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“I’m not on the run, babe. I’m facing this problem head-on, just like I always do. Kent Bing deserved to die, and I am going to do everything in my power to make sure everyone knows it.”
“And I’ll help. However and whatever you need from me, I’ll do. I don’t want anyone to know what he did to me, but for you, I will. You saved me all those years ago, so now it’s time for me to repay the favor.”
“Thank you, Imogen.” I pulled my keys from my pocket and hitched my thumb toward the door. “I better get back to Sacramento. The whole club will be out looking for me soon.”
“Your family,” she whispered. “I’m glad you finally found that, Jonathon.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I mean Mace. I promise I’ll try harder to remember that.”
“Eh,” I shrugged. “You got it right about fifty percent of the time.” I moved to the door and glanced back at her over my shoulder. “I’ll be back Monday morning, Imogen,” I promised.
She raised her hand, and a soft smile played on her lips. “I’ll be here, Mace.”
“You can’t run away from me anymore, Imogen. I’ll follow you this time.”
“Bet,” she laughed.
I pulled open the front door and jogged down the stairs. “Lock the door behind me,” I called up the stairs.
“Will do,” she sang. She appeared at the top of the stairs and smiled down at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?”
God, that was fucking tempting. Having Imogen in front of me was a million times better than I ever would have thought. “Raincheck?”
She clamped her lips and nodded. “Of course. Whenever works for you.”
“Later, Imogen.”
I wanted to stay, but I had just dumped a pile of shit at Imogen’s feet, and she needed some time to process it without me in her face.
“Bye, Mace,” she called.
She would have to call me that when I was walking out the door.
I unlocked the door and slipped out to my bike.
I hadn’t been lying to Imogen when I told her the club was my family, and they would be looking for me if I wasn’t back at the clubhouse soon.
The first thing I needed to do was get all this Kent Bing bullshit taken care of, and then I could focus on Imogen.
Fifteen years ago, I knew that Imogen was the girl I wanted.
Life had intervened and taken her away from me.
I wasn’t going to let that happen again.
Imogen had been within my grasp before, and I wouldn’t let her go this time.
*
Chapter Eight
Imogen
“Why is he kidnapping you on a Monday morning?”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed my purse off my desk. “He’s not kidnapping me, Dorothy.”
“Right,” she drawled. “Kidnapping would imply you don’t want to go.” She looked me up and down and shook her head. “I can see your foot tattoo.”
I looked down at my feet and stuck out my foot. “Can you?”
