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‘Why?’ I managed to utter.
There was a brief silence on the other end. ‘It was a test,’ Emilio said. ‘Congratulations. You passed.’
CHAPTER TEN
MARIANA
Several agonising hours later, with all of the pellets somewhere in the greater San Diego sewer system, I heard the beginnings of an angry buzz.
Motorcycles?
I swallowed the French fry I’d been chewing on and glanced at Murphy, who was sitting across from me, watching me with those weird blue eyes.
The buzz turned to a steady growl that threatened to shake the room.
I don’t know how I knew it was them. It just made sense.
‘Gypsy Brothers,’ I whispered.
That got Murphy’s attention. ‘Oh, you know them, do you?’
I glared at him. ‘I know of them.’ If you knew of Il Sangue, it was kind of impossible not to know about the Gypsy Brothers motorcycle club. The two went hand in hand. Like clouds and rain.
Like blood and death.
Murphy’s grin grew wide as he observed my horrified face. He took one last swig of his beer and slammed it on the table in front of me, his eyes never leaving mine.
‘I would have been so much nicer to you than them.’ He shrugged. ‘They’re gonna rip you apart.’
The collective buzz reached its peak. I drew the curtain back and glanced outside to the shitty parking lot, my heart hammering in my chest as I saw about fifteen bikers pull up on Harley Davidsons and dismount. They looked strictly business as most of them stayed close to their bikes, a few at the front of the pack approaching our motel room.
They looked fierce, but I’d grown up with fierce.
No, they looked terrifying.
Even though the bikes were silent, their buzz continued to resonate in my head. Panic grabbed my throat and squeezed. Just breathe, I told myself. Breathe.
Three hard raps hit the door to the motel room, and I jumped out of my seat. So far I’d been able to hold it together, but now, with this fresh hell outside the door, I was breaking apart.
I dropped the curtain and turned back in time to see Murphy opening the door. Three men in full leathers and open-face helmets strode in like they owned the place. Hell, they probably did. They sported identical patches on their leather vests, tapered triangles that rounded at the corners in black and white threads. I glanced at one of the patches nervously, mentally cataloguing the wings that framed a sword, a ribbon furling across the bottom with ‘Gypsy Brothers’ embroidered in block letters.
The one who was clearly in charge — the one with the bright red and black patch that said ‘VP’ underneath the Gypsy Brothers ribbon — knocked Murphy with his shoulder on his way past. Murphy clenched his jaw and stepped back. I smiled a little, my fear momentarily forgotten as I realised Murphy was shitting-his-pants scared of these guys. I wondered if they’d ripped him apart before, and his warning was from personal experience.
The VP was as terrifying as he was handsome. He looked to be around thirty, maybe a little older, the few fine lines around his eyes and slight peppering of grey through the front of his hair only adding to his raw appeal. He wore three-day-old stubble like it was his bitch, his deep brown eyes so dark, they blended almost seamlessly with his black pupils. VP — vice-president? The way he carried himself made me wonder who could possibly preside over somebody like him. I must have been staring for a moment too long. I caught the glint in his eye as he stared right back at me, the raw power in his eyes almost like a jolt to my system. His wide, sensual lips tugged up at one side in amusement.
‘Thought you said she was a screamer,’ he said to Murphy, never taking his eyes from me. ‘She looks more like a crazy one to me.’ When he spoke, his voice was like gravel. It was so deep, each of his words reverberated in my chest. It was the kind of throaty sound that would either terrify or reassure.
I wondered which one it would do to me.
My small smile turned to a look of derision as I glared at Murphy. ‘A screamer?’
‘More of a moaner,’ Murphy said stiffly, like a geek trying to fit in with the popular guys.
‘Too bad you’ll never know,’ I shot back at him. He narrowed his freakish blue eyes at me, and my skin crawled.
‘Shut your mouth,’ Murphy said, but the biker in front of me seemed utterly absorbed in what I was saying. His mouth twitched at the side again, and he rubbed his stubbled chin with his fingers.
‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’ he asked, a wolfish grin spreading across his face.
