Page 45 of Steel Vengeance

Sloane twisted violently mid-turn, her body jerking as she hit the ground.

No. God, no.

“Sloane!”

He fired off more rounds, charging toward the shooter. The gunfire was deafening, each shot ringing in his ears. The biker turned the weapon on Stitch, but he rolled behind a car just as the butcher grabbed Sloane and dragged her to cover behind the counter.

She wasn’t moving.

“You son of a bitch!” Stitch growled, breaking cover and emptying his magazine at the shooter. He knew it was reckless, but all he could think about was stopping this bastard before someone else got hit.

He saw the shooter flinch, grabbing at his shoulder.

Good. He’d hit him.

But Stitch’s gun clicked. Empty.

Shit.

He sprinted toward the biker, ready to tackle him if that’s what it took. But before he could reach him, the motorcyclist swerved hard, pulling a sharp U-turn and speeding off down the road. In seconds, he was gone, disappearing around the corner in a blur of black.

Stitch didn’t stop. He ran straight for Sloane, who lay on the ground behind the butcher’s cutting machine, her face pale, eyes closed. His heart pounded in his chest as he dropped to his knees beside her.

Not again. Please, not again.

“Sloane?” His voice was hoarse. He touched her face. “Sloane, can you hear me?”

Her arm was bleeding badly, but there were no other visible wounds. No bullets to the torso, no major damage.

Thank God.

Her eyelids fluttered, and she groaned. “Stitch…”

“I’m here,” he said, his voice low but urgent.

She tried to sit up, wincing immediately. “My arm… what happened?”

“You’ve been shot. I’m going to need this.” He unwrapped her scarf and tied it tightly around her arm, above the wound. “The bullet’s still in there, but it’s not too deep. You’re gonna be fine.” He glanced at her hand. “Can you move your fingers?”

She wiggled them, and he let out a breath of relief. No nerve damage.

She was still pale, the shock starting to take hold. He tightened the makeshift tourniquet. “This’ll hold until I can get the bullet out.”

The butcher was hovering nearby, his face etched with concern. Everybody in this border town had seen violence before, maybe too much of it. “The gun’s empty,” he said, nodding toward the pistol on the ground.

Stitch picked it up, tucked it into his pocket of his robe, then gave the man a firm shake of the hand. “Thank you.” He’d pulled her out of the line of fire.

The butcher nodded once, then stepped back. Stitch gently lifted Sloane to her feet, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her. “Come on, we need to get you out of here. I’ve got to treat that arm.”

“We can go upstairs to my place,” she said, but her voice was weak, shaky.

“Not a chance,” he snapped. “You’re coming with me.”

“But… why? I’m just?—”

“Isn’t it obvious?” His tone was sharp, harder than he intended, but the realization of what had just happened hit him full force. “That was an assassination attempt. Someone just tried to kill you.”

CHAPTER 17