The Biker Alpha Who Became My Second Chance Mate Chapter 163

Vic turned and even through the blood trickling from his nose I could see his smirk. "Prove it, sweetheart. Accidents happen."

"Accident?" The word came out sharp. "You sped up into him."

"He was in my way."

"He'd already won. He'd already crossed the finish line."

"So?" Vic pulled off his helmet and spit blood. "He humiliated me. Made me look like a fool in front of everyone."

"You ARE a fool," Sarah said, appearing beside me. Her voice was shaking but her eyes were fierce.

"He got what he deserved," Vic said. "Thinking he's so much better than everyone else, showing off, making the rest of us look bad."

"He IS better than you," I said. "He's better than all six of you combined and you can't stand it."

"Won't matter if he's dead," Vic shrugged, actually shrugged, like Tristan's life meant nothing.

I wanted to kill, to suck the filthy life off him.

The violence in my chest exploded outward and I moved toward him, my hands curling into fists, not sure what I was going to do but knowing I was going to hurt him, going to make him pay for what he'd done.

Orion caught me around the waist. "Athena, no. The babies."

The babies.

The word stopped me cold and I looked down at my still-flat stomach, at the tiny lives growing there that needed me to stay calm, stay safe, not get into a fight with a man who'd just tried to kill their father.

"There won't be a next time," Orion's voice cut through the air, that Alpha command that made humans instinctively back up. He was standing now, having left Tristan's care to Derek, and he was moving toward Vic with Sarah right beside him, her hand in his.

Vic's two friends stepped forward, trying to look threatening. Three humans against two Alphas and a very angry woman, they had no idea how badly outmatched they were.

"You want to do this?" one of Vic's friends asked, a big guy with a shaved head and prison tattoos.

Derek didn't answer, just grabbed the guy's shirt and threw him aside like he weighed nothing. The man hit the ground hard and didn't get up, clearly deciding this wasn't worth it.

The second friend swung at Orion and Orion caught his fist mid-air, squeezed until something cracked, bones breaking with audible pops, and shoved him down. The friend screamed, holding his crushed hand.

Vic backed up, eyes wide, finally realizing he'd made a mistake. Finally understanding that Tristan had family, had people who loved him, and they weren't going to let this go.

"You're done racing here," Orion said, his voice deadly calm. "You're done in this city. If I ever see you near another track, near my brother, near ANYONE I care about, I will end you. Do you understand?"

Vic opened his mouth to argue.

Derek hit him.

The punch was precise, controlled, catching Vic in the stomach and dropping him to his knees gasping for air.

"He asked if you understand," Derek said calmly, then hit him again, this time in the jaw. Blood and what might have been a tooth flew from Vic's mouth.

Vic nodded frantically, wheezing, curled up on the ground.

"Good," Orion turned away, dismissing him. "Get out of my sight. And if I find out you've raced anywhere, told anyone what happened here, or done anything other than disappear, I'll find you. And it won't be a fist you'll have to worry about."

The threat was clear, the dominance rolling off Orion in waves that made even the crowd back up. Vic's friends helped him up and they stumbled away, Vic limping badly, his face already swelling.

The crowd parted to let them through and I heard the muttering, people already creating the story of what had happened, how Vic had tried to cheat again and paid the price.

I was already back beside Tristan, taking his hand carefully. His eyes were open now, barely, unfocused and glassy, and he was trying to speak.

"Athena," his voice was barely a whisper, thick and slurred.

"Don't talk," tears were streaming down my face, falling on his jacket. "The ambulance is coming, just hold on."

"Did I... win?"

A sob-laugh burst out of me. "Yes, you idiot, you won. You beat all of them."

"Good," his eyes tried to close. "Wanted to... make you proud."

"You did, you did, just please don't leave me," my hand gripped his tighter. "Please don't leave us."

Something changed in his expression, clarity breaking through the fog of pain for just a moment. "Our babies," he said, and his hand moved shakily toward my stomach before falling back down. "Have to... protect them."

"They need you," I said. "I need you. So you have to fight, okay? You have to stay with me."

"Not... going anywhere," his words were getting more slurred. "Have babies... to meet. Have to... teach them... to race."

"They're not racing," I said firmly, even though I was sobbing. "They're never getting on a bike."

"We'll see," he almost smiled, and then his eyes closed again.

"Tristan? TRISTAN!"

"He's still breathing," Derek said, his hand on Tristan's chest. "Pulse is steady. He just passed out, probably from the pain and blood loss."

The ambulance sirens were getting closer and the crowd was backing up to let them through, creating a clear path.

Sarah knelt beside me, her arm around my shoulders. "He's going to be okay," she said, but her voice was shaking. "He's strong, Orion said his healing is already working. He's going to be fine."

But there was so much blood. His head was still bleeding, the gash across his scalp deep and ugly. His leg was definitely broken, possibly in multiple places. And I didn't know what internal injuries he had, what damage had been done when his body hit the ground, when his head cracked against concrete.

The paramedics arrived and surrounded him, asking questions Derek was answering while I just held Tristan's hand and tried not to fall apart completely.

They were putting a neck brace on him, stabilizing his head, checking his vitals, starting an IV line.

"We need to transport immediately," one paramedic said. "Possible skull fracture, definitely serious head trauma."

"I'm coming with him," I said.

"Ma'am, we can only take family..."

"I'm his fiancée and I'm seven weeks pregnant with his twins and I'm coming with him," my voice came out sharp, commanding, leaving no room for argument. "Try to stop me."

The paramedic looked at his partner, who shrugged. "She can ride up front."

They loaded Tristan onto a stretcher with professional efficiency, careful not to jostle him, keeping his spine stable.

I watched them lift him into the ambulance, watched them strap him down, watched the monitors start beeping as they hooked him up to machines.

I climbed in front and Orion leaned in the window. "We'll be right behind you," he said, Sarah visible in the background, her face streaked with tears. "He's going to make it, Athena. He's too stubborn not to."

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

The ambulance doors slammed and we were moving, lights flashing, siren screaming, and I turned in my seat to watch the paramedics work on Tristan through the gap between the seats.

They were moving fast, hands sure despite the ambulance's movement, calling out vitals and numbers I didn't understand.

"BP dropping," one said.

"Possible internal bleeding," another replied. "We need to move faster."

The driver sped up and I gripped the dashboard, watching Tristan's face, watching his chest rise and fall, counting each breath like it was precious.

Because it was.

Because I'd asked him to race, had told him I wanted to see it one more time, had pushed him when he was ready to be done with this life. And he'd almost died.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, knowing he couldn't hear me. "I'm so sorry."

But even as I said it, even as the guilt threatened to crush me, I knew Tristan wouldn't blame me. He'd wanted this. Had needed to prove, to himself more than anyone, that he still had it, that months away from racing hadn't dulled his edge.

And he had proven it. He'd been magnificent.

The best there ever was.

My hand went to my stomach where two tiny lives were growing, barely formed, barely real, but already so important. "Your daddy's a champion," I told them softly, my voice breaking. "He's the best racer who ever lived, and he's going to be okay. He has to be, because you need him. Because I need him."

The ambulance screamed through the night, lights flashing red and blue against buildings, and I held on to hope and prayed I was right.

Prayed that Tristan's healing was strong enough to withstand this.

Prayed that I hadn't just lost the man I loved because I'd wanted to see him race one more time.

Prayed that our babies would get to meet their father.

The paramedic called out more numbers and the monitors beeped faster and I just sat there, helpless, watching through the gap as they fought to keep him stable, to keep him alive, while the city blurred past outside the windows and all I could do was pray.