Page 27 of His Road Dog

"How long can I rent the room?"

"One week at a time." The guy leaned closer and lowered his voice. "But you come and see me if you need to stay longer, okay?"

She placed her hand on his arm and shared a grin. "I definitely will..."

"Shaun." He laughed nervously. "My name's Sh-Shaun."

"Well, Shaun." She dug through her purse. "I think I'm going to like staying here."

While he shakily filled in her information, took the first week of rent, and explained to her twice how sometimes the door sticks, but if you kick the bottom, it'll pop it open, she relaxed. On her own, she could handle whatever comes her way.

Five minutes later, she was stretched out on the bed in her single room with the kitchenette two feet from her feet. The vroom of traffic driving by provided background noise for her thoughts. Because of Priest taking up her time, she hadn't let herself dwell on Roy.

She stared up at the ceiling. His death was such a waste of a life. Roy was a good man. Kind. Generous. Fun.

By now, Roy's sister probably knew about her brother. Camille lived in Seattle. Roy talked about her often and always smiled, recalling childhood stories. Far as she knew, that was his only living relative.

Tomorrow, she would buy a newspaper and see if someone planned a funeral for him. She'd like to pay her respects.

She closed her eyes. It was time to get on with her life. She'd made the right decision when she'd left Priest's house and found a room to stay by herself.

Sure, the sex was great with Priest. He was giving during the times they both wanted pleasure. There were times he'd pushed her to be more openminded and having seen and done so many things over the years when sex was a pastime and not something that should be private and never talked about, he surprised her.

Tying her to the post of the bed and putting all his attention on her was mind-blowingly good. There was something primal and dangerous about Priest. He was the kind of man her mom warned her about when she struck out on her own.

The kind of man who could hurt her.

She rubbed her hands over her face. Every time she'd attended a biker rally, she'd enjoyed herself. They reminded her of her family. Everyone was partying, experiencing their sexual freedom, and simply living life. That was a rare thing in today's society.

When she'd walked past the clubhouse, heard the noise, smelled the air, she'd gone inside to check things out, thinking it was a biker bar—open to the public.

She'd been wrong.

But then, a woman about her age grabbed her hand and started dancing with her, and she'd stayed. Even long after the woman had disappeared, nobody else had bothered her. Men had talked to her. She'd received some attention. She'd drank some stuff that reminded her of mead.

When she'd stepped out for air, Priest had shown up. Her stomach fluttered. He'd taken flirting to another level, and she loved the tit for tat that had gone on between them.

She'd left that night never thinking she'd see him again.

Maybe it would've been better if she'd left the police station by herself and never experienced what Priest could do to her.

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