I push myself up—every muscle screaming in protest, ribs definitely cracked, jaw probably fractured—and grab Talia's wrist. "Move. Now."
"But he's?—"
"Alive. He's alive. And we're leaving before that changes." I drag her toward the door, past the lieutenant who's still frozen with his gun, past the other two who are groaning and trying to get up. My vision is swimming, tilting, the world refusing to staylevel, but I keep moving because stopping means dying and I'm not dying here.
The hallway. The stairs. Each step an agony that radiates through my entire body. Talia is supporting some of my weight now—when did that happen? When did I start leaning on an eighteen-year-old girl to keep myself upright?—and we're moving too slowly, making too much noise, leaving too much of a trail.
But we make it outside. Make it to the alley where my bike is waiting, sleek and black and representing escape, representing survival, representing not dying in a Viper compound on a Tuesday night.
I throw Talia over my shoulder—ignore her protest, ignore the way my ribs scream, ignore everything except the need to get her on that bike and get us both the fuck out of here—and somehow, through sheer stubbornness and adrenaline and probably some luck I don't deserve, we make it.
The bike roars to life. Talia's arms wrap around my waist—tight enough to hurt, tight enough to feel like she's trying to hold me together through sheer force of will. I don't bother with subtlety, with stealth, with anything except speed. Just open the throttle and let the engine scream us away from that place, away from Killian's broken face and his lieutenants' shocked expressions and the party that's probably still raging on oblivious.
Three miles. We make it three miles before Talia starts hitting my back.
Not gently. Not tentatively. Full-force punches that I feel even through the leather jacket, even through the haze of pain and adrenaline that's keeping me functional.
"Stop!" she's screaming, the word barely audible over the wind and the engine. "Stop the bike! Asher, stop!"
I slow down—not a full stop, because stopping feels dangerous, feels like giving up forward momentum—but enough that I can pull into an empty parking lot, can kill the engine, can turn to look at her.
She's already off the bike before I've fully stopped, stumbling backward on shaking legs, her face twisted with something that goes beyond fear or anger into territory I don't have a name for.
"We have to go back," she says, and her voice is breaking, shattering around the edges. "We have to go back right now. We have to make sure he's—we have to?—"
"Talia—"
"We have to make sure he's alive!" She's crying now, tears streaming down her face, her whole body shaking with the force of her grief and panic and terror. "Killian. We have to make sure he's alive. We have to go back. We have to?—"
The realization hits me like a physical blow, worse than any of Killian's punches, worse than the knowledge that I probably have internal bleeding and definitely have broken bones.
Talia loves him.
Talia is in love with Killian.
"Oh, God," I breathe, the pieces clicking together with horrible clarity. The way she stayed with the Vipers. The way she refused to leave. The way she looked when I was beating him unconscious. "Talia?—"
"I love him," she sobs, and the confession tears out of her like something being ripped from her chest. "I love him and I need him and you—you hurt him and we have to go back and make sure he's okay and I can't—I can't lose him, Asher, I can't lose Killian and Axel, you can't take them away from me, you can't?—"
Axel. Another name. Another piece of the puzzle I didn't know I was missing.
I get off the bike slowly, carefully, my body threatening to give out now that the adrenaline is starting to fade. Cross to where she's standing in the middle of the empty parking lot looking small and broken and terrified.
"Hey," I say quietly, reaching for her. "Hey, it's okay?—"
"It's not okay!" She jerks away from me, backing up until she hits a concrete barrier and has nowhere else to go. "Nothing about this is okay! You came and you took me and you hurt him and I need to go back, I need to make sure he's breathing, I need?—"
"Talia." I catch her shoulders, gentle but firm, making her look at me instead of spiraling further into panic. "Breathe. Just breathe for a second."
"I can't?—"
"Yes, you can." I pull her into my chest, wrapping my arms around her even though the movement makes my ribs scream, even though I can feel blood still leaking from various cuts and abrasions. "You can breathe. You can calm down. And then you can tell me what the fuck is going on."
She collapses against me, her whole body shaking with sobs that sound like they're being torn from somewhere deep and fundamental. I hold her—this girl who's been grieving alone foryears, my baby sister who lost her twin brother while I lost mine, both of us shattered by Henry's death because I couldn't face the fact that he died on my watch, that I failed to protect him. I've kept distance between us, buried myself in club business instead of acknowledging our shared grief—because admitting how much losing Henry destroyed me means admitting I failed both of them.
"He's alive," I tell her when the sobbing quiets to something more manageable. "Killian. I didn't kill him. His nose is broken and he's probably concussed but he's breathing. He's alive."
"You don't know that?—"