Pinky’s face lights up. “Really?”
“This outta be fun,” McKenna says.
My lips tip up. Demi and Klutch moved into the house right beside Pee Wee’s wife and kids. To say it’s an awkward situation would be putting it mildly.
Pinky turns to me, beaming, and my heart soars. She’s so fucking beautiful when she smiles like that.
“Ready?” I offer my hand.
She nods. “Ready, Freddy.”
With my ol’ lady’s hand holding mine, we head out into the cold. The temperature has dropped even further, and the sky is darkening rapidly.
“Kodiak should have the heat on by now,” I say as we approach my bike. “Ready to see your new home?”
Her eyes meet mine, full of trust. “Hell yeah.”
I help her with her helmet, then climb on the bike and wait for her to get settled behind me. Her arms wrap around my waist, and I feel her cheek press against my back.
I fire up the engine, and we roll out of the compound, heading toward my place.
This wasn’t the plan when I rolled out of here less than a week ago.
I was supposed to go to Florida, then come back to my solitary life here in St. Louis for the winter.
I wasn’t supposed to bring back a pink-haired beauty with trouble on her heels.
But as I feel her arms tighten around me, I can’t bring myself to regret a single decision that led us here.
She’s mine now.
And I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep her safe.
CHAPTER SIX
Clinging to Ramblerlike a spider monkey, I hang on for dear life as we roar down the highway. And holy crap, I’m so freaking cold.
How do people live like this?
“You doing okay back there, butterfly?” Rambler’s voice comes through the speaker in my helmet.
“F-f-fine,” I lie, pressing my body as close to his as I can, desperate to steal some of his warmth.
He chuckles and the sound vibrates my cheek that’s pressed against his back. “Liar.”
I don’t have the energy to argue. Every bit of my concentration is focused on not turning into a popsicle on the back of his bike. I keep my face pressed between his shoulder blades, using his body as a shield against the biting wind.
You ain’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.
No, I’m definitely not in Florida anymore. That’s for dang sure.
After what feels like forever, Rambler takes an exit off the highway, and we start winding through what looks like farmland. There’s nothing but trees and open fields as far as I can see. It’s pretty in a rural America sort of way, all browns and grays with patches of white where the snow has already started to stick.
Suddenly, Rambler slows the bike and turns down a gravel road hidden among all the trees.
“Home sweet home,” his rough voice announces.
I lift my head from his back and peer around his shoulder. A mobile home comes into view at the end of the gravel path. A double-wide with gray siding and white trim, complete with a large covered deck and a carport off to one side. Not what I was expecting, but it looks cozy.
