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“What can I get you?” I ask. The man slowly raises his head, and my heart beats faster. There’s no way. It can’t be him.
“What are you doing here, Kyla?”
“Wha … what are you doing here?”
“I was asking you the same thing.”
“You can’t be here,” I tell him. He can’t. There’s no way. How? How is he here?
“Well, I am. And I see you’re doing well.” I shake my head and step back when Striker calls out to me. I walk back down the bar and stop in front of him.
“I need a favor,” I say softly as I smile and pass him another beer.
“What is it?”
“There’s a man at the end of the bar. A man from my past. If he’s here, it only means bad things, Striker.” He nods his head.
“I’ll get you outta here,” he says. I nod my thanks as he leans over to tell his brothers something. This moves down the line until a few of them stand up and huddle around him. Striker grabs my arm, tugs me out of the bar, and over to his bike, where I climb on. He takes off with me on the back and rushes through the streets.
We make it back to my apartment, and he looks around before we climb off the bike. Then I hurry inside and pay the babysitter for watching Axel and watch as she leaves before locking the door behind her.
“You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?”
“He’s … he shouldn’t be here.” I pace the floor, running my hand through my hair. This is wrong. This is all wrong. What the hell is he doing here?
“Calm down and talk to me, Taylor.”
“My name isn’t Taylor.” Now I look up at Striker and see the confusion in his eyes.
“What?”
“I need another favor, Striker, and then I’ll explain it all to you. Please.”
“What do you need?”
“I need to go to the clubhouse. He wouldn’t show up there. I need to make sure Axel is safe,” I tell him. I won’t let him near my son.
“I can do that. I’ll lock it down.” I nod as I rush through the apartment, picking up things and stuffing them in bags.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?”
“We’re going to see the clubhouse again. You remember when we went there with Striker?” Axel nods as he stares up at me with his big brown eyes.
“Okay. That’s what we’re going to do. Go get teddy,” I tell him as he rushes off to get his favorite stuffed bear. Striker walks into my room and stares at me as I sling more things into the bag and zip it up.
“Everything’s gonna be okay, Taylor. I got you.”
“You don’t understand, Striker. You don’t.”
“Well, you’re gonna tell me, yeah?” I nod as I toss the bags over my shoulder and look up at him.
“My real name is Kyla. Kyla Marcos.”
“As in Mitchel Marcos?”
“That’s the one.”
“Fuck.”
