Page 88 of Thornhill Road

I heard Lance in my head, and I sealed my eyes closed tight, balling my fists around Mustang’s tee as I tried to shove him out of my thoughts.

He’dfollowedme.

That night two weeks ago, I hadn’t come straight for the bar. I came straight to Mustang. I came to the man who’d been taking my back and picking up my slack since the moment I met him. And me, at a biker bar, in a little black dress, that was formyman—not anyone else. I couldn’t let Lance take that from me.

I wouldn’t.

“Tess?”

“I want a drink, and then I want you to take me for a ride,” I said, peering up at him.

“I’ll call Phoenix. Soon as she’s here, we’re gone.”

On a deep exhale, I took a step back and asked, “How’s your hand?”

“It’ll heal.”

I nodded then added, “And I want you to ice your hand.”

This got me a half-smile before he threw his arm around my shoulders, and we started for the door.

“Okay, sugar. Whatever you need.”

Phoenix arrived fifteen minuteslater. I knew she’d been read in when she walked right up to me and asked, “You okay?”

After I answered with a nod, she cut her eyes at Mustang and asked, “You make it hurt?”

Mustang, who sat beside me—his right hand on the bar, a bag of ice covering his knuckles—merely looked at her like she couldn’t have asked a dumber question.

I wondered how she’d missed the man lying in the middle of the parking lot unconscious.

She smirked, then made her way to the back.

After another ten minutes, Maverick stomped toward the bar with my overnight bag in his grip and a scowl on his face. He shoved the familiar duffle at my man.

Mustang took it just as Maverick looked at me and said, “She’s a pain in my ass.”

I shook my head in confusion. “Where’s Jenna?”

“On her way to the hospital, I suspect. She was fuckin’ bound and determined to get that punk-ass bitch some help. Like she could drag his dead weight into her car all on her own.”

He rolled his eyes, and I quirked an eyebrow at him. “You helped put Lance in her car?”

“Like I said—pain in my ass.”

He said nothing more before he stomped away.

I lifted what remained of the bourbon Buck had poured me to my lips, a strange sense of relief washing over me as the burn of the liquor raced down my throat.

Relief that Jenna had been there.

Relief that I had a friend who had relieved me of the burden of guilt I might have felt the next morning, picturing Lance abandoned, unconscious in the parking lot all night.

Given I could still feel the pressure of his fingers around my throat, I wasn’t sure if I was capable of feeling that guilt—but now I’d never have to worry about it.

I told myself I’d call Jenna in the morning, then I downed the rest of my drink.

It was time for me to figure out how to mount Mustang’s hog in my dress.

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