Page 97 of Fighting a Riot

“You would not,” Mallory said.

Andrea nodded. “Yeah. Someone would lose their mind if we took you.”

My lips twisted into a small pout. “Well, I guess I’ll call Yak.”

After I explained what was going on, he repeated what I’d said and I knew there was someone else in the room with him. He kept quiet for a long moment. “I know those appointments help you, Nora. Can you reschedule to five? Then I could—”

I heard someone talking in the background.

Yak said, “Hold on, Turk has an idea.”

He made a humming noise, as if he didn’t like Turk’s idea.

Then he said, “Yeah, I know, Turk, but…”

There was the garbled sound of another man talking.

Yak blew out a breath. “Fine.” Then to me he said, “You there?”

“Yep.”

“Gonna call Prime. We think he’s at the clubhouse. He can take you. Cool?”

“Sure, but I could drive or take an—”

“Nope. Had a dancer attacked eight nights ago. I’m not taking any chances.”

That silenced me. Another hospital visit turned my stomach. “Gotcha. I’ll wait for Prime.”

“FYI, he’s over his concussion, but he still has a black eye healing up. Don’t let that scare you. Got it?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

Prime’s eye was bruised though it didn’t look as bad as I expected. He moved as though his whole body was still stiff. I quickly told him where the rehab facility was off of Highway 17.

He nodded. “Yeah. I know that area.”

Trixie scanned him up and down. “You sure you’re good to drive? You’re moving like you’re stiff.”

From the way his lips quirked, it was hard to say if he was holding back a smile or annoyed at Trixie’s concern. “I’m fine. But thanks, Trixie.”

As we drove south on Blanding Boulevard, he got in the left turn lane for I-295. Taking the interstate to travel the mile and a half to Highway 17 wasn’t how I would have done it, but I wasn’t going to be a side-seat driver.

The moment he merged into the far-left lane of the interstate, I pulled my cell phone from my wristlet and gawked at him. “Prime, you’re going the wrong way. We needed to get off back there.”

He snatched my phone from my hand and tossed it between his feet onto the floorboard. “Shut the fuck up, bitch. You aren’t making your appointment. You aren’t even making it to tomorrow.”

My eyes widened, my mouth went dry, and fear gripped my chest.

He sounded nothing like the good old boy he’d been in front of Trixie, Mallory, and Andrea.

The amount of hatred lacing his tone scared me as much as his erratic driving.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Like it fuckin’ matters. Shut up.”

The not-knowing was killing me. Even though I should listen to my abductor, my nerves were getting the better of me. “You’re right. You took my phone, so it doesn’t matter if you tell me. It’s not like I can call for help.”

---