Page 117 of Coveted By Cupid

It’s early, meaning the concrete yard and narrow road won’t be filled with a ton of bikers, aside from the ones standing guard. I see two near the loading dock and one at the far end of the alley. Just because I only see three bikers doesn’t mean there aren’t more walking the perimeter of the block. I need to proceed with caution or risk getting caught before my feet hit the pavement.

Slowly, I open the door enough to squeeze through it. I’ll stick out like a sore thumb if I run down the fire escape. The noise alone will alert anyone outside. I need to make myself as unnoticeable as possible.

I crouch down, sliding down the steps on my butt before reaching the second-floor landing. Looking in the windows of the second-story private bar, I spot no one, still too early for the floor to be operational by the crew. I peek around the railing, searching for the bikers I saw earlier. The two on the loading dock are busy chatting, and the one at the other end of the lane has moved out of sight. It could mean the bikers on duty are doing a shift rotation. I need to move quickly or lose my chance to run down the alley and out into the street.

Creeping along the railing, I slide down the next set of steps. My feet hit the pavement, but I don’t dare run. Not yet. Not until I know the crew members aren’t looking my way. I flatten myself against the building, looking down the lane both ways for signs of life.

No one comes into view. It’s now or never.

Before I lose my nerve, I dash for the nearest alley exit, praying the biker on guard has his back to me when I run into the street. Pumping my arms as hard as I can, I cross the perimeter, sprinting across the road to the next block.

By some miracle, I escape undetected by Cupid’s crew. I’m not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing as I race up the sidewalk, further from my protectors.

When I round the corner onto 4th Street, I nearly run over a man—he’s not MC, but a guy I’ve seen a handful of times walking the block. The way he hangs around the corners of the abandoned brewery and how people approach him at random times of the day, I suspect he’s a drug dealer—not someone I respect, but he is someone I wouldn’t want to upset.

“I’m sorry,” I say over my shoulder as I keep running, unwilling to take the time to make sure he’s okay.

“Wait!” he calls after me with what sounds like concern in his tone. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

No kidding. I shouldn’t be doing any of this alone. Boden made it clear he’d hurt Romy if I break his rules and told someone what’s happening. I have no choice.

Ignoring my better judgment, I run the three blocks to Romy’s funeral home—a Gothic Victorian on the corner, taking up most of the block.

Climbing the front porch steps two at a time, I slam into the front door, fumbling with the turn knob before it swings open. I stumble across the threshold into the foyer, winded and worried, and tumble right into my ex.

He flexes his arms around me like bars on a cell, smiling smugly. “I knew you’d come.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

VANESSA

Irked Boden is touching me, I shove him off. “Don’t touch me!”

Boden’s smile drops, replaced with a scowl. “There was a time you loved me holding you.”

“Not anymore,” I say coldly. I search the room, my head swiveling worriedly. “Where’s Romy? You better not have harmed her.”

“She’s fine,” he says dismissively. “Riley is with her, making sure she is secured.”

“Are you fucking for real right now?!” I shout, furious that it’s not only him holding Romy hostage, but Riley too.

“Don’t be jealous,” Boden says tenderly, misreading my anger as he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear.

“You wish,” I spit through my teeth, slapping his hand away. “The two of you are going to burn for this. Nobody fucks with the Royal Bastards. Romy is one of ours.”

“Ours?” Boden raises an eyebrow, backing me against the wall. “She might be theirs, but you are not one of them. You can’t be. You’re already mine.”

I sneer at him. “My property patch says otherwise.”

Boden chuckles softly, as if I said something funny, before his smile vanishes. “A leather vest means shit.”

I’m about to give him an earful when he shocks me stiff, running his nose along my neck. “God, I missed your smell.”

“It’s called Bitch, Please by Back the Fuck Off. I’ll ship you a bottle,” I say, ducking under his arm. I shake off the ick as I speed-walk into the viewing room in search of the mortician.

Boden roughly grabs my arm, spinning me around to face him. He grips me by my biceps with crushing strength, shaking me hard. His behavior was already alarming, but his anger seems to accelerate, and it’s scarring me.

He bares his teeth, snapping, “Stop walking away from me. I’m done with you giving me the cold shoulder.”