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“Oh, my God,” Toni said, trying so hard not to laugh that she snorted quite loud.
Izzy’s face was turning red and her eyes leaked.
Stephanie held her napkin over her mouth but her shaking shoulders gave her away.
With a roll of her eyes, Shell said, “Go ahead. Laugh your asses off.”
And they did. Even Chloe.
“Wait, wait!” Stephanie said waving her hands in the air. “Which one were you? No, let me guess. You were the hyena, right?” They all dissolved into hilarity once again.
“She totally was!” Toni said, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “And Copper—oh, my God I can hardly breathe—Copper was the monkey! Ooo ooo, ahh ahh.” She lost it in a fit of hilarity.
“Holy crap,” Chloe said once she was able to breathe again. “You guys are hilarious. I’m so glad I joined you.” She bumped Steph with her shoulder. “Thanks for the invite.”
As Steph smiled at her, she found she truly meant the words. Aside from her time with Logan, this was the most fun she’d had in ages.
“Anytime, sister, anytime.”
Chloe scooted her chair back. “I should probably get going. I’ve got a dinner thing I’m cooking for tonight, and I need to get my groceries home.” Just as she was about to say her goodbyes to the women, the bell over the door jangled.
“Mav!” Steph said with a beaming grin.
For one quick flash, Chloe felt a sharp pang of envy. How wonderful it must be to have a man who could make her light up just at the sight of him.
Oh shit…Stephanie’s man was…Maverick. One of the Hell’s Handlers. Chloe’s hands started to shake and her breathing sped as though she’d run miles. She gripped the edge of the table to keep the group from noticing.
Still grinning like a loon, Stephanie said, “Mav, what are you—uh oh, that’s not a good face. What’s wrong?”
Chloe’s head snapped up, and her gaze landed on four very large, very serious, and very sexy bikers making their way to the table.
The Hell’s Handlers. Shit. She stood on rubbery legs, prepared to flee until a fifth biker came through the door. “Let’s get moving,” he barked to the group.
Chloe’s jaw dropped and a strangled sound fell out. Everything she’d experienced during those horrifying forty-eight hours came stampeding back to her from the moment she woke up in her trunk, to the assault, to the agonizing motorcycle ride to the hospital. The burden of pain and shame returned as though the kidnapping happened minutes ago instead of months.
“Shit,” Stephanie said. She’d turned away from her ol’ man and was biting her lip as she stared at Chloe. “Chloe, I had no idea they’d be here. I swear it.” Her eyes widened. “Chloe? Are you okay?”
She couldn’t answer Stephanie to save her life. Her mouth had gone completely dry and her throat had constricted so tight she couldn’t even squeak.
The late-coming biker approached the table. Chloe could barely process what she was seeing. He was out of the dress shirt and pants, and wearing faded denim and a leather vest. A chain hung around his neck and rings adorned two of his fingers. Gone was the polished look, replaced by a far more casual style. Almost grungy.
He was one of them.
A biker.
Logan was one of the Hell’s Handlers.
Her entire body began to tremble like a leaf in a category five hurricane. Try as she might, she had no control over the convulsing of her muscles.
“We good?” he asked as he reached the table. His gaze hit her then a wide-eyed expression of shock that should have been comical crossed his face. He let out a harsh curse. Last weekend she’d have said Logan was unflappable. Right now, the man was beyond flapped. “Chloe,” he said, blinking and looking to Stephanie as though she would provide the answer to why they were in the same place at the same time. Oh, and with all his biker buddies present, of course.
Logan was a biker.
Like gears slamming into place, Chloe heard the pieces of the puzzle connecting in her head. From the very first time she’d laid eyes on Logan in the bar, something about him was vaguely familiar.
Even though she’d never seen her savior’s face, she knew it then. Logan was the man who had rescued her from the hotel room.
He’d seen her at her very worst.
He knew who she was all along. Knew who she was when he approached her in the bar. He’d lied. She’d broken every one of her rules, leapt outside her comfort zone, and given the man her trust. And he’d lied to her at all stops along the way. The sense of betrayal and mortification was almost suffocating. She had to get the hell out of there.
“Chloe—” he started.
“No!” she shouted as her stomach churned like a washing machine. She backed up, holding her hands out toward him off. When her next step had her chair crashing to the ground, she stumbled around it and spun. Two running steps had her nearing the side exit. Her knees wobbled, her vision went fuzzy, her breath came in ragged gasps, but she focused on that exit sign with nothing but the thought of escape in mind.
