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Our first night living together is uneventful, and I find I like it that way. I expected there to be awkward silences, or things we’d both do to get on the other's nerves, but that didn’t happen.Instead, it’s as every day of our lives has led up to us living together.
This morning, we’re heading to my agent’s office to turn in the sketches I’ve done for the book about the little girl and the biker. Journey was gracious enough to let me use him as inspiration. Granted, it usually led to other moreadultactivities, but it all worked out.
“You wanna come to the clubhouse with me for a while?” he asks when we leave my agent’s office. “I’ve got some things to take care of there before I can head home.”
“Sounds good to me,” I quip. “But can we stop and get something to eat? I’m starving.”
“Absolutely.”
We stop at the local diner, each of us getting a burger, fries, and a shake. We talk about what kind of dog we’re gonna get because he finally caved on that, and agree we’ll go to the animal shelter next week to adopt one.
Journey pays the bill, and I follow him outside to the Harley. A sense of unease pricks my spine, and I glance around to find the source. Seeing nothing that seems to be a threat, I shake off the feeling and chalk it up to having had a busy day so far.
Five miles from the diner, a loud rumble surrounds us, and I realize I shouldn’t have ignored my earlier unease.
Shifting my eyes from one side to the other, I take in the motorcycles forming a circle around us. Journey tenses and squeezes my thigh before moving his hand to the handlebars in an effort to maintain control.
Fear washes over me, and I bury my face in his back. I wish I could block out the noise, but between all the bikes and the voices, I might as well be standing next to a tornado siren. It's so loud.
No. No, no, no.
Journey slows down, and I turn my head slightly to see the circle closing in. All of Journey’s promises to keep me safe flash through my mind, but I shove the thoughts away. This isn’t his fault.
“Pull over!” one of the bikers shouts to be heard over the engines.
“Not fucking happening!” Journey yells.
The biker pulls out a gun and points it at me. “Pull the fuck over!”
I know Journey has his own weapon tucked into the back of his waistband, but he’s trying to keep us from wrecking. And with death staring me in the face, I freeze.
Journey slows to a stop on the side of the road. If we were closer to town, we might stand a chance of another driver coming along, but we’re far enough in the country that that’s not likely.
One of the men on our left jumps off his bike and swings at Journey, knocking him to the ground. He didn’t have time to put the kickstand down, so me and the Harley topple over with him.
I scramble out from under the heavy machine, ignoring the pain igniting my nerve endings, and manage to get free just in time to see Journey get pistol-whipped unconscious.
“You’re coming with us,” a man barks as he grabs my arm and yanks me to my feet.
The voices get louder, but before I slip into the darkness, I force my gaze to the patch on the man’s cut. The words Wingless Angels MC mock me in bold green letters.
I’m scared. I wish Journey could save me like he promised.
CHAPTER 27
JOURNEY
Bloodlust fuels me.
Pain stabs my skull,and my body aches as I try to roll over.
Where the hell am I?
I slowly open my eyes, only to stare at the cloudless sky.
The floodgates open, and memories assault me. Riding with Wren to the clubhouse, being surrounded by Wingless Angels fucks, pulling over, and then everything goes blank.
I scramble to my knees, but hesitate when a wave of nausea rolls through my stomach. Fortunately, my lunch stays put, and I manage to get to my feet. My Harley is on its side but appears drivable, and Wren is nowhere in sight.
