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I have no idea who that guy is, and no idea where he could be taking me, but at this point, I can only hope that he might have a clue.
Because I sure don’t.
4
Katy
The roar of the engine dies down, the vibrations of the bike tapering off, and we pull to a stop.
“What the fuck...” My voice trails off as the world comes back into focus.
I’m absolutely caked in soot, smoke, dirt, and grit. My arms and legs are shaky. My stomach is wrung out. My whole body feels like it wants to vomit out of every pore from the toes to the top of my skull.
But I’m about to put this asshole five feet under, and I’ve got a feeling he knows it.
We weren’t even thirty minutes away from the bar when we’d stopped down a country lane at a pull-out with a blown-out old gas station that’s more-than-half-boarded up. He hadn’t pulled over once, even as I screamed in his ear for the entire middle portion of the ride out here, the town whipping by and finally melting into the dust-lands at its rims and edges.
He’s still on what I presume is his bike, not four feet from where he dumped me off of him, slouching back in the leathersaddle and watching me as I… ‘glare’ is not a powerful or vibrant enough word to describe my eyes as they lock with his. The anger vibrates up my spine, sparking behind my pupils and burning hotly in my cheeks, my chest heaving tight and fast as I try to get ahold of my breath. I think I may have left it back at the bar.
“You take me home, right now!” I stammer through the words, struggling to get them out from behind my shuddering teeth. Even as I’m speaking them, part of me wonders how possible my request even is. “What the HELL was that?!”
Tall, handsome, mysterious stranger cocks his head slowly to one side, that inky black shroud of hair falling against his temple before he lifts a hand to rake it off of his forehead. His jacket shifts along his shoulders, dragging upward, and it pulls his shirt with it, exposing a tight and defined stomach. I glance away, settling myself.
Why the hell won’t he even answer me…?
Something further in me snaps. I march toward him and wrap all of my fingers in the lapels of his jacket, the leather supple and gritty with dust under my fingers. His face is inches from mine, but his expression doesn’t change. Neutral, bordering on amused. Why does he think this is funny? What even does he think is funny? The front of our family bar got blown up, we got shot at by three thugs, and my sister is still with them, and this jackass—
“Are you laughing?” I demand.
“Do I sound like I am?” His tone is amused. We’re nearly nose to nose, and there’s no disguising the twinkle in his eyes. I let out a noise of disgust and shove him away from me, taking a few steps back.
“Fine. Fuck you.” I stomp past his bike, toward the road, kicking gravel as I go. Puffs of dust herald my arrival as I walk to the edge of the service station and look down the long road back to the city, and back to my sister.
My throat tightens up. Fear is clawing at my heart, the sound of her screams worrying in my mind over and over. It’s on a fast rewind, the whites of her eyes shining bright, her mouth open wide. I’ve got to help her, to save her. Whoever those guys were, they’d violently attacked our bar. The thought of what they could be doing to her right now makes a slow shiver crawl up my back, settling in every single one of my ribs.
“That’ll take you hours, y’know,” he calls out, lazily. “They’ll be long gone by the time you get there.”
“It is what it is,” I snap at him over my shoulder. He’s leaning back, hands loose on by his sides, his feet solid on the ground. Watching me. And his eyes — I can see them from here. I tell myself it must be the sun, but his eyes still glint gold, like sand or dust on the horizon, even from ten feet away. “And anyway, you were such a big hero, rescuing me, saving my life, et cetera, so why don’t you be a gent and give me a lift back?” I try not to let the fear I feel creep into my voice, but it’s there. The worry. The uncertainty. The desperation.
“That’d be signing your death warrant,” he says calmly, his expression relaxed and neutral. “So, no. I don’t think I will.”
My chest goes stiff and tight, and I stare at him.
“Those men were chasing you,” I say, matter-of-fact, “they shot at you.” These are truths that I know, deep in my soul. He showed up, thenTheyshowed up. The math was simple, the logic was unflawed. He andTheyhad to be connected. It had tobe.
He arches one dark eyebrow and then glances away from me, toward the service station. The windows were long ago blown out, the doorway blocked by a sheet of plywood, but I can see the outline of the desert through the half-broken walls. What he’s looking at, I have no idea.
“That’s what you wanna think, what you gotta think, then, okay? But if you go back, they’ll come for you. They’re looking for you. I was looking for you, too. You’re just lucky I’m the one who found you first.” He hits the kick stand with his foot and dismounts, for the first time since getting on it. Way, way back in our cursed meeting.
I tense and back up quickly toward the road.
“Stay away!” I say, panic gripping me like a fist, squeezing my throat until the words barely squeak out. “What do you want?”
His gaze is steady, locked on me as he walks toward me. My eyes search his person, trying to locate anywhere he could be concealing a gun. Because by now I’m pretty convinced… he’s going to kill me. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I did. I don’t even drive, so it’s not like I could have cut him off in traffic and he hunted me down at my dad’s bar and—
He’s ten feet away. Then five. I stumble back, my foot hitting a broken piece of cement curb, and I topple with a grunt.
He blurs in front of me, his arms wrapping around me, cradling one hand in the crook of my neck, the other in the small of my back, and he catches me inches from the ground. His hands are so hot through the fabric of my shirt, and against my bare skin.
