Contracted Wife to the MC President

Chapter12

Harper POV

We hit the sidewalk just as tires screeched loud enough to swallow the whole street.

Two black SUVs slammed to a stop at the north end, jumping the curb. Seconds later two more boxed us in from the south, cutting off any path back to the Charger.

Not police. No sirens, no lights. Just doors flying open and a dozen men in tactical gear pouring out with suppressed rifles.

Thorne's men had found us.

"Down!" Reaper's hand closed on the back of my jacket and yanked me sideways. We hit the ground behind a parked Bentley as the street opened up around us.

The first volley tore through the air, chewing into the car's metal, blowing the windows out. Glass rained onto my shoulders. I hit the pavement hard and covered my head.

The whole street turned into a war zone in seconds. People screaming, scrambling into doorways.

Reaper didn't stay down long. He came up over the hood on one knee, ignoring whatever that movement did to his ribs, and raised the Glock. No wasted shots.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Two men dropped, armor useless against where he'd put those rounds.

The rest turned everything they had on our position. He ducked back behind the engine block, chest heaving, and I saw a fresh stain spreading dark through his shirt. Bleeding again.

Cordite thick in the air, concrete dust stinging my eyes, my ears ringing loud enough to blur everything else.

"Stay low!" He slammed a fresh mag home.

He leaned out to return fire and bullets chewed the asphalt at his boots, driving him back. They were pinning him down. Closing in.

Through the shattered window I saw movement. A man breaking off from the group, using a doorway to flank us, working into Reaper's blind spot. Three more steps and he'd have a clean shot at the back of his head.

I didn't think about it. Didn't freeze. Whatever my father had trained into me took over.

I pulled the Sig from my waistband. My hands shook, but I braced my elbows over the trunk of the car and forced a breath in.

He stepped out, rifle rising.

I fired.

The recoil bit hard. The shot caught him in the gap between vest and helmet. He dropped where he stood, rifle clattering against the sidewalk.

Reaper turned, saw the body, then looked at me still holding the gun with both hands, smoke curling off the barrel.

For a second the gunfire around us seemed to disappear. Something flared in his eyes that wasn't just surprise. Pride. I wasn't dead weight. I was something closer to an equal.

Then a diesel engine roared from the south end.

An armored SUV came around the corner without slowing, ramming straight into the barricade. Metal screamed as Gage used a battering ram bolted to the front to shove one of Thorne's trucks clean out of the way.

The rear doors flew open. Three bikers hung out with automatic weapons and laid down a wall of cover fire, sending the mercenaries scrambling.

The truck stopped beside our shredded Bentley and Gage kicked the door open.

"Get in!"

"Move!" Reaper hauled me up and covered me with his own body as we sprinted the five feet across, bullets sparking off the armor plating behind us.

I dove into the back seat, boots tangling on the floorboards. He threw himself in after me and slammed the door shut just as something hit the reinforced glass.

"Drive!"

Gage floored it. The truck lurched forward and tore away from the Diamond District, leaving the noise behind us in seconds, everything outside reduced to a muffled thud.

I pulled myself up onto the seat, gasping. Concrete dust and grease all over my hands, my trousers shredded at the knees, the gun still locked in my grip.

Reaper sat beside me, head back against the seat, breathing hard, one hand pressed to his ribs.

Gage caught his eyes in the mirror, went pale at the blood. "Boss, you're hit. Where to? We need the clinic, someplace to lay low—"

"We're not hiding." Reaper cut him off.

Something in his voice dropped the temperature of the whole cabin. He pulled his hand away from his ribs, fingers slick with blood, and met Gage's eyes in the mirror.

"Thorne ordered the hit. Knox sold him the blueprints."

Gage's knuckles went white on the wheel. Nobody up front said a word.

"Knox?" Gage finally managed. "You sure, boss?"

"I've got the ledger in my pocket." He turned to look at me instead, his eyes black in the dim light.

His hand came up, bloody, and wrapped around the back of my neck, pulling me close. His thumb brushed dust off my cheek. Rough. Certain.

"We don't run anymore." His voice dropped low, a promise more than a statement. "We gear up. We find them. And we go to war."