Page 52 of Doc's Decision

All I want is to get back to the safety of my condo, back to Doc's strong arms.

But as I start to walk quickly toward the elevator, my stepfather's clammy hand clamps around my arm. "I'll be seeing you around, Amanda. Count on it."

My stomach plummets as I yank my arm free of his grip and hurry to the elevators, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The doors slide shut and I slump back against the mirrored wall, my legs suddenly weak.

How is this happening?

I left that life behind, started over.

Yet here he is, like a malignant tumor that keeps coming back no matter how many times it's cut out.

The elevator dings and I step out onto my floor, fumbling for my keys with shaking hands.

I unlock the door and slip inside, letting it click shut behind me.

The warm, comforting scent of home wraps around me but I barely notice.

All I can think is that he's found me. Somehow, some way, my past has caught up to me.

Doc's deep voice drifts out from the living room. "Babe? That was fast."

I swallow hard and force my feet to carry me down the hall.

He's sitting on the couch, Kash nestled in the crook of his muscular arm.

The sight of them, my two guys, sends a pang through my chest.

All I want is to keep them safe. Happy.

"Hey," I say, hoping my voice doesn't betray my inner turmoil. "They didn't have much of a line."

I set the food and drinks on the coffee table and perch on the edge of the couch, my body still thrumming with tension.

Doc studies my face, his eyes narrowing. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I bark out a humorless laugh. "Something like that."

Taking a deep breath, I tell him not to worry about it, that we should enjoy our food.

Luckily, he doesn’t press me any further.

Still, what is my step-father doing here, and why am I seeing him twice in the last couple of weeks?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Doc

I stride into the clubhouse, my boots thumping on the scuffed wood floor.

Most of the other prospects and full patch members are running around like chickens with their heads cut off, gearing up for the big ride.

The place is a flurry of activity—cuts being shrugged on, weapons getting checked and holstered, bikes revving to life outside.

Turmoil shouts over to me as he jams extra ammo clips into his pockets. "Yo Doc, you ready to roll or what?"

His eyes are hard and determined.

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