Gunnar A Motorcycle Club Romance - Nina Levine Page 0,92
what he’s asking: How close to losing my shit am I? And should he assign another member to this work?
“I’m good.”
“You sure?”
Scott’s my president and I have more respect for him than for most of the people I know. I trust him completely. At various times over the years, he’s given me the kind of advice that helped me more than I knew it would. He’s been there when I didn’t even fucking know I needed someone to be there. And right now, I fucking need to get some shit off my chest, so I say, “Chelsea’s leaving him.”
“Fuck. When?”
“I’ve given her a week to make it happen.”
He frowns. “You’ve given her a week?”
“Yeah. She says she needs to do it in a particular way. If she can’t make shit happen, I’ll take over.”
Scott turns silent for a moment before saying, “Sometimes we need to give our woman the space to find her feet, Gunnar. We can’t always be the one to make shit happen.”
“Scott,” Harlow says, joining us. “Sorry to interrupt, but your mum just called. She fell down the stairs and needs someone to go help her. I think she might need to go to the hospital.”
Scott nods. “J and I will go. How did she sound?”
“Like she needs some strong painkillers.”
“Call her back and tell her to get an ambulance so she can get painkillers faster. J and I will leave now.” To me, he says, “Keep your eye out and let me know if you feel any heat.”
My phone rings as I watch Scott and Harlow walk away. When I see it’s Chelsea, I answer it straight away.
“Mason.” My name strangles out of her and my gut roars to life with alarm. “I need you.”
I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’m not going to stand the fuck around and ask her questions. Not with the torment I’m hearing in her voice.
“Where are you?”
“At home,” she breathes out on an agonised whisper. “Hurry.”
Fuck.
I stab at the phone to end the call and shove it in my pocket, and without wasting a fucking second, I get on my bike and speed to Chelsea’s house. Thank fuck I don’t have any cops watching me like Scott and Griff do.
When I arrive, I don’t bother to knock; I kick the fucking front door in and stalk inside.
I don’t know what the fuck I’ll find, but I’m ready for Hearst if he’s here. If he’s fucking hurt her, I will kill the motherfucker.
Chelsea’s house is huge, and I move fast searching for her. When I don’t find her inside, I head out the back. My fucking chest almost explodes when I see her lying on the grass, beaten and bloody.
“Fucking hell,” I say as I drop to my knees. “He did this to you?”
Her face is a swollen mess of blood and gashes and bruises. She can barely open her eyes, but she manages to open one and look at me. “Yes.” Her answer rasps from her, barely loud enough to hear, but I fucking hear it. It’s like a fucking roar to me and it causes a shitshow of emotions to course through me.
“Where the fuck is he, Mayfair?”
Her hand curls around my ankle and she grimaces from the pain of making even that small move. “Please, we need to go. Before he comes back.”
She’s right. I need to get her the fuck out of here.
“I’m going to scoop you up and it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker,” I say.
She nods but doesn’t say anything. From what I’m seeing, I’m surprised she’s even still conscious. Hearst has almost beaten the fucking life out of her.
“We’ll need to take your car. Where are the keys?”
“Kitchen,” she says, her face contorting in pain as I lift her into my arms.
I move swiftly, locating her car keys and getting her into the Range Rover in her garage. Chelsea fights against the pain that every step delivers. I know this because I hear every anguished breath she takes.
Once I’ve settled her in the back of the car, I reverse out of her driveway and make the drive to the cabin the club owns at Mt Nebo.
I keep my eyes peeled for cops and I keep them on Chelsea as much as I can. She’s pushing through her pain like the fucking badass she is, but I’ve taken enough beatings in my life to know exactly how much she’s hurting.