Page 81 of Biker's Enemy

"That orange light."

"Oh, we have thirty more miles."

"And we're in the middle of nowhere. Let's stop at the next place for gas."

Juliette is the type of person who "knows her car" and I'm the type of person who never likes driving a car with less than half a tank of gas. She makes me nervous as hell riding around like this. It's not like I don't want to believe in her optimistic worldview. It's just... Avery.

My protective urges surrounding her are stronger than I ever expected when I signed Tanner's contract. At least we have her back. A giant exit sign calms my heightening anxiety as I watch the Rav-4 give more aggressive signals about the dwindling gas tank.

Juliette calmly veers off and coasts us into a spot in front of pump number seven. I swear we must have seven drops of gas left in the tank. She grins at me.

"I told you we would make it!"

"You are the reason I have anxiety."

"Woo!" Juliette says. "I'll pump the gas. You get the snacks. Deal?"

She reaches into her purse and hands me a $50 bill before I can protest. I don't bother protesting since I know her husband gives her a giant allowance and I am hungry as hell. Avery might need some formula and a change too, but I'll get the snacks first and then assess the situation.

The gas station is called Sinclairs. I wonder if the owners have any relation to Hunter Sinclair, Juliette's husband. She seems completely convinced about our safety here, so I assume she must be right. I walk into the gas station, suddenly nervous.

It's just a gas station. A normal one at that. There are those giant machines with flavored ice. Donuts. Several flavors of burned, watered down coffee. Tiles that smell like disinfectant. And one employee at the front. She has dark hair in a single braid that hangs over her right shoulder and hazel eyes that have at least three colors on the irises. Woah. Pretty. But she doesn't look like Juliette's husband. She looks more like Wyatt.

"Hi," she says. "How may I help you?"

I glance down at her name tag. Lacey.

"Uh... I'm just looking around."

"Would you like to try our cold brew?" she asks. "It's a new product we have and nobody out here knows what the hell it is. You look more... urban."

I don't know if I should be offended or not, but I nod and accept Lacey's offer for cold brew. She ducks to the mini-fridge behind her when the gas station's side door opens up, ringing a loud bell, which isn't necessary to announce the newcomer, who yells the second she pushes the door open.

"SOMEONE HELP!" she screams, running into the middle of the gas station floor in a panic. "HELP ME!"

Lacey perks straight up, setting the cold brew on the counter.

"What's going on, ma'am?" Lacey asks, showing enough confusion that I'm guessing this isn't some local flavor accustomed to expressing herself like this. This woman came from the other side of the gas station too, so I can't just look behind me and see where the hell she came from.

"I NEED HELP!" the woman screams, but then she looks straight at me. "COME. YOU CAN HELP ME."

I don't want to go with her -- not without telling Juliette -- but she grabs my arm and starts dragging me towards the door.

"Ma'am!" Lacey yells at both of us, but I don't hear what she says because the crazy white lady who just dragged me outside shuts the door behind us. Now, I really don't feel good.

"I should go..."

There's no one out here. But the white woman's grip on my forearm gets tight. I whip it away from her and while turning my body around, I see that we are very much not alone at all. Shit.

A tall man wearing all black and a helmet gets off a bike, walking towards the gas station door.

The woman blocks the door so I can’t get back in, trapping me there for him I assume. I don’t give her motives much thought. She's about half my size, so I do something I never thought I was capable of and I suddenly turn into a goddamn NFL player. I grab her ass and haul her out of the way.

She screams, but I scream even louder because the biker shoots at us. Well, he's probably just shooting at me, but he clearly doesn't give a fuck who he hits. The bullet nearly deafens me, but I rip the door open anyway, and since I'm still running, I assume he missed.

I need to keep moving. When I burst into the gas station, I slam straight into Lacey and smack my jaw hard on the shotgun she's holding up. Thankfully, she has the muzzle pointed at the ceiling so we both just scream loudly and shooting pain surges through my jaw from whacking my damn face against the gun.

"GET BEHIND ME!" Lacey says, swinging her black braid over her shoulder and pointing her gun straight into the screaming woman's stomach as she chases after me. Lacey shoves her back, avoiding the trigger as she shoves the woman against the glass.

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