was beautiful.

"What song is that?"

"An old Spanish lullaby my mother used to sing to me when I was a kid and couldn't fall asleep."

"It's lovely."

When I didn't say anything more he went back to caring for me, the melody of the song seducing me into relaxing. As I became aware of my body, I also became aware of his heavy erection pressed against my stomach. Despite the growing ache from my arm, I began to crave a different kind of touch from Smoke, and I pressed my hips into his, loving the way he groaned while he stroked my back with a light touch that sent little electric shivers through me. My love for this man roared through me like a flash fire, fed by the fear I'd endured. I tipped my head back and my heart ached as our gazes met, and I saw everything I felt for him reflected back to me in his eyes.