Page 20 of Dizzy

I should be. I narrow my eyes.

“Yeah, she’s mad.” Carson nods. “Look at her face.”

“I better get her back to the clubhouse, then. Feed her. Patch her up.”

“Yeah.” Carson snaps his visor back down. “I’m hungry, too.”

Parker revs his engine. In some kind of silent accord, both boys tear off, mud spraying behind them in all directions.

Dizzy tugs me toward his bike.

“You can’t just kidnap me with your kids right there.”

“I’m not kidnapping you.”

We come up along his two-wheeler. “We’re not both gonna fit on that.”

He’s sizing it up, eyeing me. I’m skinny, but the laws of physics still apply, and he’s gargantuan.

He grunts. “We’ll walk back. I’m not confident about that patch anyway.”

“I don’t know. If you leave it here, someone might take it. You go ahead and ride it back. Fix it up. I’ll follow.”

He snorts, grabs my hand again, and drags me off in the direction of the clubhouse. His stride is long. I scamper to keep up.

My brain’s spinning a mile a minute. If he loosens his hold for just a second, I can run. Didn’t work last time, but if I stick to the trail, I’ll have a better shot. I’m younger than him by a lot. I’ve got stamina.

And an empty belly and an aching ankle.

Maybe the club really just wants to ask me a few questions. Maybe they want to know how I dodged their security. This could be like the hacker who gets hired by the FBI ‘cause her skills are so crazy good.

Yeah, right. That’s not what’s happening here.

They know my name. They’ve been looking for me. I’m no fool. No one knows that I’m here except Chaos, and the Lord only knows where he is. They’re gonna kill me. Make an example. I struggle for breath, not from the pace, but the growing panic.

I should have left when I had the chance. What are blisters to being murdered and buried in an unmarked grave in the back of a biker compound?

We’re closing in on the tree line. I can see the makeshift stage in the yard and the picnic table pavilion.

I dig in my heels. Dizzy’s still moving, so he nearly yanks my arm from the socket.

“Let me go.” I’m not joking anymore. My brave front’s gone. My eyes are prickling, and my nose is burning. I’m gonna start bawling. “I promise I’ll disappear. I’m not gonna be any more trouble for you guys.”

He stops, gazes down at me, forehead furrowed. He drops my hand and raises my chin with the knuckle of his index finger.

“I said no one’s gonna hurt you.”

“I don’t believe you.” It’s a whisper.

“Baby,” he says. “You don’t have a choice.”

A cry echoes in the yard, and in seconds, huge, tattooed men in leather and chains are trotting toward us, surrounding us, and there’s no way out. I’m trapped.

Everything goes red.

They’re not taking me without a fight.

My elbow connects with a slab of muscle, and I keep going, eyes screwed shut, desperate and wild.

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