"Jesus." He pales when he takes in the sight. "Here." He tosses me the blanket and I cover her, gently easing her up off the floor and into my arms. She moans and although the sound cuts me to the bone, at least I know she's alive. The visible damage is horrific, so fuck knows what her insides are like.
I wrap the blanket around her carefully, then hoist her up into my arms. When my knees start to buckle beneath me, Pres catches hold of my elbow and waits for me to right myself. Pres helps me navigate the stairs, taking them slowly, keeping her as still as possible. Together we ease her down the stairs, her breathing coming in short, harsh pants. Each hoarse intake is another nail in Dylan's coffin.
The gravel crunches under my feet as I take her to the truck, laying her across the front seat, securing the seatbelts around her to hold her steady. I'm rounding the truck to get in the driver's door when I see Lady dragging Dylan down the steps. His wrists are bound behind his back, the material of Whip's bandana hanging out of the edges of his mouth. Lady gives him a shove and he stumbles down the front steps, landing on his knees in front of me.
When he looks up, there is no fear in his eyes. I've been in this position before and most men would have crumbled. They beg for their lives. Some even piss their pants.
Not Dylan.
The whites of his eyes are wide and bloodshot. If I didn't know he was crazy, I'd say he'd taken something, but this fucker is just psycho. He tilts his head at me and a wry smirk plays at the edges of his lips.
My fist connects with his temple and he drops to the side, hitting the ground with a thump. "Wrap his legs," I say to Whip. "Then toss him in the back."
Whip nods and tosses the truck keys my way, and I throw my bike ones back at him. Pres walks up to Dylan, pausing for a moment to deliver a swift kick to his ribs. He turns to me.
"Call Doc. Tell him he's there by the time we get back, I'll double his usual."
I climb in and pull away from the cabin. I can't look at Jaz. I promised that I'd protect her, that Dylan would never get to her. He did, and it's on me.
I failed her.
Seeing her this beat up is killing me.
Every bump we hit elicits a sound of pain from her and tortures me at the same time.
When I pull into the clubhouse, I'm grateful to see Doc's car. Jaz's noises have become less and less frequent and I'm on the verge of panicking. The journey up to our room is a slow one, and any positive thoughts I may have been clinging to leave me when I see Doc's face. Remaining impartial is one of his specialties, so the fact that he's even reacted at all is not a good sign.
"Send in one of the girls and wait outside."
It isn't a question. Doc never lets a brother stay in the room while he works on their girl. Let's just say he's learned from experience that it's safer for them to be elsewhere. I walk downstairs and send Lucy up. Jaz would want someone she knows up there, not just a random club whore.
Needing to release some of the rage inside of me before I get to see Jaz again, I head for the garage, knowing this is where they'll have taken him. Sure enough, Dylan lies on the floor, gagged but out cold and still hogtied, the guys surrounding him.
No one moves. It's an unwritten rule that, in this situation, the brother whose girl is hurt gets the first swing.
"Hang him up and strip him." I point to one of the prospects. "I need a fucking punching bag right now."
They make quick work of my demand. A bloodcurdling scream echoes around the open space when they release him and his shoulders bear his full weight, both raised up above his head, about five inches from where they should be.
That's one way to wake up.
"What's wrong? Not a fan of pain?" My fist connects with his side, in the fleshy part between the pelvis and the ribcage. "And I'm just warming up. Pretty soon, this shit is going to feel like Christmas." I take two jabs to the other side, enjoying the release.
He laughs, blood coating his teeth and running down the sides of his mouth, dripping onto the concrete floor. "Bitch got what was coming."
My fist connects with his stomach.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Dylan makes a gargled noise and I step back just in time for him to vomit all over himself, the foul smelling liquid running down his body and mixing with the blood on the floor below. He coughs over and over, his entire body twisting and contorting. Yet still he laughs.
I roll my shoulder back, ready to deliver a fresh set of blows when he lifts his eyes to meet mine and a wry smile crosses his face. "Doesn't matter. She'll be dead soon."