Afterward, Gunner couldn’t exactly recall the sequence of events. He would never forget the sound of the gunshot, somehow both louder and deadlier than any other gunpowder explosion he’d ever heard in his life. He would never forget the way Lola’s body crumpled even as Keller turned the weapon on himself. He tried to be in two places at once, turning Grace away from the carnage at the same time that he rushed to the woman he was now absolutely sure he loved. He couldn’t do both at once, and Grace was screaming, but Lola was bleeding, bleeding badly, and he didn’t know what to do, how to breathe.
Grace said something, pushed him toward Lola, and he went. There were others rushing into the room, men with guns, but not the hired guns he’d seen inside the warehouse; instead, he recognized the hitters from the Breed who must’ve been tipped off somehow and made their way inside. Horse was there, out of nowhere, and turning Grace away from all of the bloody mess, picking the girl up and holding her when she raised her arms.
At that moment, he knew how very wrong Sam had been about the club. They were his family, and that made them Grace’s family, too. No, maybe they weren’t the sort who sent out Christmas cards made from photos of ugly Christmas sweaters, but they were still family. He should’ve let Grace grow up with a couple dozen aunts and uncles who would lie down in traffic to protect her. And there was no time like the present to make a change. But first, they had to survive.
Lola’s eyes were open, and he could see her chest rising and falling with her breaths, but she wasn’t seeing whatever was in front of her. He moved her shirt, looking for the entrance wound. Left side, low down; she might be okay. She might make it through. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911. It was something that he’d never thought he’d do. The Breed took care of their own. They had club doctors and even a surgeon who could help remove the occasional bullet and stitch up plenty of wounds. But this was more than Doc could handle. She would almost certainly need surgery.
He glanced at Horse, looking for the approval of his old friend. Horse nodded — another thing that Gunner didn’t expect. The agreement that this was beyond what the club could handle. Beyond what they could do on their own.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered to Lola, and her gaze turned toward him. Not entirely focused, but something closer. “You’re going to be okay.”
“Hurts,” she whispered. “Hurts so much.”
“I know,” he replied, leaning over to press a light kiss against her lips. “I know it does. But you’re tough, right? You’re my tough girl. We’re going to get through this.”
“Promise?” Her hand closed on his, and she squeezed it tighter than he expected.
“Promise,” he said and kissed her again.
Someone grabbed a tarp, and they made a litter to carry Lola down to the main entrance. There were more bodies along the way, and he expected that someone would have to explain this. Horse followed them, carrying Grace in his arms. When the ambulance came, the paramedics gave Lola a long, quick field assessment. They didn’t look panicked at what they saw, but they started moving more quickly, grabbing items from the inside of the ambulance and running IVs, packing wounds, and more.
“Sir,” one of the paramedics said to Gunner. “Are you her husband?”
“No,” Gunner said, and then immediately regretted it when the paramedic shook his head.
“We need to go now,” he said. “We’ll take her to Mercy. You’ll be able to inquire about her status there.” The doors slammed shut, and the ambulance sped off before Gunner could manage to intimidate them into giving him more information or letting him into the ambulance with her. Horse went to pass Grace to Gunner but then looked down at Gunner’s shirt — which was the first time Gunner realized that he was entirely covered with blood. He looked up at Horse helplessly, and Horse sighed.
“Hey there, Grace,” Horse said, his big rumbly voice somehow softened enough to keep him from intimidating the hell out of the girl. “Your—” he choked off the word before he said, “father,” and continued. “Your Uncle Gunn needs to go look after your teacher for a few minutes, okay? I’m gonna get you to your ma, and we’ll get you cleaned up and tucked into bed. Alright? And Uncle Gunn will be along soon.”
Grace looked between the two men for a minute, then wrapped her arms around Gunner’s waist. When Gunner dropped to his knees, Grace shifted her hold to his neck.
“Hi there, little girl,” he said, the same greeting he’d given the child for years now, and for the first time wishing he dared to give her more of a pet name. But he’d have to talk to Laurel long before he gave himself permission to call the child something that indicated — well, that he was more than just an uncle.
“I love you, Uncle Gunn,” she said, and he didn’t care all of a sudden what he was called, just as long as he was part of this girl’s life until the day he died.
“I love you back,” he replied, squeezing her hard before he moved to his motorcycle, mounted up, and sped off into the distance.
