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I whip my head to the left and force a smile at the elderly gentlemen staring at me.
“Oh, nothing,” I say, a self-deprecating laugh escaping. “I was, uh, singing a song.”
Singing a song? You’re an idiot.
“Oh, I see,” he says. “Well, have at it then.”
He continues down the aisle in the opposite direction. Before I can make a bigger fool of myself, or worse, end up in Journey’s sights, I head toward the registers. I’ve got enough in my cart to last a few days and can come back then.
“Wren?”
Journey’s voice washes over me, sending warmth through my veins. Hating myself for reacting, I ignore him and move forward. Maybe he’ll think I didn’t hear him.
Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that.
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” he says when he passes me as I enter a checkout lane.
“Did you find everything okay?” the cashier asks, giving me a reason to continue ignoring Journey.
“I, um…” I swallow, flustered. “Yes, I did.”
I risk a glance over my shoulder, and Journey is nowhere to be seen. The voices quiet down slowly, until it’s only my own thoughts I hear. After paying for my groceries, I quickly load them into my car and head home.
With my hands full, my steps falter when I reach my front door. There’s a box on the ground, but I don’t remember ordering anything. As soon as I deposit my bags inside, I returnto the doorway and stare at the box like it’s going to explode at any second.
C’mon, Wren. You have nothing to be afraid of.
I scoop up the package which is no bigger than a shoebox and carry it inside. It takes me a few more minutes to work up the courage to open it, and when I do, my breath catches in my throat.
Inside are two black carnations and a note. I carefully lift the paper and unfold it to read the words.
You can run, but you can’t hide.
CHAPTER 15
JOURNEY
What can you tell me about Wren Abbott?
“Fucker just picked his nose!”
I stifle my laugh at the indignation in Ghost’s tone. We’ve been parked down the street from the Wingless Angels’ road captain, Jester, for two hours, and I’m bored out of my mind. He’s gone as far as his rickety front porch, and the most excitement there’s been is his offensive nose-picking.
“At least he’s not eating the boogers,” I say dryly.
Ghost shakes his head. “How the hell is this club a threat? If the rest of them are anything like this guy, then we’re dealing with overgrown toddlers.”
“Crow says they’re a threat, so we treat them like a damn threat.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Ghost keeps his focus on Jester, and we let the silence take hold. It’s been a while since we’ve had the need for a good old-fashioned stake out. I’ve always enjoyed them, but I’ve got other things I’d rather be doing.
Like Wren.
After seeing her at the grocery store and getting a very obvious brush-off, I returned to the clubhouse and dove into her therapist’s notes. I want to understand her, but she’s making it virtually impossible with her insistence that I stay away.
“Thank fuck,” Ghost mutters, pulling me from my thoughts. “The cavalry has arrived.”
