“Wrench and Hawk were kicking the idea around. Thinking of ways to keep you safe. We've all landed on the same answer, but I want to walk it past you before they do.”
“Striker, you're scaring me.”
“It's nothing bad, I promise. Stay with me.”
I set my mug down.
“Hiding you here doesn't work. Sooner or later Rotmere clocks where you are and we end up back at the Lodge with worse odds. You try and go back to your normal life upstate and they come get you. We need them to back off, permanently.”
“How?”
“By telling them you've been mine the whole time.”
I stare at him. “What does that mean?”
“It means we go public. You’ve been my girlfriend for a year, long distance. You came to High Vale to surprise me, that’s why you accepted the modeling job here. That’s why you ran straight to my bar. We put a notice in the newspaper, Viv spreads the news around town. Fake girlfriend, fake fiancee. Whether they buy it or not, it makes it damn clear that you’re under the Outlaws protection.”
Setting my cup down, I put my hands flat on the counter so they have something to hold onto. An acid taste rises in my throat, my heart beating in my ears.
Striker grins at me. “We make sure the whole thing is big and loud enough so that asshole Taylor can't try to take you back. Anything he does, he does in front of the whole county.”
“I need to wear a ring?” I ask.
“That’s right. We’ll get you a ring.”
“And all of this is just to keep my safe?”
“That’s right. I’m sorry to have to ask you like this. Yes or no?”
My heart sinking in my chest, I nod. “I’ll do it.”
“Sure?”
I nod. He reaches across and takes my hand. His thumb runs across my empty fourth finger.
“Then let's go put a ring on it.”
Chapter Nine
STRIKER
It’s twenty-four hours into our fake engagement.
I leave Bethany at the house after breakfast. She’s been quiet since I told her the plan, saying she doesn’t feel well. She slept a lot yesterday and there were shadows under her eyes this morning.
Once I’m at the bar, I don’t have time to think. There’s a biker convention an hour’s drive away, so we have MCs stopping for a beer on their way there.
I ride home after dark and open the door to the apartment, but the house is empty.
I check every room in eight seconds. Bedroom, bathroom, closet, back deck. Her boots are off the rack by the door, no jacket on the hook.
There’s a note on the kitchen counter.
Folded once. My name on the outside in her handwriting.
Striker.
I open it.
