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15
Makayla
“Ican’t believe you’re going to their clubhouse.”
I glance at the GPS on my dash while I listen to Sarah chastise me for not listening to her about not staying away from Viking and his club. As soon as I got in my car after work last night, I input the address he gave me just in case I lost the piece of paper he wrote it on.
“It’s a party, not an orgy.” I chuckle. “Calm down, Mama Bear.”
“You joke, but I’m serious,” she chides. “My father is a lawyer, and he’s represented bikers in the past. When I think about the crimes they were accused of, it scares me that you’re hanging out with them. What happens if you actually start to fall for this guy? Huh? What then?”
“Again, it’s just a party. Not a date, not an orgy, not a murder spree or drug deal… a party. If you are so against it, why’d you agree to cover my shift at Cherry’s?”
When I agreed to go to the party, I totally spaced that I had to work. That’s what that man does to my brain.
Maybe Sarah is right to be worried.
“Because I worry, but I’m not a monster. I know not all bikers are trouble, but he seemed to have trouble written all over him. That being said, if anyone deserves to have fun, it’s you, and I want you to have fun, Makayla. I just want you to be safe, that’s all.”
“And I appreciate it. I really do. But I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine. And if there’s any sign of trouble, I’ll get the hell out of Dodge, okay?”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She heaves a sigh. “Fine. But when he hurts you, don’t get mad when I tell you I told you so.”
“Girl, you’d supply the wine and ice cream.”
“Dammit, I would.” She laughs lightly. “I’d commiserate with you and console you, but I’m going to do it while I tell you I told you so.”
“And if he doesn’t hurt me?”
“Then I’ll come to the wedding.”
“Okay, that’s taking it a little too far.”
The GPS commands me to take the next left, and I do. Headlights bounce in my rearview mirror as the car behind me takes the same turn.
“Look, I hear Steve coming down the hall,” Sarah says in a whisper. “I gotta go. Be careful.”
“I will.”
She disconnects the call, and I turn up the radio. The further I drive, the more rural the route gets. There’s very little traffic, but there’s still that car behind me.
When it follows me turn to turn, my stomach churns. And when the headlights flash several times as if urging me to pull over, I stomp my foot on the gas and speed up.
“What the hell?” I mutter when the vehicle catches up with me.
I’m so far outside of town that there’s nowhere safe for me to stop and no real way to lose the person. My brain flashes back to the note that was left on my windshield.
You’ll regret this.
Panic digs its talons into me. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now it’s all I can think about. Who wrote the note? Is that who’s behind me?
The only thing I can do is keep driving until I reach the clubhouse. Then, hopefully, someone is outside so I don’t have to get out of the car alone if this asshole is still around.
“You’ll arrive at your destination in two miles.”
