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“Just a good, old-fashioned maiming, then?” Gemma asks in all seriousness. Her cute little eyebrows furrow in concentration, and her jaw tenses as if bracing herself for the harsh truth.
“Sorry to disappoint, but no maiming, either.”
Those green eyes sparkle with mischief, and fuck if my dick isn’t twitching to life for the first time in God knows how long. What is it about Gemma that’s pushing all the right buttons?
“Got it. No violence whatsoever,” Gemma says, giving me an overdramatic wink. She bursts out laughing, which makes my chest feel funny. “But for real, what about the bike? I’ve always wondered. Does the club give you a bike?”
“No, you gotta bring your own,” I say with a smile. She’s kind of ridiculous with her questions and enthusiasm, but it’s charming, and I find myself wanting to stretch this conversation on as long as possible.
“Shoot. So I’ll need a bike first,” she responds, nodding once.
“You want to join the Savage Saints?”
Gemma shrugs. “Just keeping my options open.” She hits me with another brilliant smile, but something is off in her tone. It takes a second for me to realize what it is.
She’s looking for options, aka, an escape.What are you running from, princess?
Before I can ask, her phone beeps. Gemma digs it out of a pocket hidden in her layers of lace and fabric, and the color drains from her face when she looks at the screen.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and a long-dormant protective streak pushes to the surface. I want to wrap Gemma up in my arms and demand she tell me who put that fear in her eyes.
“I have to go,” she rushes to say. “I-I didn’t realize how late it was. I lost track of time and… I need to go.”
Gemma gathers up her blanket and shoves it into her backpack, along with a book, a notebook, and what looks like a recording device and lapel mic I didn’t notice earlier.
“Wait, what’s wrong? Who was that?”
Gemma doesn’t answer at first, too focused on securing the snaps on her bag. “No one,” she finally replies.
My look says it all.Yeah, fucking right.
Gemma dips her head, breaking eye contact with me. My heart drops to my stomach as I watch her fold in on herself. Where is the energetic, lively woman who wanted to know every detail of the MC? What is she hiding?
“It’s a long story, but… thanks for, um, for this.” She still won’t look at me, and I hate it.
“Gemma,” I say softly, taking a few steps closer to her.
She holds her backpack in front of her like a shield, and while I know it’s not directed at me, her automatic response to protect herself kills me.
“I’m sorry. I have to go,” she repeats.
“You’re free to go. I’m not stopping you,” I assure her. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
This gets her attention. Gemma blinks a few times, and her expressive eyes tear me apart like she can’t quite believe her safety would be important to me. “I…” Green irises dart between mine as she struggles to find an answer. Anything other than an automatic yes is a red flag in my book. “I’m late. I have to go.”
With that, she spins on her heel and weaves in and out of rows of headstones before disappearing down the hill. I’m left staring after her, holding the tiny bouquet of wildflowers she had wrapped in her hands.
What the hell was that? And when can I see her again?
CHAPTERTWO
GEMMA
“You can do this,” I whisper to myself. “Just open the door, walk inside, and…”
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I cross my arms over my chest and resume my pacing in front of the Savage Saints Clubhouse. I’ve been here for ten minutes, trying to work up the courage to go inside and ask to speak to Blade.
Truthfully, this is the third time I’ve been here this week. I chicken out every time. I get all worked up, psych myself out, and then sprint the three blocks back to the graveyard—the only place I feel safe.
