Page 9 of Tormented Hearts

“Copy that,” Willow said.

Sinead took the last curve faster than she probably should have, and the ranch gate rose up ahead of them, the heavy metal already swinging open. The road to the ranch seemed endless, but in no time, she pulled the truck to a hard stop in front of a log building.

A cluster of people were already waiting, a stretcher between two of them like they did this every week. Maybe they did.

They had Hawk out of the back before she’d even cut the engine. Two men hauled him up with brisk efficiency and flipped him face down onto the stretcher. Hawk grunted—a sound of protest or just pain.

She moved to the back of the truck and collected the dead snake. Following at a slight distance, she carried the dead snake by the tail, slightly held away from her body.

They entered a side door and moved fast down a corridor. They carried Hawk into an oversized, sterile room, and she was surprised to see an actual infirmary.

She stood off to the side, letting them work. The men who carried him in laid the stretcher on the bed and a man in scrubs rushed to Hawk’s side. They surrounded him as they stripped off his boots and cut away his jeans to see the damage.

Through the people crowded around him, she saw Hawk covered in a sheet, lying there and glaring.

She stepped up beside one of the men who carried Hawk in. “I’m Sinead Winthrop. I brought Hawk to the ranch, and this”—she held up the creature in her hand—”is the snake that bit him.”

A man in a tan Stetson, with eyes that looked as if he’d seen every variety of disaster, took the snake from her outstretched palm. He laid it on a second table and leaned over it.

Another man joined him, and both examined the snake. The first man’s expression went carefully neutral in a way that made her stomach drop.

Then it cracked into amusement.

“This is a bullsnake.” He sounded almost apologetic as he lifted it by the tail, holding it up for everyone to see. “Same coloring as the rattler—browns, blotches. The whole look. Gets mistaken for one constantly, especially in rocky areas.” He paused and sent Hawk a look like he was breaking bad news. “It’s not even venomous.”

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, but that only made it sound like she’d choked.

A man with gray eyes turned to look at Hawk. “Two.”

Hawk turned his head. “Two what?” His voice was muffled against the stretcher padding.

“Two fang marks.” The man didn’t even try to hide his grin. “In your ass.”

Chapter Three

Hawk had played four years of high school football. He’d suffered torn ligaments and two concussions. He did two tours in Iraq, fought ISIS and insurgents, and bore the scars to prove it. But he’d never once had to limp into a debriefing.

He was now.

Plus his arm ached from a brand-new tetanus shot.

But worst of all…

His pride was totally destroyed.

He didn’t shoot his own damn snake. The woman he was hired to protect did it.

And the friggin’ thing wasn’t even venomous.

He knew the way to the Black Heart Security office blindfolded, but the voices carrying down the hall pulled him toward them.

As he approached the war room, he heard two of the Malones talking, Gray and Denver filling in the gaps of a story about the one time they went hunting for bear in the mountains when they were teenagers.

Then a feminine voice, soft yet echoing with the strength of the owner. But he only caught every few words Sinead was saying.

Hawk forced his stiff glute muscle through the last few steps to the war room. When he walked in, everyone was sitting at the conference table. Five of the six Malone brothers were present, along with Sinead Winthrop.

Willow sat at her usual corner desk, hand curled protectively over her stomach, rounded with her and Decker’s, aka Dutch’s, child. Ayla sat with her pen hovering over a notepad, pausing to listen to the story that Sinead Winthrop was regaling them all with.