Blacklisted (Loveless, Texas #3) - Jay Crownover Page 0,4
it was going to take a miracle and a detailed map to get me back to where I belonged.
I gasped when fingers suddenly wrapped around my wrist in a weak grasp. My gaze locked on eyes such a deep, dark, and rich brown they appeared black.
“Kody?” The word was rasped out and barely audible. It was a whisper of sound, but filled with emotion.
Before I could explain that I wasn’t my half sister, that we just happened to look very much alike, the dark eyes drifted closed and the hold on my hand dropped away.
It was impressive, and a fairly good sign that he’d gained consciousness, even for a second. I could practically feel the relief that flooded through the crowded interior of the van.
Suddenly my hand was grabbed again, this time by the man sitting across from me. He had bright blue eyes, and they were intent and serious as the VP told me, “Whether he makes it or not we owe you. Anytime, anywhere, no matter how big or small, the club owes you a favor. Your call when and how you want us to make good on it, but it’s there until you use it.”
I frowned and tugged my hand free. “I can’t imagine why I’d have anything to do with your club after tonight.” My life might not be streamlined and predictable any longer, but I doubted I would ever have the need to be involved with the outlaw club beyond this instance.
The big man snorted but gave me the space I was silently asking for. “Doesn’t matter if you have anything to do with us in the future. We owe you, and the Sons of Sorrow always pay their debts.”
It sounded more like a threat than a promise, and I had no idea what to do with any of it. So I simply held my breath and reached for the unmoving biker’s hand. I knew deep down that this would be the one and only time I was going to be wrapped up in the club’s mess, so I planned on seeing it through to the end, no matter what the results were.
I had no idea that fate had other plans for me…and for Shot.
Chapter 1
Shot
Three months later…
I didn’t like to be indebted to anyone.
I prided myself on never owing anyone anything. I’d been that way my entire life. My father, one of the founding members of the motorcycle club I was a part of, had taught me early on that it was better to be the one collecting favors rather than being the one doling them out. Better to have others to do your bidding, rather than dangle at the end of someone else’s whims.
When I’d left Colorado, and my father’s less than legal influence, first to fight for my country, then to start my own chapter of the club I’d grown up in, I’d gone with the promise I would never put myself or any member of the Sons of Sorrow in a position where they owed anyone anything. We weren’t going to let anyone pull our strings, my father included. It was a promise I’d managed to keep, up until a few months ago.
I had enemies. A lot of them. Some I’d acquired through business with the club. A few lingered from my time in the military. My day-to-day was never anything close to a walk in the park, but my reputation, along with the club’s fierce legacy, generally kept me safe and fairly insulated. Apparently the last few, mostly uneventful, years I’d spent in Loveless, Texas, had lulled me into dropping my guard. I never expected the ambush attack, and my lack of preparedness toward the threat resulted in the loss of two of my brothers, and had left me taking a couple of bullets to the chest. I should have been dead. Very nearly was. If it hadn’t been for my quick-thinking vice president and Kody Lawton’s relentless friendship, I would be six feet under.
But the real reason I was still alive and kicking, the only reason I survived, was because Kody’s half sister, Dr. Presley Baskin, jumped into the fray and stayed by my side until I was out of the woods. I was unconscious for most of the ordeal, but I vaguely remembered concerned green eyes watching me, and incredibly soft hands valiantly trying to keep my heart beating.
The club had a member who was a former field medic. Stitch was a solid doctor, but my injuries had