Page 52 of His Loyal Rebel

"Anything I can do to help?"

Gazing down at her, willing and confident in a world that could hurt her, he wanted to send her far away. Far away from him. Far away from Tarkio.

Except, he couldn't set her out on her own with Big out there. If he was right and Cusclan was responsible for the fire, they'd use Twyla as a message for Tarkio—and she could die.

They'd kill her if only to hurt him.

He brought her to his chest, cupping her head with his hand. "Promise me you'll stay with me at the clubhouse."

"I will, but..." She pressed against him, but he refused to let her go. " Don't you think it would be better if I get an apartment or even room with someone? We can still see each other."

"Give me time to figure shit out." He kissed the top of her head and then patted her ass. "Once we get on the interstate, you'll take the lead. If you lose me, go directly to the police station and lay on the horn until someone comes out to help you."

She frowned. "Separated?"

"If we do."

"What do you think could happen—?"

"Just do what I said." He walked over to his motorcycle.

She needed to learn to listen without questioning. He couldn't be fighting with her every step if he was going to keep her safe.

Navigating the ruts on the trail, he rode away from Tarkio property and entered the highway. Guiding Twyla, he checked the traffic ahead and behind him, then moved into the left lane and signaled for Twyla to take the lead.

She passed him on the right, spending too long looking at him and not enough time on the road. He cut his speed and rode into the right lane, getting behind her.

His problems piled up. He hadn't had time to deal with Twyla's fight with her sister or find out what was going on between them. Still reeling from Tracy chewing him a new asshole for involving a woman in his life—a woman associated with Cusclan, pressure came from all sides of him.

Without informing Tracy of his reasons why Twyla was at the club, all he could do was assure her he had everything under control.

He glanced in his side mirror. Now that he was responsible for Twyla, the risks seemed too steep to use her as bait to draw Cusclan in. The fire was only one sign that the other motorcycle club would stop at nothing.

Putting his troubles aside, he concentrated on his surroundings as Twyla weaved her way down the streets in Missoula and parked in front of the clubhouse.

Curley stood outside with Hammer and Priest. He parked, walked over to Twyla's vehicle, and opened the door.

She studied him without saying a word. He cupped the back of her neck, letting her know that she and him were okay. That what bothered him had to do with the club, and not her.

"I'm going to talk to Prez." He lifted his chin, letting her know she should stay inside.

She frowned before walking away from him. He shut the door and approached the group.

"We've got a problem." He grabbed his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "I took Twyla out to the cabin."

"This morning?" asked Priest.

"Just came from there." He opened the book of matches and lit his smoke. "Someone burnt the cabin to the ground."

"Fuck." Priest widened his stance. "When?"

"The rubble was cold. It's been a day or more. It's too hard to tell by the tracks in and out who has been there with all the ruts," he said.

"Cusclan," mumbled Curley.

Whip nodded. "That's what I figure."

"They're letting us know you took Twyla to the cabin." Priest looked over his shoulder at the clubhouse. "Now, she's here."

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