Page 84 of Jude

I hunched at the rear of him, heart racing as another round whined through the air and thumped into the wall beside me.

The ricochet sprayed fine dust into my hair.

‘Damn,’ Jude groaned.

I glanced up to see a stain of blood blooming through his shirt sleeve where a bullet grazed Jude’s upper arm.

He let out a gravelly grunt, grimaced, and kept moving.

Keeping a bruising, possessive grip on my waist, he dragged me across the oil-stained floor, his body shielding me as he hauled us behind a row of parked SUVs.

‘Keep your head down!’ he commanded me, his chest heaving hard.

His eyes scanned the shadows, his gaze locking onto targets, his protective instincts dialed to an eleven.

‘I spot two shooters by the exit ramp. There’s a third hiding near the stairwell!’ he roared out to his mates.

Shouts echoed through the structure as the six men advanced, cutting off all avenues of attack.

Levi and Reign moved with sinuous grace, their firearms raised.

They fired off a volley of return shots, striking the wrists of the two assaulting gunmen with accuracy.

Their weapons clattered to the floorboards as the injured men collapsed, groaning in agony as they clutched their shattered hands.

All of a sudden, the scream of burning rubber tore through the garage.

A navy sedan roared out of a parking space, its tires screeching over the concrete.

The vehicle rocketed past our hiding spot, the engine roaring like a beast, its passenger window rolled halfway down.

I caught a glimpse of the driver’s profile through the tinted glass for one split second.

My blood turned to ice. My lungs locked up.

I tugged at Jude’s arm, my fingers digging into his muscle.

‘It’s Dario,’ I whispered, my voice cracking, my finger trembling as I pointed at the retreating red taillights. ‘Jude, oh my god, that’s him. That’s the man from the Instagram recruitment video. He’s here.’

Jude’s jaw clenched so hard a vein throbbed in his temple.

He slid out his phone, dialing with his thumb while keeping his firearm trained on the entrance, his eyes black with a murderous rage.

‘Kian, we’ve got an active scene at the Bourbon Steak garage,’ Jude rasped into the receiver, his voice calm despite the chaos. ‘Three shooters. Two are neutralized on the ground, but one escaped in a navy sedan heading north. Sofia made him; it’s Dario, the guy who recruited her. The car turned left, headed toward the highway.’

He listened for a beat, then hung up.

‘Help is on its way.’

Blue emergency lights danced across the ceiling as a dozen police cruisers descended on us, their tires skidding to a halt.

Sirens wailed, cutting through the Nashville night in a deafening chorus.

Minutes later, senior detectives arrived on the scene.

All six bandmates stood in a loose semicircle, braced, alert, and solemn as they gave their official accounts to the cops.

I sat in the passenger seat of Jude’s Escalade, my eyes locked on him through the windshield.