Page 5 of Motorycle Daddies

My eyes linger on Grizzly as I begin to walk out. His hair is starting to get that salt-and-pepper look, but he’s definitely kept his good looks. I catch myself and blush, forcing my eyes ahead as I walk and chat with the girls on the way out to the car.

“So, where are we headed?” Harlow asks as I climb into the back seat.

I lean forward. “I don’t know, and I don’t really care—I figure we just play it by ear and have a nice day. We have a while, right?”

“Yep. No classes for me today,” Addy says, turning to me. “And you only have the one later this evening, right? When do you need to be back?”

“I have at least three or four hours before I need to cram and then kind of decompress before class. We should be good.”

“Okay then. What say we hit the mall, get some food, and then maybe go to an arcade or something?” Harlow suggests.

“Sounds like a plan,” Addy says, pulling the car out of the clubhouse lot.

For hours, we focus on each other and enjoy the rarity of a girls’ day. It almost feels like we’re young again, completely unburdened. Or at least we can pretend to be. Like old times.

I’m almost disappointed when we part ways a little earlier than we planned. Harlow had started missing the twins, and Addy got a call from some guy about wanting to go to a party with her. Once I’m left alone, I decide to take the time for a run. It’s a good way for me to burn off energy, especially when I’m feeling stressed.

I breeze by my dorm room, getting dressed in some leggings and a tank top and strapping on my Adidas. As I pull my hair up, I lean over to look at my phone on the nightstand, wondering what’s going on with my father and if I should call him. He really did seem paranoid, and I don’t know where the hell he went.

No, I tell myself. You have college to focus on. A life. Time to live it.

I can’t always be worried about my father. He’s not my child. He’s not my responsibility.

I head out onto the campus grounds. There’s a slight chill to the air, but it’s not bad. Not that desert cold yet.

It’s pretty quiet on campus right now. Most people are either in class or eating dinner, or getting ready for some party. I have just enough time to get in a thirty-minute run and then shower before I have to get to class. And I’ll have a few minutes before class to go over my study booklet one more time.

I look at the pavement and all the different paths that cross around campus. It’s a perfect setup for running. And despite the fact that we’re in the middle of the city, I can hardly hear the traffic and everything else going on in downtown Vegas.

I finally decide to head toward the research building, near the edge of the campus on the north side. It should be about ten to fifteen minutes each way, which will put me right on time.

I clear my mind and start jogging, eventually turning it into a run. I barely notice anything around me until I hear a honk. There’s a large maroon vehicle coming up close to me. It’s not a car I recognize, but it’s not like I know everyone on campus.

I stop as the driver rolls the window down and looks around. There are two people in the car, both male. Both of them probably juniors or seniors. “Sorry, but we’re looking for the research center,” one says. They must be new or visiting.

I start giving them the simple directions, but that’s when I feel it—a sting in my neck. All I know after that is that I’m starting to fall.

3

TRAP

Ispeed up and cut around another vehicle on this old two-lane highway. I look in my mirrors to see if what I think is happening is really happening, and catch a glimpse of Tag on the back of my bike.

At least, that’s what we call him. I don’t know Tag’s real name, and I probably never will. He’s one of our informants, and recently he’s come across some important information that Grizzly needs—information that’s so important I don’t even know what it’s related to. I was simply sent to pick his ass up and keep him safe.

As I watch a car and another motorcycle weave around the eighteen-wheeler behind me, I know this is about to be a lot more trouble than he might be worth.

But I have orders. I look at the mile marker, and I don’t like what I see. My best bet to lose these jackasses is to get on some busy highway and weave in and out until they can’t find me, to take some kind of alternate route, but Grizzly sent me into the desert for this shit.

I’m still a good seven miles away—I’ll have to book it.

“Well, shit!” I grind my teeth. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a gun lying subtly on the dash of the man behind me as traffic slows.

Maybe there’s some kind of animal in the road. Maybe a stopped vehicle. I really don’t give a fuck. I need to get the hell out of here.

“Tag,” I say with a warning tone. Despite being an informant for an MC, this guy is a chickenshit. I could tell from the way he looked at me when I went to get him. I know it doesn’t help that I have these huge muscles and tattoos everywhere, or the fact that I tower over him in stature—but seriously, the guy has had to deal with us before.

Maybe he’s just paranoid as hell right now.

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