Chapter 20

MARLOWE
As the first bullet had hit the building, it had startled the shit out of me. The second, third, fourth and fifth—I'd lost count after that—had me ducking and covering. It's not a common thing for a girl to hear bullets peppering the building she's in, and let me tell you, I can't think of a damn thing that can get your heart pumping any fiercer—no joke!

With my heart pounding away like a drummer for a heavy metal rock band, I'd begun crawling toward the door. The wayward thought crossing my mind that by the time I got back to the bomb shelter, I might have to change my panties.

I hadn't known what the hell was going on out there, and I hadn't known whether I was in a good place or bad. Either way, I hadn't liked it. When I'd finally reached the door, I'd inched it open and poked my head out. A bullet had whizzed past me, and I'd quickly ducked back inside. The thought, damn, damn, double damn, had echoed through my mind as the bullet had been way the shit too close.

I'd felt like a bird in a cage, all kinds of shit going on outside, but I'd been unable to fly my coop. Slowly, I'd made my way back to my corner, at the same giving an ironic laugh as the famous line from Dirty Dancing came to mind. Patrick had been wrong, someone had put baby in a corner. With some effort I'd managed to push a large tool box out enough I'd created a small space behind it and had shoved myself into the tiny opening, backfirst. Once I'd been in as far as I could get, I'd pulled my knees up to my chest. Afterward, wrapping my arms around them, I lowered my head onto my knees.

For the moment, I'd been helpless to do anything but listen to the gunshots, the loud voices, the curses, and the loud screams of those outside my metal prison.

I hadn't known how long the skirmish would last, but when the bullets stopped flying and the volume of noise quieted, I'd crawled out from behind the tool box.

Slowly climbing to my feet, I'd made my way back to the door, then once again cracking it open, I'd peered out. Blinking, I'd shaken my head at what I had seen. Holy mother of all that went down! Some kind of major shit had happened.

Bodies had lain on the ground in different stages of injury and, raising a hand, I'd raked it through my hair with disbelief.

Eyes rounded with shock, I'd pushed the door the rest of the way open and with caution, I'd stepped out. The roar of motorcycles had accompanied the whole fracus, but upon the sound of those within the enclosure firing to life, I'd jerked around.

Eyes squinting against the bright glare of the stadium lights, I'd tried to see whose they were, at the same time as a voice behind me had boomed, "Thank fucks! Satan is gonna have my ass for not finding you sooner!"

I'd jumped at the sound of Jitter's voice, having been so intent on trying to see the rider's, I hadn't even heard him arrive. Then, shaking off the momentary scare, I'd turned to face him. "What the hell happened?"

"Proofer's thought they had elephant balls. We showed them ours were bigger," he'd answered. Then, reaching out, he'd grasped my arm. "I got orders to make sure you're safe, and…" Pausing, he'd scratched at the scruff on his chin, muttering, "Better late than never, I reckon."

Finding no difficulty in following Jitter through the land-mine of bodies, I'd practically walked in his shoes. It wasn't our members I'd worried about as I stayed glued to Jitter, it was the ones wearing the kuttes' of the rival club that I feared.

Many of the Proofers bore superficial injuries and were being aided by our own members in standing and being escorted out of the compound gate. All it would have taken would have been one stupid stunt, and the scuffle would have started all over again. I'd had no plans to be in the middle of it if it had.

I'd let my eyes roam as we'd walked, taking in the milay and destruction that had once been a well-put-together compound. It had become a garbage dump. This had been my first, and I hoped to God my last, encounter with any form of involvement in a skirmish between rival MCs.

Once we had reached the inside of the bomb shelter, Jitter had nodded at me and then headed toward where the injured and non-injured of our club had gathered.

With a shrug and knowing Doc and the others that were trying to help clean and patch wounds, could use some help, I'd followed Jitter into the makeshift trauma unit. So, gathering a bowl of water and cloths, I'd stepped into the aftermath of war.
Or at least that is what it felt like as I now peered around me. Blood coated the floor, men groaned, and cursed, while others… Well, they didn't look so good. Pulling in a deep breath, as I hated the sight of blood, I set to work anyway.

As I wiped and dabbed, I scanned the room for Murdock, Rook or Satan—I just couldn't call him Torin, not yet…if ever. I didn't see any of them, though.

When I finished doing what I could for the biker I was helping, I made my way to the next—I couldn't recall this one's name—and began dipping the cloth in the water when I felt a tingling sensation run up my spine. I was being watched.

Slowly, pulling the cloth back out of the water, I began ringing it out as raising my head slightly, I looked around and caught a glance of Satan's back as he left the room, taking the tingling sensation with him.

Hours later, bathed, hair washed and behind the bar counter, I was in the middle of making a margarita on the rocks for one of the Sweet Butts' when Rook came running into the bar.

His gaze landed on me and he hurried in my direction. Stepping behind the counter, he grabbed the margarita mix out of my hand and set it on the counter top. Afterward, grasping my arm, he said, "Satan's been shot. Burdock said it looks bad and you need to come."