Fallon (Henchmen MC Next Generation #3) - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,28

figure as the gun in their hand raised.

"Fuck," I snapped to myself, sucking in a deep breath as I raised my arm as high as I could, and fired again.

Once.

Twice.

I watched as the second one slammed into their shoulder, making them drop the gun in shock.

Before I could pull the trigger again, they were turning and running from where they'd come from, leaving me alone on a rural road.

"Goddamnit," I growled, folding upward, trying to swing over to stand, but nearly face-planting at the pain that shot through my knee when I tried to put weight onto it. "Fuck," I snapped again, pressing a hand to the ground to push myself up instead.

Phone.

I needed my phone.

Reaching into my back pocket, I felt a sinking sensation when I felt a curve that should not have existed. "For fuck's sake," I sighed, pulling it out to find it bent at cracked. Useless. Fucking useless.

I made my way across the road, grabbing the other gun, checking it for bullets, then tucking it into my holster as I held onto my own, the weight and feel comforting in my hand as I wobbled over to my bike, trying to ignore my knee and shoulder, so I could see if there was any way I could drive it back to the clubhouse to get some reinforcements to try to search the woods.

But the fucking thing was a loss.

Totaled.

I was just trying to steel myself to the idea of half-dragging myself into town when I heard a bike rumbling up the road from Navesink Bank, making hope surge up, figuring it was one of the guys from the club heading home after the meeting.

I moved out into the road, holding up my good arm, waiting for the bike to slow and stop before lowering it.

It wasn't until the rider reached up to pull off their helmet and shake out their long blonde hair that I realized it wasn't one of my men. It wasn't a man at all.

It was fucking Danny.

"For chrissakes," I snapped.

"Always such a charmer," Danny grumbled, looking at me, then the bike, then back at me. "You probably shouldn't ride it unless you know how to," she suggested, shaking her head. "Maybe daddy can put some training wheels on it for you," she added.

"Just got run off the fucking road, Danny, I don't need your shit right now."

"Someone ran you off the road?" she asked, straightening, then climbing off her bike, glancing up and down the road.

"From the woods," I explained. "He came running out in front of my bike."

"Where'd they go?" she asked, moving closer.

"The woods. Took a bullet to the shoulder and ran."

"Well, at least you hit them," she said, coming to stop in front of me. "That road burn looks nasty," she told me, looking down at my hands. "It's going to burn like a motherfucker as it heals. This your first crash?" she asked, voice going a little softer, a little sweeter. But no. That didn't make sense. Danny wasn't sweet.

"Yeah." I mean, I'd taken a couple small tumbles at barely-there speeds when my father and uncles had been showing me how to ride. But this was my first time going over the handlebars, and crashing onto the ground with enough force to actually hurt myself.

I wouldn't admit this aloud, but I was freaked about the whole thing. My insides felt like they were shaking. And once the adrenaline wore off, I was pretty sure everything was going to hurt ten times worse than it did right that moment.

"This is a good helmet," she said, reaching up toward it, unfastening it, then pulling it off my head. I was too shocked to do anything but stand still as she removed it, then watch as she turned it to face me, showing the spot where I'd landed on it. There was one large dent and a shitton of scratches from where, it seemed, I'd rolled. "You'd be in intensive care right now if not for this," she added. "How's your neck?"

"Not great," I admitted. "It's my shoulder and knee I jacked up though," I admitted.

"Bad?"

"Not good."

"Hospital trip bad, or just bandages, ice, and a couple pain pills bad?" she asked, dropping my helmet, then reaching up again, her fingers teasing over the hot, sweaty skin of my neck to pull the material of my tee wide enough for her to look at the shoulder.

"I don't know," I admitted.

Her gaze lifted from my shoulder to my face. Close. So close. Close