Page 35 of Frisco

“Holy shit!” Aly shrieked.

She was at the wheel, and we’d been driving down back roads. Or trying to. The last few roads had been a bit desolate, so I’d tuned out.

Harper blinked a few times, looking around as if returning to reality.

We were back on the highway now, and I saw nothing unusual. Well, maybe a tumbleweed, which was kinda cool because I’d never seen a tumbleweed before.

Then I saw what she meant.

Aly was right. It was a holy shit moment.

I saw the Harley first, parked on the shoulder. There were two others.

No, there were three.

One of the guys punched another guy, and he went back down. He’d already been on the ground. The last guy wasn’t doing anything. He just stood there, almost like a guard.

The holy shit part wasn’t seeing bikers punching each other. We could see that at my mom’s bar. The holy shit part was that all three were wearing Red Demon cuts, and my extra holy shit moment was when the guy who’d delivered that last punch stopped and looked up.

In an instant I could feel his touch again, the way he’d held the back of my head, how his lips at first had just grazed over mine.

They’d been a tease. A caress.

I’d wanted more instantly, and I’d reached for him, not thinking, just needing. I’d surged up on my toes, fusing our mouths, and then he’d taken over.

I was breathless again, remembering it all because that biker stared right at us, as if he could see into the backseat and right through me. Shane King. AKA Ghost. AKA the guy I did not want to see during this trip.

The guy now struggling back to his feet was the opposite. He was the reason we were on this journey in the first place.

“Whoa. Tell me you know them, Kali.” Harper fanned himself with his Mike & Ike bag. “The blond is hot. Holy shit indeed. You said it, Aly.”

“Do you?” Aly sounded breathless too.

They hadn’t recognized Shane.

I couldn’t blame them, but I didn’t answer—not right away.

We kept driving.

The bikers watched us as we passed.

It wasn’t until we saw the sign telling us we were entering Frisco, population 372, that I spoke.

“That was Shane.”

As we drove through Frisco, it felt like something out of a movie—where outsiders rolled into a town of serial killers. Except our windows were up, because it was hot. We had the air conditioner on, so no wind made our hair move through air in slow motion. And no one stepped out of their homes or buildings because they sensed the new prey. Though I did see two prospects outside the biker bar, eyeing us as we went past.

A shiver moved down my back, and I tried to ignore a tickling at the back of my throat. It didn’t matter what I was feeling. Claudia was here, and I’d told Ruby I’d bring her back.

I needed to try, or move to California.

“There’s nowhere I feel safe stopping,” Aly commented.

No one argued.

I wasn’t just willing to bet money that my sister was at the biker bar. She was there. That tickling feeling turned into dread. That’s how sure I was, but Aly kept driving. And I didn’t stop her.

There was a diner when I looked up again. I’d missed the other buildings, but it seemed you just blinked, and you were through Frisco.

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