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Maybe we could take a drive, like we’d been planning. I always found it easier to talk while in the car for reasons I didn’t even begin to understand.
Mind on that, I glanced back at the clubhouse, feeling that newly familiar sense of home sink into my bones.
Until I came here, I hadn’t felt that since I’d been living with my grandmother. My apartment had never had that same level of comfort.
Maybe because home wasn’t a place but a feeling.
And the people inside that clubhouse, especially Riff, were what created that feeling for me.
Taking a deep breath of the crisp late winter air, I started the walk back toward the warehouse, the distance suddenly feeling twice as long as it had when I’d been overwhelmed with the hurricane of my thoughts, the violent storm of my emotions.
But I’d been in such a rush that I hadn’t grabbed my phone, so I could text Riff for a ride.
I couldn’t even go up to Rook’s apartment to ask, since he’d been in the living room when I’d rushed past.
Oh well.
I was hoofing it, like it or not.
I felt so comfortable in this town, so safe thanks to, I imagined, the protection that came from the club, that I didn’t even think to be afraid, to look for threats.
But as I walked toward a wide alley between a few of the abandoned shops on Main Street, a flash of color cut in front of my vision.
Maroon.
A maroon van.
No.
No.
A cry strangled in my throat as it cut off my path.
I had to turn, to run.
Even as I thought it, as I started to do just that, hands were reaching out.
Grabbing me.
Pulling me back to hell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Riff
“Morgaine, I respect the fuck out of you,” I said, surging out of my seat, “but I can’t just sit here. She’s been gone too long. What if she’s out there upset and alone?” I asked.
Before I even got an answer from her, though, I was grabbing the keys to the car, and rushing outside, not even giving the poor, old thing a chance to warm up before I was driving out of the lot, and around the town, looking for any sign of her.
But seeing no one.
Something was wrong, I could feel it in the way my guts felt twisted.
I parked illegally out front of Dr. Swift’s office, not even turning the car off as I threw open the door and rushed inside, everything inside of me screaming that something was not right.
“Hey, you can’t go in there!” the secretary shrieked, trying to get out of her seat to stop me, but I was already throwing open the door and rushing inside.
“Riff,” Dr. Swift said, brows raised.
