Page 11 of Property of Azrael

The card, embossed in gold lettering, reads Huxton Construction. I pull out my phone and google the address on the card. It takes seconds for it to pull up the website. A large, brick building with their logo is at the top of the screen. Opening the About Us page, I find his picture, with the title of owner next to it.

“You really are from Indiana, huh?”

“Do you really think I’d claim to be from Indiana if I wasn’t really from there? Come on.”

“Fair point.”

“Does that satisfy you? Can you trust that you’ll be safe with me?”

“It’s a start.” Shrugging, I hand the card back to him, but he doesn’t take it.

“Take a picture of it and send it to someone you trust. That way, someone else knows who you’re with.”

I take a snap of the card and send it off to Eden, who responds immediately. As she types, I again hand him back his business card, which he takes.

What the hell is this?

Long story, but my car broke down, and this guy and his MC are giving me a lift.

WHAT?! You’re getting a ride to MMM with an actual MC? Bitch, I swear to God, I’ll die if you’re lying to me. Is he hot? Please tell me he’s hot.

I’ll fill you in later. Gotta go. If you don’t hear from me in a couple of hours, call me. If I don’t answer, call the police, and give them that photo.

“Done,” I tell him. “My friend Eden is like an information bloodhound, so don’t be surprised if I go missing. She shows up on your doorstep.” He laughs at the veiled threat, and then a deep rumble of thunder shakes the ground.

“What’s your phone number?” When I do, a text comes through. “That’s mine. You and your friend know where I work and you have my number. But time’s ticking if you want to stay dry. You coming with us?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” I tuck my phone into my back pocket, which continues to buzz repeatedly with texts, all from Eden, I’m sure, after the bombshell I just dropped on her. I open the back door and haul out my duffle bag and backpack. Dropping them onto the ground, I hear one guy bust out laughing.

“Where do you think you’re going with all that, sugar?”

“It’s my luggage.”

“Look around. We’re on Harleys. There’s no way we can fit all that into our saddlebags.”

Azrael nods. “He’s right, bare essentials only. We can try to stuff whatever we can amongst the saddlebags, but if you can shove what you need into that backpack of yours, you can wear that as we ride.”

Unzipping my bag, I grab my more delicate items and stuff them around my laptop, my unmentionables included, because the last thing I’m going to do is hand my bras and panties over to a bunch of strange men. I then shove in a change of clothes, my medications, phone charger, and wallet before zipping it back up.

“Can you hold these for a second?” I shove a pair of jeans and a few of my shirts into Azrael’s waiting hands while putting my duffle bag back into my car and strapping on my backpack.

“What should I do about my car?”

“Lock your keys inside. AAA can haul it without unlocking it. Once we get past the storm, you can call them back, and I’ll get you the address of where to send it from my buddy.”

Doing as he suggests, I place my keys above my visor, out of sight, and check one last time that I have what I need to get through until I get to Houston before hitting the lock button. Thankfully, with all my signing stuff and banner already there, I only needed to bring my clothes with me. Packing light is helping me for once.

Azrael, without letting go of my clothes, nods toward the group of bikers behind us. I follow along behind him with his friends flanking me.

“Stuff these into your saddlebags,” Azrael orders, distributing my clothes out to a few of them. One man parked in the front pulls out a couple packs of condoms, sets one of my shirts inside, and shoves everything back in before handing me a red package. “Hungry?” he asks

“This an MRE or something?”

“It’s definitely something.”

My face reddens all over again when I realize what I’m actually holding. It’s not an MRE. It’s much, much worse. Strawberry flavored edible panties. I shift my gaze to his, and then over to Azrael, who looks pissed when he notices it.

“For fuck’s sake, Fox. Really?”

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