“On three,” whispered Jamison. He and ten Hell’s Sons hunkered outside the door of the compound. He held up his last three fingers, and they all watched for his signal.
He put down his ring finger then pinky, leaving his middle finger. When he dropped it, Blake kicked the door in, and Strother and three guys barreled inside, weapons ready.
A roar sounded, and Jamison and the rest of the guys spilled into the main room of the Raiders’ club.
A single sweep of the room didn’t turn up Ever, and he pushed past the guys running at them. Let his brothers take care of them. He had to find Ever.
When a shot sounded, the girls in the club began to scream. Glass shattered, and then it was on. Blake, Rocket, and Franklin ducked behind the bar, and the rest of the Hell’s Sons dropped behind chairs and tables as cover against the Raider who was quick on the draw.
“Jamison, go!” Ace yelled, and he did.
He ran through the club, swiping his gun over each room. As his search didn’t produce Ever, his blood froze in his veins.
She had to be in a bedroom.
The Raiders’ club was outfitted better than the Hell’s Sons’. The interior was updated, the doors unmarred. Until now.
He kicked the first one open. The door cracked off the wall, but no one was inside.
A Raider appeared at the mouth of the corridor, gun raised. Jamison shot him in the knee, taking him down with a yowl of pain.
Jamison moved to door number two. Again, empty.
The third door was locked, and he raised his handgun and shot the lock. Someone inside screamed, but it wasn’t Ever. Still, he had to see.
He kicked the door open to reveal a naked Hispanic woman hiding behind a Raider with his pants off. “Touch your gun, and I’ll shoot it out of your hand,” Jamison vowed.
The man narrowed his eyes but didn’t move from his position on the bed, his erection bobbing against his stomach.
Jamison rushed to the fourth door. It was locked too, but he wasn’t going to put up with that. In the other room, several shots sounded. God, don’t let him lose any of his brothers.
He put a bullet in the lock and the door swung freely. Red hair spilled over the side of the bed, and a man had Ever by the throat. Her face was purple, the cords standing out on her neck.
Jamison couldn’t get a shot because the man was sprawled atop the woman he loved. He hurled himself forward and bashed the guy across the top of the head. He sagged but didn’t let go of Ever’s throat.
Breath rasping with exertion, Jamison tore at the man’s hands. Ever gasped. Jamison pried the man’s fingers until two snapped.
He threw a punch, which Jamison dodged. Without checking to see if Ever was okay, he pummeled the man with several jabs to the face. Blood spurted over Jamison’s knuckles, but he ignored it and shoved the man off.
He threw Ever over his shoulder and trained his gun on the fucker who had hurt his woman. “Get down!” he bellowed. “Put your hands on the floor!”
He obeyed but swept an arm under the bed. Before he could pull out a weapon, Jamison ran for it.
He pounded down the hall and burst into the main room. Blood slicked the floor, and he slid. He locked an arm around Ever’s thighs and dodged between two guys. Something stung him in the back of the calf, and he almost crumpled, but he had to get Ever out of here.