Page 28 of Blood

In black marker. Stepping out of the car I scan my surroundings looking for life but there's just stretches of nothing. I remember coming here when I was young, but it didn't seem so derelict then. Moving towards the door, I tap my knuckles on the windowpane before entering.

Dust lines every surface, the place doesn't look like it's been used in years. “In here,” A gravelly voice calls out from a back room.

Following the sound, I find myself in a small office with the man I remember as Smokey, seated behind a small metal desk. Time hasn't been good to him. He looks frail and weathered, like the rusting cars out front. “There you go,” he gestures to the package I came for, sliding it across the desk toward me.

I stare down at the box, my gut clenching. “This was a favor to your old man. Don’t tell anyone where they came from, you get me?”

“Yes.” My voice is shaky as I pick up the box and drop the cash on the counter. It’s taken me days to work up the courage to come here.

“Off you go then.” He jerks his chin to the door I just came through.

Hurrying out the building I get into my car and pull out of the parking lot, beginning the six-hour drive back to the motel.

* * *

I hit my mother’s number to call, and she picks up on the third ring with a heavy exhale, blowing smoke from her cigarette. “Hello?”

“Mom, it’s me.” I brush lint from my pant leg, needing to distract myself. When I speak to her, I think too much of our shared losses. It fucking hurts.

“Princess, where are you?” She sounds tired. I look around at the gas station I’m parked in. A couple are arguing about which pump to use while their kid pulls faces at a truck driver.

“Have the police been back in contact?” I draw my gaze away and focus on dirt caught in the air vent.

“They have nothing. You know what they’re like. Unless more bodies show up, they’ll just think it’s because she’s a biker brat—trash.”

“Don’t say that.” I clench the phone, my eyes closing.

“Tyler’s been looking for you,” she says, changing the subject. I’m going to have to see him soon or he’ll really come looking for me.

“I know.” There’s a pause while she sucks on her cigarette. I take the moment to unscrew the cap on my drink and swig some down.

“When are you coming home?” A horn blasts in the distance, making me jump. Rubbing my hand over my eyes and shrugging to no one, I sigh.

“When I have answers.” A scruffy heavy-set man approaches my car. His cap has a candy logo printed across it. I search the lot for his truck, spying it on the end of a row of them.

“I love you, Princess,” Mom murmurs.

“I love you too.” My heart aches as I end the call.

Lowering my window just enough to hear him, the guy digs into his pocket, and I immediately go into defense mode, locking the door and opening the glove box to have easy access to the handgun I keep in there.

Retrieving a wedge of cash, he asks, “Want to keep me company for an hour, sweetheart?”

An hour, he’s being generous to himself. I’d rather be hit by his truck and then backed up over. Grabbing my gun, I point it at the glass. “Only if you like pain, asshole.” I sneer, clocking his wedding ring. Holding his hands up, he chuckles and backs away.Pig.

I shove the gun back into the glove compartment before I turn the engine over and pull out of the gas station, checking in my rearview to make sure he’s not following. I read a newspaper article one time that said they found a legit torture room kitted out in the back of a big rig. The driver used to prowl for victims at gas stations and motels. A shiver races up my spine.

* * *

I trim an hour of the travel time by not stopping again. With my foot flat on the gas, the world whizzes past the window, the setting sun dusting the scenery in an orange blush.

Too many hours later, I get back to the motel. I’m physically and mentally exhausted, and my emotions are at war inside me. I didn’t want to get close to the kings, but the closer I got to the motel, the more at peace I felt. I feel the pull intensifying toward the Kings. I like being around them. Callan set my world on fire, and I don’t want to put it out.

Taking a few days’ break from seeing him has done nothing to stop the craving to feel him. I need to recalibrate. Drawing the curtains, I lie on the bed and stare up at a stain on the ceiling. Boredom claims me fast. Grabbing my phone, I flit through the messages from Kitty.

Kitty: You broke Georgina’s nose?

Kitty: Where are you? Come to the club.

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