Captured (Devil's Blaze MC #1)(86)

“Yeah, we did babe. Drew actually got him. Clean shot right between the eyes. Dead before his sorry piece of shit body hit the floor.” Whispering so quietly I could just barely hear him, Bobby added, “’Tween me and you, I put another one in ’em just for good measure. Seems like he deserved it.”

Bobby released me just as the curtain and door to Drew’s room flew open. Barb was perched on top of Drew, counting out chest compressions as they ran down the hall toward the elevators that went up to the OR. Dr. Miller nodded once, signaling me to walk with him.

“Leila, quickly. We’re lookin’ at a single GSW, left chest with hemothorax. We got a chest tube in and are movin’ to the OR. I’m not gonna lie, it’s bad, but we’ve seen worse cases come in and walk out. Drake’s on and Barb said she is staying with him. I’m gonna go up and assist. And before you ask, he’s not regained consciousness. I’ll send you a text in a while to update you,” he said hastily looking back toward me while still moving toward the elevator.

In the blink of an eye, he was gone and my heart sunk. Although I was surrounded by a truckload of officers I considered friends, I felt hopelessly alone.

I couldn’t lose my brother.

Mustering courage I didn’t feel, I gestured to the crowd. “Hey, y’all don’t need to sit around here and wait. I’ll tell Bobby as soon as I have an update. Ya know, it’s probably gonna be hours before Drew comes out of surgery and the waiting room up there isn’t very big. Go on home. Bobby’ll send out a text as soon as we know more.”

Heads nodded in agreement and after a few mumbles, the SWAT guys slowly filed out of the corridor. Everyone left, except for the two who I knew wouldn’t budge. Bobby and Jasper. They were family.

Jasper walked over, draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me toward the elevator. “He’s gonna be okay sweet pea.”

Bobby shook hands with the last few guys as they were leaving then turned to follow us up to the waiting room to wait for news about Drew.





Chapter Three: Leila



More than two and a half hours had passed, and several of the nurses and techs from the ER stopped by to ask about Drew. I must have heard a half dozen times that I needed to go downstairs and take a break or go get something to eat. Politely, I shook my head and told every one of them I would not leave until I knew Drew was okay.

After I had paced the same pattern around the chairs in the waiting room for what seemed like the hundredth time, I heard a smooth, deep voice ask about Drew. I turned toward the information desk, set just inside of the surgical waiting room, to see a man I’d never met. He was dressed in a sharp, custom-tailored suit. Cautiously, I moved toward the desk. When he turned to face me, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Holy. Shit. He was f*cking hot with a capital H.

A face defined by a strong, chiseled jaw, he had sensual, full lips and dark unruly waves adorned his head. At least six-two, maybe even three, he was a hell of a lot taller than my five-foot-three-inch frame. He sported a subtle scruff that screamed sex god, and had piercing baby blues to complete the devastating package. Then, as if all that wasn’t enough, he gave me a rock star smile when I started toward him.

That smile could melt the panties off a lesbian.



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A.F. Crowell lives in Charleston, SC with her husband and two sons. They have two dogs, Diesel, a German Shepherd rescue and Dez, a black Labrador Retriever. She shares her love of books with her children, who have a head start on becoming life-long readers.



Romance fiction hit her radar when her husband forced her to watch Twilight one weekend when they were snowed in. That was it! From there her love grew; Contemporary Romance, Paranormal, YA and Dystopian are her preferred reads.





Up next, an excerpt from Baylee Rose:

Unlawful Seizure

Baylee Rose

Amazon US Buy Link





1


Tess


I wake up with a migraine and feeling sick to my stomach. That is sign number one. Sign number two is my horoscope warning me I shouldn’t leave the house today. Sign number three is when I go outside to discover my old, beat up, 1990 something model Toyota, sitting on a flat. I’m stressed out already, and it’s only 7 am. I’m all set to call in sick when my boss calls me with his usual song and dance. I’m sick today Tessa. I really need to take the day off. Clear all my appointments. Make up some excuse for me. What he really means, is he and his wife are flying to Tahoe for the weekend. I know because Claire, the other secretary, let that little tidbit slip.

When I remind him that Judge Ryson appointed him as counsel in a case that was on the docket this morning, he goes silent. When I inform him it is a parole hearing and can’t be rescheduled, that sick feeling only increases. When he asks me to get Stuart to cover for him, we begin a ten-minute conversation on why Stuart is hopeless and will end up losing the case and destroying a man’s chance for freedom.