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There was too much to think about to worry about Maisie’s misplaced anger. I had to figure out where Aries and Gemma were and rescue them if necessary.
I needed to come up with a plan to keep Savannah safe while killing the Black Jacks who would, no doubt, go to war to get her back. When they had her in their clutches again, they would kill her just because they could.
And then there was the issue of Ronan and The Crusaders. It wasn’t my fight, but thanks to the club’s connection to the Ashby family; it was now.
Savannah’s grip tightened around my waist, and I turned to look over my shoulder. “My legs are getting numb,” she shouted over the roar of the bike.
I nodded and turned my head back to the road, glancing down at the time. Two hundred minutes and I had nothing to help my club, no permanent solution to keeping Savannah safe that didn’t involve her leaving town. And I still hadn’t figured out what it meant to see Sadie and Mueller having a romantic dinner together. Not a goddamn thing.
I pulled off the highway into a giant rest stop that had a park to one side and a diner on the other. I parked right in the center so I could see my bike from every angle.
I faced Savannah and helped her remove her helmet. “Sorry about that, I should have asked if you were okay with a long ride.”
Savannah swung one long leg over the bike and jumped off with an exaggerated sigh and a lopsided smile.
“No problem. I didn’t realize leg numbness was a side effect of riding a motorcycle. It was nice though.” She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly while she twirled in a circle, gaze fixed on the night sky, then spoke over her shoulder. “You okay?” she asked.
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
Savannah kept her gaze focused on the stars twinkling like diamonds in the sky. “You seemed like you really needed to ride. I mean, your cousin is kind of crazy, but I can see how that little outburst could weigh a little heavy on you. And combined with adjusting to your new responsibilities as President of your club and harboring the daughter of an enemy. Dude, you’re fucked.”
“Perceptive.”
“That’s me.” She turned now and looked at me, flashing a wide grin as phony as a three-dollar bill. “All perceptive and shit. So, are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Or I will be. Eventually.”
She laughed and the sound, for the first time, was light and airy and free.
“Come on, let me pick out something for you to eat, Mr. President.” She nodded toward the diner and flashed a teasing grin. “Damn, I’ve missed the smell of greasy diner food.”
“You eat greasy diner food? You’re shattering my illusions, Savannah.”
“Yeah, I eat. So?”
“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
We walked across the parking lot, and when I pushed open the door, she let out a laugh that drew a few stares from truckers worn out from too many miles without sleeping in their own beds and a couple tables of weary road-trippers.
“This is what I’ve been waiting for,” she said, inhaling the aroma of fries, burgers, and beer. She sidled up to the counter with a wide grin for the elderly server. “Two double cheeseburgers, fries, onion rings and one large milkshake, please.”
“And two waters,” I added with an amused grin.
“Coming right up, sweetheart.”
Savannah leaned on the counter and added, “Can you make it to go so my friend and I can go outside and enjoy the stars? They’re so bright tonight.” She gave the woman her full attention, completely unaware of all the eyeballs raking over her curves.
“You two from Vegas?” Her gaze bounced between us; a slow smile spread across her thin lips.
“Close enough that we don’t get to see the stars like you do, and I don’t know about you, but I prefer my double cheeseburgers with an excellent view. Oh, and bacon.”
“Me too,” she smiled. “Five minutes, honey.”
“Thanks.” Savannah turned to me, blue eyes bright with mischief and good humor. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“I’m always hungry. I hope you don’t want too many onion rings because they are my favorite.”
“I know. No one orders onion rings from a pizza place, Charlie.”
That blue gaze studied me for a long time, and I wondered what it was Savannah Rhymer saw when she looked at me. A stupid biker? A new Prez in over his head? The man who could get her killed?
And then she picked up her earlier question. “What’s got you so worried, Mr. President?”
“Nothing,” I told her with a sigh that said the exact opposite. “Everything.”
She laughed and turned again when the waitress returned with our food. “Thanks, Denise,” she said reading the woman’s name tag. “Have a good shift.”
