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The first choking sob wracked her entire body. The torrent that came after was born of a pain so deep she worried there wasn’t any pain reliever in the world that could touch it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
TWO DAYS, A carton of ice cream, and three bottles of cheap wine later, Stephanie was still in Townsend, holed up in a motel. After eating and drinking her troubles away, she was faced with the fact that she was officially pathetic.
Not to mention sticking around town was moderately dangerous. Copper sure wouldn’t take too well to stumbling across her. But seeing as how she’d only gone from the hotel to a convenience store and back once, she was pretty much in the clear.
After the last of the wine had been consumed, she finally slept, waking sometime after the sun had set.
Why hadn’t she driven as far away as possible?
She’d tried to deceive her inner self with bullshit excuses and weak reasons, but the truth was as hard to ignore as it was pitiful. Staying in Townsend made her feel connected to Maverick in some way.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered as she rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. Through the slatted blinds, the blinding lights of the motel’s vacancy sign filled the room.
Maverick hated her. And she didn’t blame him. So, staying in Townsend to feel close to him was just a step away from creeper town.
She had to face it. It was time to go home.
Decision made, there wasn’t any point in hanging around the hotel until the morning. After shoving her belongings into her suitcase and dragging it out to the car, she made her way to the motel reception desk and returned her key.
Five minutes later, motor running, she couldn’t make herself shift the car into gear. Her hand and her foot just would not budge to get the car moving. She sucked in a breath that caught in her chest. The walls of her Honda Accord started to close in on her, compressing the air and stealing all the oxygen.
Her vision grew gray—very fitting—and as the panic attack steered her toward unconsciousness, she smashed the window button down at the same time she turned the key and killed the motor. Cool, fresh air flowed into the car and she finally filled her lungs.
She’d dated before, been in relationships before, and even thought she’d had her heart broken years ago. But she’d been wrong. Dead wrong. This was a broken heart. The inability to figure out what to do next. The feeling of being adrift in the sea, no land in sight. The beauty of the world surrounded her, but nothing mattered because she’d lost the most important thing in her world.
She had to pull it together. At least enough to drive out of town and back to DC. When she arrived in her own town, to her own home, she could lose it. Lock herself away for weeks. Hell, she didn’t have a job at the moment.
The sound of men’s voices made her jump and pulled her out of her head. Grateful for something besides her own misery to focus on, she glanced out her window. Four parking spaces over, two large dudes hovered near a dark sedan.
It was midnight, shadowy, and quiet in the near-empty parking lot. Neither man seemed aware of her presence.
“What room did Lefty say? Eleven?”
Stephanie shoved her balled fist in her mouth to stem her cry of shock. Not fifteen minutes ago she’d checked out of room eleven.
“Yeah, don’t know why he’s got such a hard-on for her, but he said we’re looking for a little blonde spinner in room eleven.”
Stephanie pressed herself against the backrest of the seat, trying to flatten herself into invisibility. She wanted to sink down below the window but was petrified they’d hear her clothing rustle. As it was, they might be able to hear the pounding drum of her heartbeat.
“She’s one of the Handlers’ ol’ ladies,” the other man said. “It’s all part of his plan for the MC. He gave them a chance to work with him, but they shat on it. Now they pay. He’s got Marco working on bombs now. Gonna snag this bitch then blow the fuck outa their clubhouse while they’re going outta their minds lookin’ for her.”
Blow up the clubhouse? She bit her lip to keep a scream of hatred inside.
“Hey man, look.” The larger of the two men pointed toward a tiny coupe that just turned into the lot. His voice was low, so deep he almost sounded like a caricature. “That bitch is blond.”
Risking discovery, Stephanie leaned an inch forward and peered out the window with one eye. Sure enough, a woman with long, curly blond hair was stepping from a little two-seater sports car.
“Don’t know, man. Lefty said she was a little bitch. That one looks tall,” the shorter, but pudgier man said.
