I’d know that sound anywhere. It’s been a long time since I heard it, but even back in the office as I’m signing tax documents, even over the blaring music, I can feel it rumble through my body.

“Ollie, stay here,” I command. “Lock the door until I say so.”

I take off in a full sprint. I can hear the pings of bullet on metal, but all I can think about is the fact that I left her out there unprotected, without so much as saying goodbye. I pull the door open to the aftermath, catching a glimpse of a familiar cut speeding down the road on a green motorcycle out of the corner of my eye.

My brothers are lying on the ground, and I don’t even know where to begin. Rising from a cloud of dust is Sloan. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I should’ve never put her in this position. I should’ve been here to protect her. She looks like she’s intact by the way she’s standing, but it could just be adrenaline. She tosses her helmet on the ground, her face expressionless.

“Sloan,” I shout, running after her as she charges across the lot, over to my brothers. “Are you ok?”

I don’t know if she can’t hear me from the ringing of recent gunfire or if she’s just ignoring me. I want to grab her and hold her and make everything alright, but she’s already back on the ground, kneeling beside Clutch’s bleeding body.

“Sloan!” I yell. “Are you ok?” It takes everything in me not to just throw myself on top of her, drag her inside, check every square inch of her body and make sure she’s ok.

“I need a first aid kit,” she says to me. “Or just gauze, bandages, whatever. We need to get this bleeding slowed down before I can clean it up.”

Clutch’s bicep looks like raw hamburger meat, fat and blood and gristle hanging from his arm. He’s writhing as he winces in agony.

“You’re going to be just fine,” she assures him, propping his arm over his head.

“Oh my God!” I hear Olive’s high-pitched screaming from the doorway. She’s sobbing. She takes off her high heels and sprints across the parking lot in her bare feet.

“I told you to stay inside,” I bark. “It’s not safe out here.”

“Ollie,” Sloan says calmly, as if this is a normal day in the life. “Do you have a first aid kit in there?”

“What are you doing here?” she stammers.

“I’ll talk to you in a little bit. Right now, I need to get this guy fixed up.” She turns her attention to Clutch, checking his pulse with her fingers on his neck. “What’s your name?”

“Clutch,” he says, a pale grimace stretching over his face.

“Listen, Clutch, from what I can see, you weren’t directly hit. You don’t have a bullet in you. You just took some shrapnel.”

The poor guy has been shot at more than all of us combined after three tours in Iraq. It would be a shame if here in a parking lot on a Saturday afternoon was where he actually took a bullet.

The rest of the men have gathered around now, watching as Sloan tears off the sleeve of her t-shirt and begins pressing it to the wound.

“Sabers,” she says, not taking her eyes off of her task at hand.

“What?”

“That’s who did this. I saw them drive off.”

Olive returns with the first aid kit and Sloan pops it open, pulling out all the gauze in it.

“Should we take him to the hospital?” Olive asks.

“No,” Sloan says sternly. For the first time since we arrived here, she locks eyes with me, as if looking for some sort of guidance. Everyone around is looking at me for some sort of guidance. It only makes sense. I’m the vice president; I’m supposed to be in charge when my old man isn’t around.

“We need to get out of here,” I say. “Who knows who saw what. The cops could be here any minute. We need to chase those fuckers down and see what’s going on. You sure you got this, Sloan?” I ask her. I have no reason to doubt her ability, but she’s about to get an education in what it’s like to be affiliated with the Mountain Misfits MC.

“I got this.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it, smiling up at me sadly. “You go to work.”

Austin heads for the truck that we use for deliveries.

Heat and Brooks mount their bikes, revving the engines.

“Ollie, you good to drive?” I ask her. She’s just standing there, mumbling to herself, tears running down her face.

“Can you help me get him loaded up?” Sloan asks me. Olive backs her Jeep up to the sidewalk and I grab Clutch under his arms and scoop him into the back seat.

“Gavin.” Sloan is streaked with blood and looks like she’s about to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

She shouldn’t be apologizing to me. I’m the one who put her in this shit. She was right. This is never going to work. This isn’t fair to her.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “If you guys just get him back up the hill, Patch can take care of him from there.”

She wraps her arms around me, hugging me close like she doesn’t want me to slip away. I kiss the top of her head.

“You need to go,” she urges, but she doesn’t loosen her grip. “Please be careful. Please come back to me in one piece.”

That’s simply not possible.

This girl already has me shattered like glass all over the lot, broken into bits of what I should do and what I want to do and what I’m going to do. Reeling me in and pushing me away at the same time.

Watching her step up and take charge of the situation, taking care of my injured men like they are her own, letting me do what I need to do to keep the club together and taken care of just tears me up even more.

The most I can guarantee is that I’ll be back to her. Maybe then we can try and put some pieces back together.

Heat and Brooks pull their bikes over to mine, ready to ride.

I pull my gun from my ankle holster and shove it in my waistband. I straddle my Indian and rev the engine.

“You know where the Saber house is?” Brooks shouts.

I slip my sunglasses down and throw him a thumbs-up.

“Follow me, boys.”

Things are about to get ugly in the best kind of way. The Mountain Misfits are going hunting.