Page 46 of Walking Red Flag

What in the hell could have happened?

The worst thing was, I couldn’t fuckin’ leave.

Not with her freaking out the way she was.

There was no way I could keep her on my bike and get us out of here.

“Here’s y’all’s things,” Bayou said, holding out a brown paper sack with our phones and my keys.

I gestured toward the seat next to me.

Bayou didn’t put it down.

He watched me for a few seconds before saying, “I have to go get my kids from school later. I have my wife’s Suburban. Do you want to take it to the diner?”

I glanced at him. “That would be great. You think you can get my bike down there to switch it out?”

“Sure,” he said, digging into my bag for the keys to my bike. “My keys are in the Suburban.”

I didn’t bother to ask him why they’d be sitting in there unattended.

Likely, no one had the balls to steal a prison warden’s vehicle, let alone the president of a motorcycle club.

And most everyone around the area knew who Bayou was.

Hell, I knew who Bayou was, and I lived two hours away from him.

A buzzing sound pulled my attention from my thoughts, and I reached into the paper bag to make sure it wasn’t mine, but saw Milena’s going nuts instead.

I glanced at the screen and couldn’t stop myself from reading all of her messages.

Shasha:

Swear to God, if you don’t tell me why you’re at that fucking prison right now, I’m going to burn it to the ground.

Shasha:

Answer me.

Shasha:

Seriously, Milena. Answer me.

Shasha:

I’m on my way.

Shasha:

Fuck. Please don’t go in there.

Shasha:

I’m an hour away.

Shasha:

Goddammit, Milena. Please answer me.

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