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“Thanks to you. You’ve given me more than a way out. You’ve given me hope.”
“Everyone deserves that, Cherry.”
“Soon,” I whisper, more to myself than to Elora, “soon, I’ll be just another face in the crowd.”
***
The neon glow of the bar sign flickers across the pavement in a blood-like hue. The night is heavy with the scent of impending rain, and it feels like the air is charged with a tension that seeps into my bones.
“Cherry,” Elora says, her hand on my shoulder, her touch grounding. “We’ll get you through this. You’re not alone.”
I nod, unable to voice the gratitude that swirls within me like a silent storm. The roar of engines cut through the night as we approach the entrance of the bar.
Inside, the air is thick with smoke and the weight of a hundred secrets. Shadows cling to the corners where whispers are traded like currency. Elora leads the way through the crowd of bikers, authors, and readers from the signing earlier today.
A smile brightens Elora’s face and I follow her gaze. Grim is standing next to a lawman, he ends the conversation and makes his way to her.
“You look good,” she says when he’s in front of her.
Bending, he kisses her lips and says, “You look better.”
Elora blushes and does a twirl for him. “You like?”
“Yes, you look beautiful.”
The way he’s treating Elora is so different to how Tank treated me. I can see he really likes her and a part of me is jealous.
I clear my throat and Grim’s eyes come to me. “Cherry.”
“Grim.”
Whitney comes up behind us, all smiles and happiness. “Hey, Grim.”
“Hey, Whit.”
Grim puts his hands on Elora’s shoulders, and says, “I need to take Cherry out the back and get her on her way. Will you two be okay on your own?”
Elora nods and then Grim holds out a hand to me. For a moment I stare at it then l slip my hand into his and he pulls me through the crowed room.
He stops briefly to talk to one of his men. “Keep an eye on Elora and Whitney, yeah? Get them a drink.”
“Will do, Prez.”
This man gives me a once-over and moves away from us, headed for Elora.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Out the back. I have a friend waiting for you.”
“Elora said it was someone called JD?”
“Yep.” Grim doesn’t say anything more as he walks me past the bar, down a hallway and finally into a back room.
A man leans on the far wall. He’s wearing a leather jacket adorned with patches and pins but none of them are affiliations with an MC. There’s a scar on his face—a jagged line that tells a tale of violence and survival, he scowls at me when he sees the mark on my cheek.
“JD, this is Cherry.”
He pushes off the wall and walks toward me with his hand outstretched. JD is easily six foot four and a wall of muscle.
