Page 5 of Accidentally Kidnapping the Biker

Wylie steps forward, a frown on his face. “Do you need to see a doctor?” He reaches out and a calloused thumb brushes a curl away from my temple. His cool skin calms the throbbing.

“I checked my pupils. They aren’t blown, so I don’t have a concussion. I just need a quiet place for a while, so the headache meds have a chance to kick in. It’s been an exciting morning.” Honestly, I’m about to fall down but since there is nobody to catch me if I do, I have to power through.

“I was going to suggest you cook me dinner tonight as a thank you, but how about we get you back to your car and I follow you home. We’ll set something up for tomorrow.”

I sigh in relief. “I would really appreciate that. Plus, it’ll give me time to get to the grocery store. Are you a vegetarian?”

“Fuck, no.” He looks at me in concern. “Are you?”

“Fuck no, although I can cook that way. I’m all about the meat.” I’m the last of my girls to be single, and my bed has been noticeably cold during these autumn nights. I’ll happily take a bit of company, especially somebody who comes pre-vetted from people I trust.

"I'll keep that in mind.”

Chapter 4

Wylie

After Kat abandons me and the van in front of the courthouse, I get into the driver’s seat and pull into the first parking lot I find. I still haven’t re-secured the engine in the back, and I know it bounced around during our little escapade. This time, I lock the driver’s and passenger’s doors and turn off the engine, before I head to the back to reset it again.

Now that I have a minute to think, I realize how many problems my fifteen-minute adventure has caused. I pull out my phone and send a flurry of texts.

To Tolk:

Contact JD’s client. Tell them accident, delivery will be made tomorrow.

Also contact Bishop for appointment to get van repaired.

To Picnic, our resident computer genius:

Need all details of the real estate listings and sale of Camp Sunny-Lu near Lonesome, particularly names Cross and Strong.

To Duck, the president of the Lost Souls:

Jefferson Cross? Story? Didn’t something happen at B&G recently?

I knew Duck would be on it. The Lost Souls weren’t outlaws or one-percenters. We were a small club: a few military vets from related families and a handful of men who’d served with them. We’d all left the service one way or another and found ourselves bonding over bikes and brotherhood. None of us had wanted to—or been able to—integrate back into a standard nine-to-five job in a city. Brothers Deacon and Bishop Dobermann had taken over their family garage in Lonesome, North Dakota, and their cousin JD had bought in as a silent partner. There had also been a bar and grill in the small town that had seen better days. The Clifford boys had bought it and had brought in their brothers-in-arms as their enlistments expired.

It has been a long road to get the business profitable; I don’t want one reckless fucker bringing it all down. I’ve seen the scruffy, scrawny man around town, but I have no clue what Cross does for a living. He and some other men come in and sit at a corner table. They have some drinks, watch the band of the week, and leave. I know Mason has occasionally hired him as a barback or to make some pick-ups or deliveries for us, but he has never mentioned having any problems with him.

Until now. Filing lawsuits over a parent’s property isn’t normal. Running the opposing party off the road is unstable. Shooting at them is fucking desperation, stupidity, or both. Anda guaranteed way to draw unwanted attention. I don’t want somebody that unhinged near the club.

Surprisingly, I didn’t blink at Kat’s side of the story, even without proof. It takes a special kind of person to be cool under fire, and she covered her freakout well. Besides, it is easy enough to check out.

Picnic replies first:

Sunny-Lu Inc put in an offer for Camp Sunny-Lu over asking. It was accepted and closed two months ago. Problem?

No.

I laugh. No wonder Kat was pissed when I asked if she’d ripped the Crosses off. The Sunny-Lu Salon and Spa sounds like some kind of frilly pink chick business. I can’t imagine a bunch of women wanting to come to Lonesome for beauty treatments. Then again, I have one divorce and two busted engagements under my belt, so what do I know.

I secure the motor and survey the damage to the van. The rear window needs to be replaced. The bullet holes in the back panel are uncomfortably close to the gas tank. And the front fender is a mess from when Kat pulled that PIT manoeuvre out of her gorgeous ass. But there’s nothing that can’t be repaired.

I decide to complete the delivery since I’m already in town. Before I’m finished, JD texts to say Kat will be done soon. I immediately offer to drive her back to her car. We still have things to discuss.

I’m waiting for her at the curb when Jefferson Cross storms out of the courthouse. He looks hot; almost as hot as I feel when I think about his buddies taking potshots at me. “Cross!” I yell.

He looks up, startled. Concern flashes across his face when he sees the vehicle behind me, but something shifts in his eyes. “Wylie. Did that bitch steal your van? My lawyer is still in the building. It would be good if the fucking cops could manage to arrest her for something. You know she stole my parents’ campground too?”

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