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It was a no-brainer. Literally. She didn’t even have to think about it. Her body took over, and she realized she was steering onto the highway that would take her to the clubhouse. Lefty’s thugs wouldn’t be stupid enough to follow her straight into enemy territory.
Would they?
Five minutes of breakneck speeds later, she’d navigated the winding road in a way she’d never have done if she’d been thinking logically. One missed curve, and she could have gone careening off a cliff into the abyss. She’d been closely followed the entire time, but when she exited onto the road that would take her directly to the Handlers’ clubhouse, Lefty’s guys continued past.
“Oh, thank God,” she said, rolling to a stop in the middle of the road. Her entire body shook with the adrenaline rush as she rested her head against the steering wheel. Now that the imminent threat of capture had disappeared, her body came alive in the most unpleasant of ways. Both hands were clenched tight as a boa constrictor around the steering wheel, and the abraded palms screamed for relief. The knees of her skinny jeans were torn to shreds and tinged red with blood. The left side of her head throbbed with a dull ache.
Shit, she was a mess.
But she was alive.
Going to the clubhouse was hands down one of the stupidest decisions she’d made as of late, and she’d sure made a lot of them. But she owed it to the Handlers to let them know what was coming. Clearly, Lefty was waging war. Not only was he willing to kidnap who he thought was one of the Handlers’ ol’ ladies, but he was also planning to blow up the clubhouse.
A blatant declaration of war. They needed to be prepared and know what was coming for them, even if it put her at risk.
The Stephanie of three months ago would have gone straight to her bosses with this information. But so much had changed. While in her heart, she knew this was wrong, she couldn’t deny the Handlers their version of justice and safety. And she’d learned the system was beyond flawed. Hell, it had chewed her up, spit her out, and left her for dead in a biker clubhouse. A little MC justice was just what the situation called for.
With a shuttered breath, she tried to ignore the aches and pains and drive the last mile to the clubhouse. When she arrived, a sick feeling came over her. She’d been warned not to return. Warned what would happen if she did return. And their parking lot was littered with rows of bikes. There was a party going on.
“Just do it,” she said. “Get out of the damn car. You made it this far.” Her body decided to listen to her. It took a few tries to get her trembling fingers around the door handle, but she got it open and started toward the prospect serving as bouncer for the night.
Each step sent an agonizing jolt of pain through her knees that seemed to throb in time with her headache. She was almost finished. All she had to do was deliver a message, then she could get back in the car, drive to a new hotel out of town, and nurse her wounds.
Alone.
“What the fuck?” LJ was on door duty tonight. He moved his large frame across the entrance and folded his arms across his sizable chest. “Are you out of your mind, lady? I ain't letting you in there.”
“LJ,” she said, though it sounded more like a sob than his name. “I’m not here to cause trouble, but it’s really important that I go in there.”
“What the fuck happened to your face? And your pants are all ripped up. What the hell, Steph?” His facial expression morphed from one of indignance to one of concern. That was the Handlers, tough as nails one minute, but putty when it came to their women.
“My face?” She frowned. What had happened to her face?
“Yeah, your chin is fucking bleeding all down your shirt.”
It was as though him saying the words enabled her body to feel the pain, and the entire lower half of her face lit on fire. She lifted a hand to her chin, and it came back red. Shaking her head, she said, “It’s fine. I’ll deal with it later. You have to let me in LJ. It’s a matter of life and death.”
He ran a hand down his face and sighed. “Fuck, Copper’s gonna have my balls for this one. I ain’t never gonna get my damn patch now.” He opened the door. “Tell ’em you knocked me out or some shit. I’d rather have them thinking I got my ass beat by a tiny slip of a woman than let you walk in.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You made the right decision. And I owe you a big one.”