***
It occurred to Gunner that arriving at the hospital covered in blood and filth might not be a good idea, regardless of how very much he needed to be as close to Lola as possible. He’d seen enough gut wounds in his life to be fairly sure they’d take her straight to surgery, to make sure that any major bleeds were repaired. If she were lucky enough that nothing in her guts had been seriously injured, and she didn’t go septic, he thought she had a good chance of being okay, but gut wounds were tricky and unpleasant. She’d probably be in several surgeries over the next few days, depending on the damage.
He stopped at his apartment, tossed off his dirty clothes and had a shower until the water ran clear off his hands, before redressing in clean jeans and a button-down shirt that covered most his tattoos. Combing his wet hair back, it was surprising how quickly he transformed from a gangbanging motorcycle club leader to a buttoned-up businessman. He still knew how to stand and look like a model minority. He hated it, but if it got him what he needed, then that would be fine.
He ignored the bike for once and got into his Grand Sport. He wasn’t planning on leaving the hospital until Lola was discharged with him, and there was no way he’d be able to take her home on his bike. There was no way she’d be able to handle the bumps and turns after abdominal surgery. That was a ridiculous thought. He didn’t allow himself to consider what would happen if she didn’t come through surgery. Didn’t make it to the hospital. Her bleeding hadn’t been extreme, but bleeding wounds could be delicate. Anything could happen.
He pushed hard and shoved the images out of his mind. He forced himself to think about Lola, whole and healed, and in his arms. That was a better thing to imagine.
Before he turned the key in the ignition, he called Laurel. Horse had already reached out to her, explaining what had happened, and that he was bringing Grace back. That they would need to call the police and the DA, but that the worst danger had passed. Horse had been in communication with Marv from the Vipers as well; they were “keeping an eye” on the ring leaders of this whole goddamn mess until the cops could be brought up to speed. Marv had assured Horse, who had then assured Laurel, that there were enough bought cops in town that the charges would finally stick.
Sam’s death would finally, after all of these years, be avenged. He wasn’t so macho that he had to pretend he didn’t dash away a few tears at that thought. Samantha Jenner had been the first woman he’d ever loved. She’d made him want to be a better man. They’d both been wrong about what he needed to do to make that happen, but hey, what did a couple of eighteen-year-old kids know about life and behavior? Not fucking enough, was the point. They could’ve grown up together, and maybe they would’ve grown together, or maybe they would’ve grown apart and just had a baby together, but the truth now was that the relationship between them was crystallized, calm, settled — a memory of his past.
He turned the key in the ignition and drove his classic car towards the woman he had fallen in love with over the last few days. He found a spot outside of the emergency room, assuming that was the best way to find out what was going on. It took twenty minutes of charming nurses and security guards, but he eventually got the name of a surgeon and a promise that someone would let him know what was going on when she was out of surgery. After all, they didn’t have any information on her next of kin or her family, and it’s not like he knew who to contact, outside of Cassidy, and he didn’t have Cassidy’s phone number. Magically.
In the movies, people got a nice cut scene while surgery passed. In real life, people had to wait through every long minute, staring at the digital surgery board to see when their loved one’s code had moved out of the operating theater into recovery. After an indeterminate stretch of time, a tall black woman wearing scrubs and a cap appeared and called out Lola’s number. Gunner stood, and the woman gestured him to a small alcove. Nothing like those hospital shows on TV, he thought to himself as he followed her.
“Everything went very well,” she said as he stepped inside the small room. “She may need one or two more procedures over the next few days, and we will be watching very closely for sepsis. There was some damage, but nothing that will likely affect her quality of life. She’s a very lucky woman.”
Gunner felt himself release a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.
The woman looked down at his hands and seemed to note the bracelets circling his wrists, and the dark tattoos that marked him as a member of the Satan’s Breed. He couldn’t cover all of them, not without a head to toe suit. “GSWs of course need to be reported to the police, so expect a detective to come by her room at some point. But I’ll show you back to recovery if you like.”
“I like,” Gunner said. He had to wipe moisture away from his eyes again, and he didn’t bother trying to hide it from the doctor. Not for a moment.
Lola was in bed, her eyes drowsily opening and closing. She focused on the door when it opened, and a slow smile spread across her face.
“Hi,” she said, drawing out the vowel in the word and carefully stretching a hand towards Gunner. “I hurt.”
“You said,” he replied. “They had to do some work to fix you up, I hear.”
“Yeah,” she said back. “Said I’m gonna be okay, though. So, you’re not rid of me yet. Hope that’s okay with you.”
He settled into a chair by the bed and took her hand tight in his. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that’s just fine with me.”