Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Surprisingly, most of the people didn’t seem like they were in a hurry to get out. Quite a few were hanging out over by the patio door, drinking and watching as a couple of big guys who had to be bouncers talked to some angry-looking cowboys.
They seemed to be encouraging them to leave quietly.
The cowboys started moving to the door. They were almost out when one of them stopped and turned, snarling at some imagined insult from someone who’d been watching them. One of the Reapers stepped out of the crowd and crossed his arms, blocking the man’s way. For an instant I thought we might have another fight on our hands, but then another Reaper joined him, and the cowboy backed off.
“Was the club part of the fight?” I asked Tinker as I searched for Rome’s familiar form. Where was he? Had he gotten hurt? Oh, God. I hoped he wasn’t hurt. My stomach twisted thinking about it.
“The Reapers didn’t start it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she told me. “But they aren’t afraid of a fight, either. Gage and I were just dancing. Suddenly people started hitting each other, and he told me to hide back here. They don’t abandon each other in a fight, so I’m assuming he went back out to help one of the brothers.”
The group of girls against the wall had started arguing. I looked over, wondering what their story was. Several wore short shorts with their ass cheeks hanging out, while the rest wore miniskirts. Plaid western shirts had been tied up around their bare tummies, and they had cheap boots that’d never seen any dirt. Fake blond hair and long red nails completed the picture.
Buckle bunnies.
They couldn’t seem to decide whether they should leave. Most of them clearly wanted to go, but one kept shaking her head. Tears ran down her face in long, black tracks of cheap mascara and she gestured toward the clump of men I’d noticed earlier.
Peaches pushed past me and walked over to them purposefully, cutting off the argument and pointing toward the door.
The girls shared nervous looks, then nodded and started for the exit. Peaches headed to the group of men next. I wondered how she was going to get past that high wall of male backs, but the girl wasn’t shy. Not even a little bit. She marched right up and poked one until he got out of her way. The rest parted for her like the Red Sea.
“Ambulance is coming. Make room for the EMTs,” she said, her voice loud enough to carry across the room. They all started backing away, still muttering but clearly willing to cooperate. Now I could see what they’d been looking at—two men kneeling next to what had to be a body. One of them was big guy in a white T-shirt with dark hair. The other was Rome’s friend with the fire and rescue.
For one horrifying minute, I thought someone had died. Not only that, I still hadn’t found Rome. My heart started speeding up as I narrowed my eyes, trying to see who was laid out on the floor. Calm down, I told myself sternly. It’s probably not him, but even if it is, panicking won’t make anyone’s life easier.
The man on the floor groaned and moved his hand—he was alive. Oh, thank God. Breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding broke free. The big guy in the white shirt reached down, steadying his patient before looking up at Peaches.
It was Rome.
Relief flooded me. He’d taken off his MC colors, and his flannel shirt had somehow disappeared, but I didn’t see any bruises or blood. Peaches listened to him carefully, then turned and looked to the bar, catching my eye.
“There’s a first aid kit under the counter in front of you,” she yelled. “Can you bring it over?”
Thankful for a chance to do something useful, I ducked down, trying to find it.
“There,” Tinker said, pointing to a bright orange box that’d been pushed toward the back of a shelf. Grabbing it, I stepped out from the bar and headed for Rome.
“Here you go,” I said, handing it over. He reached for it, his face absolutely focused as he opened the kit and pulled out a roll of bandages. The poor man on the floor was blinking up at the lights, looking confused. With a start, I realized that I recognized him from the fight—it was the guy who’d gotten hit with the chair.
I’d literally watched his head bouncing off the floor.
There were a couple of flannel shirts balled up and braced on either side of his head. One was Rome’s, I realized. I wondered why he’d done it, and then some detached part of my brain remembered a first aid class I’d taken once upon a time. There’d been something about stabilizing people until you knew for sure whether they had a spinal injury.