us put our differences aside so we can work together. Isn’t that the fucking way it always goes?
Tate heads in first, with Saint and Priest and me on his tail as the rest of the guys fan out around the building.
As soon as the door is opened, the smell hits me. It’s a scent I’ve smelled before but not to this extent. I bite the inside of my cheek, knowing there’s a dead body inside. Logically, I know it can’t be Reign. She hasn’t been here long enough, but given the circumstances, it brings little comfort.
The corridor is narrow, leading into a small room, like a waiting room, empty of, well, anything. It seems its only purpose is to lead us to the double doors at the far end of it.
We make our way toward it, the smell growing stronger the closer we get. I have to pull my T-shirt over my mouth and nose to try and block out the odor as it makes me gag. I can see the effect it’s having on the others too, except Tate, of course, who seems immune to just about everything.
This time the door creaks loudly when it opens so we don’t waste any more time trying to be quiet, flooding the room with our guns raised, looking for a target. The smell is ten times worse in here. The darkness of the room makes it difficult to see beyond a foot in front of me but as I move closer, I notice the pews at the front are not empty but filled with bodies that have been staged to look like they’re listening to a sermon or some shit.
“Oh, fuck no.” I whip my head up at Tate’s voice when he spots what so far has been hidden to us by the darkness.
I run after Tate, who is beside her in an instant. I fall to my knees at the sight before me. Reign is pinned to the floor by huge thick nails that have been driven through her hands into the wood beneath her. Her dark hair is splayed out around her like a halo, vomit on the floor beside her from where she couldn’t move away.
She’s in a white dress, like an old-fashioned nightgown that’s almost completely see-through, showing that she’s naked under it. The front of it is saturated with her blood, and every inch of her from head to toe is soaking wet. She doesn’t respond to our yelling or shouts of distress. I don’t even know if she’s alive or dead.
“Owen, call an ambulance,” Tate yells, but I know if she’s alive, we might not have time to wait for it to get here.
“Any sign of Garrett?” Priest asks, looking around the room, but everyone responds with a no.
“I need something to get her hands free. Some bolt cutters or something,” Tate yells.
“I’ll see what I can find,” one of our guys offers as Priest drops down beside her and Bates takes up sentry beside Tate, stroking her hair away from her face.
And still, she doesn’t stir.
I see now the blood starting to puddle under her and send up a silent prayer.
This can’t be it; I refuse to believe it.
I pull off my cut and place it over her body that’s tinged blue from the cold and choke back a lump in my throat when dozens more cuts begin to cover her as the other MC members follow suit.
I look up and see them all bowing their heads as they stand protectively around one of their fallen. She might have been raised by cops, but she belongs to Carnage now.
I lie down beside her, hoping to infuse some of my heat into her body, sliding my shaking hand over Reign’s jaw, as fear and adrenaline make my heart feel like it’s beating out of my chest. When I lift her head to look at her pale face, I find her eyes wide open and staring at me. For a moment, I think she’s dead, but then she blinks, and a wave of relief crashes over me so hard I almost sob.
“She’s alive!” I yell unnecessarily, knowing Tate checked her pulse before, but it’s not the same as having her eyes on me.
“Reign, baby, can you hear me?”
She whimpers softly before whispering, “Hurts.”
“I know, baby, I know, but we are going to get you out of here and get you fixed up.”
“Raindrop,” Tate calls softly, anguish evident in his voice.