Hannibal looked eager to shake his hand, too.
“Thanks. It was a helluva ride,” Cowboy informed us. “When it was over, I hurt so fucking bad I went back to the doctor who healed me up the year before after being trampled by that same bull. Doc told me one more hard fall or stomping, and I’d be paralyzed. I decided I’d rather not do that, so I retired. It wasn’t long after that shocking news that I met a guy who is now a club brother. He sponsored me.”
Damn.He’d been through a lot. I couldn’t imagine the toll on his body.
“What’s the name of your club? You said you’re not from around here. Where did you ride in from?” Mammoth didn’t shy away from questions.
Grim didn’t stop him either.
“I live in St. Augustine, Florida. I’m part of the Horseman of Wrath MC. My president is Diablo.”
“Horseman of Wrath, hmmm.” Grim seemed to be thinking over the name. “Sounds familiar. So does Diablo, but I might be wrong. We have Bastard chapters all over. You have time for another beer? We’d like to hear more and tell you about our club.”
As they walked up to the stand to buy another, my focus switched to Hannibal. He was talking on the phone. His voice, though low, sounded urgent.
Something in my gut twisted. I couldn’t shake the feeling of danger or the need to follow him when he stepped away from the rest of the club. Maybe it wasn’t right to violate his privacy, but I had to know what was happening, especially when he started to run toward the lines at the entrance.
It could have been related to the club, but I didn’t think he’d go alone unless it was an emergency. That thought spurred me to follow. I skidded to a halt only ten feet from Hannibal as he came to an abrupt stop.
And right there, less than ten feet away, stood the woman I’d been dreaming and thinking about for three long years.
It was her. Rachel.
MyRachel.
This time. . . I wasn’t letting her get away. And I didn’t care if her father liked it or not.
