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Embarrassment and guilt settle over me like a soggy blanket. “It’s not like that.”
“Your boyfriend hired bikers to look for you at your friend’s house, Serena. That’s so fucked up. You should be scared.”
“He’s a biker, Emily. He didn’t hire anyone. It’s his club.” Even as I try to explain, I feel her invitation for me to move in being rescinded.
“Jesus. Are you serious?” Her eyes bug as the vague pieces of my past that I’ve shared with her slip into place. “Oh my God. Is this the same organization your ex was part of?”
“They’re not all like Jimmy. Gray’s nothing like him.”
Her eyes are full of pity as she shakes her head. To her, I’m another woman stuck in a pattern of bad decisions.
“Emily—”
“No. You stay here.”
“What are you going to do?”
She checks the safety on her pistol and tucks it in the back of her pants. “I’m going to talk to your gangster boyfriend. And if he tries to break in, I’m going to shoot him,” she whispers back.
“Emily!” I admonish in a harsh whisper. “That’s not funny.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“It’s really not like that.”
“Stay here,” she orders.
Chapter Nine
Grinder
I told you, you couldn’t run from me.
There it is. Serena’s car. Smack in the middle of Emily’s driveway.
Found you.
The urge to storm into the house and claim my woman surges through me. I stare at the sidewalk for a minute, wishing like fuck we were doing this another way.
But I can’t let my girl hide from me for another second.
I park the truck and trudge up the walkway. I give the doorbell an impatient jab and wait. Wind chimes tinkle nearby, but otherwise the house is quiet. Maybe they went out together in Emily’s car? I glance at the garage but can’t tell if anything’s in it from this angle.
A creak. Movement inside of some sort. I squint, but can’t make out anything through the screen door or the pane of frosted glass in the front door.
I jab the bell again.
Finally, the interior door swings open. Emily stands on the other side of the screen door. “Grayson. What are you doing here?”
Lines of tension and apprehension tighten her face as she studies me. Serena’s told her something. I’m not sure what or how much but definitely something that didn’t paint me in a good light. The friendly woman I’d met before has been replaced by this fierce, protective one. Hard hazel eyes drill into me, like she’s considering blowing a hole through my skull.
“Hi, Emily. I’m sorry to bother you. But I’m looking for Serena, has she been by?”
“Did you two have a fight?” she asks.
“No. I need to talk to her, though.” The need to see Serena burns in my chest. She’s close. I feel her presence.
“She’s not here.” All the acting ability in the family went to Libby. Emily’s voice falters and she glances over her shoulder.
Still, something in Emily’s posture puts me on alert. Every instinct I have says I need to handle her carefully. “Emily, I just need to talk to her.” I turn toward the driveway. “That’s her car. Where is she?”
She shifts, holding one arm at an odd angle. Concealing something behind her back.
What the fuck?
“It’s okay, Emily,” Serena’s soft voice soothes all the tension in my body.
Serena walks up behind her friend. “Give me a second, Gray. I’ll meet you outside.”
Emily swivels her head from Serena to me. She sighs and reaches for the locked handle. “No, it’s okay.” There’s a click and she swings the door open. “Come in.”
She steps aside, making room for me to enter.
I catch a black shape in her hand. I slow my movements the same way I would if I’d encountered a cobra.
Did she answer the door with a gun? To protect Serena from me? Jesus Christ, this woman’s brave as fuck and she just earned my admiration and protection for the rest of her life.
Emily catches my eye and carefully tucks what is indeed a pistol into the pocket of her sweatshirt. “Feel free to use the living room. But be aware, I’ll be nearby if Serena needs me.”
“Thank you, Emily.”
She nods and turns away, stopping to say a few words to Serena before disappearing around the corner.
Then, Serena and I are left to stand there staring at each other.
“What’s going on, buttercup?” I finally ask. I don’t want to ask about the pregnancy. I want to wait and see if she confesses on her own. If she doesn’t, we’ve got bigger problems. “I got back to the clubhouse and you were gone. Won’t answer my calls or texts.” I tilt my head. “You know how much I hate to text.”
The corners of her mouth lift. Fear still lingers in her cautious eyes, though. “I don’t know.”
I step closer, holding out my hands to her. “You can do better than that.”
