“POISON,” one medic said sharply. “We need him now.”
“Get him on the stretcher!” Ronan barked.
Robert’s men pushed in, shouting over each other, panic turning their voices feral. The hallway outside erupted—boots scrambling, curses, metal slamming as weapons were loaded. Someone shouted that the club might be under attack. Someone else yelled for everyone to stand down because they didn’t know what the hell was happening yet.
Everything blurred.
Lily’s vision tunneled, the edges shrinking, the noise a storm in her skull.
Then Jeremiah’s hand cupped the back of her head and drew her into him, his breath hitting her temple.
“Stay with me,” he whispered. “Look at me. Lily—look at me.”
She forced her chin up.
His eyes—dark, blazing—held her in place as the chaos thundered around them.
