Page 16 of His Loyal Rebel

But he had a long list of crimes he'd committed after his release from the state penitentiary.

Weaving down the blocks, he heard sirens in the distance. He needed to hole up somewhere until they gave up the hunt.

As he grew farther away from the clubhouse, he kept trying to put distance between him and the urgency of the siren. He'd already passed Frank's house. Not wanting to compromise anyone else in the club, he kept riding, flying through stop signs and dodging traffic.

Going down Tenth Street, he remembered Ringtail's girlfriend's rental. Twyla would be home by now. If not, he knew where Angie had hidden the key.

He shut off his headlight, using the streetlights to guide him. Twyla had parked her car in the driveway.

Turning his head, he searched the area behind him. The police hadn't caught up with him. He hopped the sidewalk, rode alongside her car, and hoped like hell there was room between the house and the fence for him to get to the backyard.

Almost putting the bike down when a garden hose tilted the front wheel, he put the motorcycle in neutral and jumped off, killing the engine. He pushed the Harley behind the house, attuned to the distant sound of sirens.

The son of a bitch wasn't giving up.

Walking along the back of the house, he looked through the windows. Twyla had the place lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, but there was no sign of her through the windows.

At the back door, he knocked. After several seconds, he tried again. "Hey, Twyla? It's Whip. Can you open up?"

He probably scared her to death, showing up and hanging around her back door.

The sirens changed octave. He knocked again.

The curtain at the window to the right of the door moved, and Twyla looked out. He stepped into view and held up his hand, pointing to the door.

She wrinkled her brows. What could he do?

He had nowhere else to go at the moment. If he left now, the cops would be on his ass.

She moved away from the window. The lock clicked, and she opened the door. He pushed his way inside.

"Sorry for barging in, sis." He closed the curtain in the kitchen. "Can I use your phone?"

In her hand, she held the pistol. She pointed the end of the barrel toward the wall. He ignored the threat to his life. She wasn't going to shoot him.

He called the clubhouse and stepped away from Twyla, stretching the cord across the room. Paco answered on the third ring.

"It's Whip. I've got a tail on me," he said.

"Where are you?"

"Ringtail's girl's old house. Tenth Street." He lowered his voice. "I can't shake him."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing, man."

"I'll grab a crew and head out, give you a distraction. Do you know where you're going to go?" asked Paco.

"I can't go back to the clubhouse until I know why they're after me. I'll need somewhere to hide my Harley." He glanced at Twyla, watching him. "I'm going to hold out here. I'll check back in a couple of hours. Can you have Priest make a few calls and see if someone's gunning for me?"

"Will do."

"Thanks." He hung up the receiver and looked at Twyla.

She stared back at him. If she was shocked by the conversation, she never showed it.

"Just pretend I'm not here," he whispered.

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