Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(61)

“Lazy?” Lucky repeated. “I’d been shot. I deserved a cat nap. Tell me Lily’s okay.”

Asher’s eyes darkened. “She’s good. She got a burn on her hand. It’ll scar.”

Lucky could feel his brother’s fury; it mingled with his own. “Please tell me they’re dead. And that you left one for me to play with. And that Becky made sure whoever was stupid enough to try and catch her is sterile.”

There it was again, that look. It was something more than his woman’s life being threatened, though there was plenty of fury on that score. Something else hid behind Asher’s cold eyes.

Something that turned Lucky’s own blood.

“Not exactly,” Asher said.

Lucky sat up, grunting at the effort. “Tell me,” he gritted out.

Asher eyed him. “How about we wait until the bullet wound isn’t quite so fresh?”

“Fuckin’ spit it out,” Lucky ordered.

“I tell you, you gotta trust that the club’s got it covered.”

Lucky nodded.

“Need your word.”

“Fuck, you’ve got my word. You know I’d trust the club with my life. Spit it out. I need my beauty sleep.” He could feel darkness edging closer to the center of his vision.

“We didn’t get her back. By the time we got to the club all traces of Carlos were gone. He’s in the wind.” Asher said quietly.

Lucky froze. “What?”

“Bex,” Asher muttered, his eyes dark. “The whole club’s already out. We’ll find her—”

Lucky ripped out his cords and shit to push out of the bed. Asher had to stop talking in order to restrain him.

All sorts of machines starting ringing with a shrill beep.

Lucky ignored it and fought against Asher’s grip. “Fuckin’ let me go!” he roared.

Asher didn’t stop. “You said you’d trust the f*ckin’ club.”

Lucky might’ve had a bullet in his chest, but that meant nothing, nothing, when he knew they had her. It’d take a bullet to his skull to stop him from fighting to get to her.

“I trust the club with my life. Not with hers. I trust no one with hers. Let me go, brother, or I’ll f*ckin’ kill you!” he yelled.

Doors opened and doctors rushed in. Lucky ignored their shouts. He had one destination in mind.

Becky.

Hers was the last face he saw when they injected him with tranquilizer.

And it wasn’t the beautiful face he was used to. This one had been overcome by demons she was just beginning to chase away.





Three weeks later


“I need it to be said that I highly advise against this,” the doctor said, frowning.

Lucky shrugged on his cut, not wincing at the pain that came with the movement. He embraced it. The pain was his f*cking fuel. He felt a renewed sense of power with that leather on his back.

“So noted, Doc,” he replied.

The doctor stood in front of him, blocking his way. It took a f*ck of a lot of restraint not to push him bodily. It didn’t matter that the guy was pushing f*ckin’ sixty and was a goddamned civilian, one who’d saved his life at that. His rage didn’t discriminate. This man was an obstacle standing between him and Becky. Obstacles were to be eliminated.

He clenched his fists at his sides.

Two more seconds. What it would take to shake this guy off. That was two more seconds Becky was wherever she was.

There it was again. The pain. Not from the wound inches from his heart. It originated a couple inches to the left.

She’s strong. She’ll last.

It didn’t matter that even the strongest souls could be defeated.

“You run the risk of infection, blood poisoning, even cardiac arrest,” the doctor listed on his fingers.

Lucky shrugged again. “I’m feeling fit as a fiddle. If I feel like I’m goin’ into cardiac arrest, I’ll give you a bell.” He tried to step past him.

The doc grabbed his arm.

We don’t kill civilians.

“You go into cardiac arrest, you won’t get to ‘give me a bell.’ You’ll die,” he informed him gravely.

“Then I’ll tell the big man hey from you,” Lucky said. He pulled out of the man’s grasp and didn’t look back.

“What did the doctor say?” Brock asked as soon as Lucky left the room. He didn’t slow his pace as Brock and Gage stepped on either side of him.

Lucky looked forward. “I’ll be running marathons and kicking your ass better than ever,” he grunted.

He felt his friend’s gaze. “Bullshit,” he said. “You were shot in the chest. Less than three weeks ago.”

Lucky kept walking. “I’m aware.”

Brock grabbed his arm, bringing him to a stop. There was a f*ck of a lot more pressure there than the doctor. Lucky glowered at him, his temper barely under control. Brock was lucky he didn’t have his piece.

“You ain’t no use to her dead, brother,” he said quietly.

Lucky met his gaze. “I’m goin’ for my woman. You try and stop me, then I’m not responsible for my actions.”

He wasn’t responsible for his actions if he found her and it was too late. He was damned for f*ckin’ life if they found the broken pieces of her.